somebody that i used to know

Earlier this month marked the year's passing since the death of David, a friend of mine that I only knew a short while and not nearly well enough while in Uganda. I regret that I never knew him better. It's scary, how many people we know, but don't, not really, and that we don't stay in touch with.

I want to do better. Know people better. Love people better. Remember people better. I forget how much hurt is out there in people's hearts. I forget how many stories of pain and resilience and hope and despair are driving past me on the freeway or sitting next to me in school or waiting in line with me at the grocery store or living with me. I forget to value the people around me. I forget to see them.

David was troubled by the suffering he saw around him. He said this: "I look with my eyes, but I haven't seen with my heart." I don't believe that was true in his case, but I understand the fear he had, that he wasn't caring enough. I share it. I want to learn to see better. I suppose this entry is simply to respect and remember both David and what he taught me. I believe David's life and legacy continues on in every life he touched. If you can, take a moment to pray for the somebodies you used to know or still know.



I'll leave you with a few videos I've been listening to while I remember.
Heart to heart, I wish you the best.

Fusgeyer

I was recently reminded of how I like to write.  I was looking at my different blogs from my times in different places, as I found different ways to be me. I'm back in Cali after a year in Philly, but still finding out more about me and the world. You know how that goes. I know next to nothing about it, but I often come back to the idea of being a fusgeyer. I looked it up again today, and found this:

They were known as the fusgeyer, the wayfarers. They ha sold their valuables, joined together...and made a common fund to ensure that all in the group could make the journey. This journey was often perilous. For some...they were compelled to cross the border at night... (Lawrence Jeffrey Epstein, At the Edge of a Dream, p.17)

Fusgeyers - yiddish for foot-goer (more or less) - were Romanian Jews often identified as gypsies who left Romania by foot during persecution in the late 1800s...ish. My grandparents were fusgeyers. And that matters, but that's not why I bring it up. I've never been persecuted, never had to flee my country.

But I connect with this concept of being a fusgeyer, in a lot of the same ways Christians connect with being sojourners in a foreign land, not destined to stay there. Where you're from and where you've been both connects you and separates you from others. It's often your choice if it's more of the former or the latter.

I've always been sensitive to separations and divisions, wondering why people group and exclude others. But I'm more comfortable with it now, because it can be done in a good way. It's freeing to accept how you do and don't fit in different groups, and to laugh at it or celebrate it as seems fitting.

Moral of the story? I don't know. Take a walk, fusgeyer. And have a laugh about where it leads you.

And definitely call someone a fusgeyer. They'll probably think it's a dirty word. Silly them! :)

Being Present

So the Uganda Studies Program I did had us read this book by John Taylor called Primal Vision. The author talked a lot about being present, so we did, too. Of course, he and we were only part of a conversation that goes back to the beginning, but it’s on my mind. We were urged to be more present with people in Uganda, and to be more present with God – to make where we were and who we were with our priority, instead of letting our mind go elsewhere. That means being a person who truly sees those that are around him or her, without being distracted or blinding oneself to something or someone.

When I was in Uganda, just a little over two years ago, I was oddly more present with some peeps back stateside than I had been before. Being present isn’t only about physicality – it is, I think, more about priority, how much you value the people you’re with, the relationships you have.

When I think about being present, fully, to me that includes really engaging your world, not just passively floating through it. You’re right there in the thick of it with hands dirty, not trying to stay off to the side. You’re present. Your heart’s there, in the work.

Music (and ultimately anything else I think) can be used as an escape from being present, or it can be used as a way to become more present, to listen, understand and respond more fully to the world around you.

I began writing this because I was thinking about the cost of not being physically present in Cali anymore. I was mourning the experiences I would miss: weekend visits with Avi and Alicia La Mirada, getting to grow with and get to know Joanna, as well as the entire FIT group. Continuing new relationships with great people from the OC Music Awards and the bands, figuring out how to be human with old friends like Christina. And of course, my mom and dad. Not getting to be with my mom and dad, experiencing life with them. That is a big one.

So I was mourning what I would miss – and honestly I still am a little. But I know what I said earlier is true – that being present is more than just physicality. I want to be present to those I care about, and in a way this is a resolution to do so. But it’s also a resolution do be present in life, wherever I am. The past year or so has been so much fuller, as I was trying to be more present. I didn’t know life could be so…fun. And crazy. And interesting. And scary. I kind of like it. And a lot of that was thanks to you guys, for letting me be present with you, and being present with me. And so, now this isn’t so much a resolution I guess as a thank you. For you-know-who-you-ares, and also for present people who just happen to be present with other people, not me.

Cult of Mediocrity

"The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal in every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger, or quicker than anybody else.... Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn't think about anything except in short bursts. And, George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people, like George, from taking unfair advantage of their brains." - Kurt Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron"

My brother had me listen to that short story once, I think. I don't know. I just read it again on this site (listed below), where, right before sharing the story, they wrote this:

Consider Marianne Williamson: "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? ...There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.... And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

I believe this to be true, but the Cult prefers to feel comfort in the chains of their fears, and would have me keep my place in the galley. Many of us never get past the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling, take the risk to step on stage and reap the reward of warm applause-- or even survive the harsh contempt of booing. To aspire to live fully seems to goad people to play devil's advocate, to parry with the reminder that we are all doomed to die, so why bother? In fact, this truth should itself goad us into redoubling our resolve, but all too often it does not.

o0o0o0o0o, desire to break out of the ordinary. I feel you. And I feel ya. Man, woman (I assume this desire, if personified, would be female, primarily for comedic effect).



Website - http://people.tribe.net/metric/blog/5c1ee941-bd4e-43ae-a884-78621804b75e

Putting together the pieces

Before I begin, let me just say that the word piece and all of its derivatives is without a doubt the ugliest word ever. Luckily, its homophone, peace, is, among other things, pretty.

I finished this book, Barefoot in Baghdad. A Palestinian-American late 20-something woman leaves her work at the World Bank to begin and direct a Women for Women International Branch in Iraq, right as the war begins. She shares her experience working to provide safe places for vulnerable girls and women, to provide training and community for many more. She shares how she herself became a vulnerable woman as the fighting escalated, and more humanitarian workers died or fled. Amidst death threats and bombs, she and some of her Iraqi team go to Jordan. It ends with her wedding day, a week after her planned wedding day, when the flowers were instead used for a mourning service, after her fiancee's brother was kidnapped and killed.

There is an afterward. About life going on, about continuing the work. About love and loyalty for a country that is not her own. It's powerful.

I trained to work in development, like she does. I'm drawn towards issues of war and peace and the people caught in between. But, as I read about how she tried to keep together the pieces of her life in the middle of war, I know I'm not ready. Though I doubt anyone ever is. But I'm putting together some pieces of my life, too, though just a few. You have to build, you have to put pieces together, make a safe haven and refuge in the world. It's human instinct to build, just look at all the huge edifices from ancient times, let alone modern cities. But the best refuges aren't always physical. You have to build, to protect from the ugly feelings and the despair. You have to raise up.

As far as putting pieces together for my life, I was looking at the Sderot: rock in red zone documentary website (http://sderotmovie.com/). I realized how influential it has been for me in my understanding of music's role in development, and my life. It documents the power of music in a war zone, particularly for young people through the Sderock bomb shelter/music studio. Avi Vaknin, the director, explains "The original idea was to suck the poison out of them." Here's what the documentary director had to say (bold added):

I thought I might find anger and hate. What I discovered was people who are just trying to make the best out of a really terrible situation. I found incredible resilience, hope, and people who will do almost anything to support each other. The concept of using music to bring normalcy to children's lives -- its an amazing idea that really works. (http://sderotmovie.com/director.php)

It sounds simple, really. But isn't the simplest solution usually the best? Whether I get to go to Philly or I stay here a while longer, either way I know I will be beginning to explore and implement this idea, in different ways. Here's another quotation that got me thinking, again by the director:

All around, you just feel war. People stay in their houses, schools are closed. “Learning Together,” a wartime television program broadcasts daily high school classes for kids who can’t go to school. The classes are taught by famous Israeli writers, poets, and philosophers. (http://sderotmovie.com/blog/, 1/6/09)

It's so simple, again, but it really hit me. How smart! When I was working at the Children's Hospital, I got into the habit of watching Sesame Street in the morning while I got ready. They danced, and I like dancing, what can I say. I just wonder why educational shows aren't deemed necessary for anyone under the age of 5 (The Magic School Bus and Bill Nye excluded). One of my professors had this funny cartoon on his door, of a native tribe quickly hiding their television when the anthropologists show up, so as to appear more "indigenous." TVs are so common, and so communal. There is nothing that replaces teacher-student education, but there is so much more that could be done to make this a really valuable piece of technology...

Anyways. So. Pieces. Being put together in my head. And now on the internet, so that I don't forget. And so that people maybe point out stuff that I didn't notice :)

Satisfied Minds and Franciscan Stigmata Starter Kits

How many times have you heard someone say
If I had his money, I’d do things my way
But the little they know that
It’s so hard to find
One rich man in a hundred
With a satisfied mind

Interesting how some music sticks with you. I heard this song, Satisfied Mind, for the first time in Jr. High by a small folk group. It’s their version that’s still my favorite. Then and now, I listen to it and it makes me think.

For a college kid trying to move to Philly to do an unpaid internship, money doesn’t always seem like that bad of a thing to have. I don’t want to get stuck by it, but I don’t want to get stuck without it, either.

I wonder if this is as easy as it’s going to get, as far as life stages go with friendliness to “living simply” and being Franciscan…y. As far as my age group goes, we don’t have as much capital, and we don’t have as many responsibilities. No house to own. No kids – and their educations – to think about. Life is still adventure-mode, so we’re free to live simply.

Of course, there’s our own college loans. There’s that ever-nagging question of just what you’re going to be when you grow up. And there’s the desire to be cool and grown-up and responsible, but also hip and, just maybe, hipster, even when it means buying thrift store-looking clothes at non-thrift store prices.

Monkrock.com has this “Franciscan Stigmata Starter Kid,” complete with a trendy t-shirt, a crucifix necklace, a pamphlet and those little pin buttons. It’s good advertising: “Get into the Habit.” It looks cool. But that wasn’t St. Francis’ habit, and those weren’t his stigmatas – nor Christ’s. St. Francis was a styling young man of the town who spent all his money on friends and parties before his conversion. When he changed, his habit changed to that dull, brown robe. Of course, not everybody is St. Francis. The tagline of the site is true – “you don’t have to be a monk to live like one.” But, a change of clothes isn’t going to get me into the habits I want to have.

I don’t know exactly how to get into those habits. Or how not to be the person who says “if I had their money,” or how to do things my own way, or God’s way, or how to even know which is what and how’s the difference. But I’m hoping this isn’t as easy as it gets. After all, we’re still learning the ropes of living simply, whether for a brown habit or a hemp bracelet. And maybe we get to have a satisfied mind just in the trying. At least, sometimes. That’d be nice.

two questions

What are you willing to die for?

It's strange. That question used to flit around in my head a good bit, especially when I was in Uganda. It hasn't for a while. Maybe I've been too busy. But it was back last night, whispering and rattling and generally just making too much a ruckus. I saw a movie last night called Little Town of Bethlehem. It was about three men, an Israeli Arab, an Israeli Jew, and a Palestinian Muslim, and their different paths to nonviolence.

A lot of people are willing to risk their life, to die, in war, if they have the shot to also get someone else. They die in defense of their country. I think that can be brave.

There's not so many people willing to die to defend not just their own, but someone else's...what do they call it? their humanity. As if our humanity is some purely good thing. But they're willing to die to defend that goodness, that purity, both in themselves AND in those who are attacking them. To show to themselves and those with the guns that they can both move beyond the violence. That's brave. More than that, that's love.

I was thinking about the question, what am I willing to die for. Or maybe it should be who? For myself, my interests, or for others' too. But it began to seem a strange question for me to ask. As a Christian...we were dead, but now we're alive. And that's not gonna change when our bodies pass away. At least, isn't that what we're supposed to believe? And if we do...then the question has to be changed. No longer what am I willing to die for, but what - and who - am I willing to truly live for?

But when I ask myself that question, it's like a pebble into a pond: silence, but all these tiny ripples.

Because all of a sudden there's more than two questions - I'm playing twenty questions trying to figure out who ME is. Would I stand in front of a bullet? Or would I edge away, or pull out my own gun? I recall when I went to Rwanda, and I was talking with my politics professor about how during the genocide all but one of the Americans was whisked away on a bus like the one we were in, and he asked if I thought I would be the one who stayed. And I said I didn't know. And he laughed. And so I ask, would I stay or would I go? Am I brave? Do I really love, love like that? Would I let Jesus love people through me, like that? Or would I be afraid?

What and who do I live for? I think there's silence when I ask that cuz I don't want to hear my answer, I know what it is and I don't like it. But I want it to change and I think it can. Because I don't want to live for myself.

Times Like These: Making sense cents

You’ve heard that conversation. “the way the economy is today…,” or perhaps “war is the price we have to pay in this dangerous world.” Economic crisis, war, environmental exploitation: choose your poison that excuses us from being able to do anything. I, like so many of my peers, know the true woe of our times: school loans. :)

So I’ve been trying to figure out how to make sense out of my life while still making cents. I’m trying to worry a little less about making cents, because if it makes sense than maybe it’ll make sense not to make so many cents. Part of that’s led me to look into how the arts go along with community development and, well, my life. It’s also meant me meeting with (awesome) professors and friends, though there’s many more I ought to see (hit me up!). Doing that led me to learn about a guy called Rev. Dr. Mitri Raheb.

He’s a Palestinian Christian. Cool. He’s the founder of the International Center of Bethlehem, whose initiatives include an academy and a college. Awesome. The Center has a focus on the arts, both in its schools and as community-creation, especially as a way to have “co-existence.” Epic. He’s also the pastor of the Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church. Jesus Christ.

No, seriously. He talks about him. A lot. Jesus Christ, that is. He gave a sermon stateside in 2003 about 1 Corinthians 1:18-25: “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” I really agree with and appreciate both his message and how he shares it, but I can’t help imagining how his rhetoric and examples might not go over well with others. I had to hold back from cutting out “controversial” sections to get to “the main point,” but I held back (mostly) so you could decide for yourself. Torrey people, would Torrey be pleased? ICS people, is his gospel-culture focus good? Art people…idk, but isn’t it awesome how art interprets gospel? Politics people, what power plays should Christians be game for, do you think? All people…what do you like, what don’t you, how has or hasn’t it changed how you look at Christ/the cross/Israel/Palestine/Muslims/the verse? Read well and give your opinion. Pretty please.

His project is about how we take this dialectic of us versus them (us finding message of power of God, them finding message of foolishness). His question, if I can paraphrase, asks if we don’t wrongly find in the cross simply a message of us being right and so powerful, and them being wrong, instead of the power of God, which is, to put it colloquially, like, way better. But now I’ll let him speak for himself, in his second anecdote and point:

The second experience which shed a new light on us and them in relation to the message of the cross was totally different in nature. From November until February this year a 24-hour curfew was imposed on Bethlehem by the Israeli occupation. …. No one is allowed to leave his or her home, neither children to go to school, nor workers to go to work, and not even to go shopping except for few hours a week. Imagine entire families, millions of people sitting at home, doing nothing. So as center, we developed the idea to challenge some of the artists during this time. … so as to overcome their depression and imprisonment. We announced on the local radio and TV stations a painting competition on the topic of “Christ in the Palestinian Context”. In February this year 16 artists submitted their paintings. After reviewing all the paintings we couldn’t believe our eyes. 60% of all artists who submitted their paintings were Muslims. … It was interesting to see that so many Muslim artists dared to paint a biblical figure, something actually forbidden in Islamic theology and spirituality. More amazing was that all of the Muslim artists except one submitted a painting of the crucified Christ. None of the Christian artists had the cross as the theme of their paintings. … Isn’t it interesting? We know that in the teaching of Islam, Christ was not crucified. For Christ to be crucified means really nothing else than for God to be on the losing end, and that is impossible in Islam. God is greater than to be a loser. We can say with Paul that for Muslims the message of the cross is nothing but foolishness. But why did these Muslim artists paint Christ, the crucified? They took the risk to betray their religion; they took many risks upon themselves since all the paintings were exhibited in our Gallery publicly for a period of one month. I couldn’t but think of one answer: When they thought in their suffering what the most meaningful message is for them in that context, they couldn’t but think of Christ, the crucified. The message of the cross was for them so powerful, that they were ready to take the risk to paint the crucified Christ. In that moment they discovered that that message of the cross is more powerful that any wisdom or religious teaching they were taught. In God sharing their bitter destiny they find strength, comfort and power. It captured them, it captured their imagination and their minds. Also this experience taught me that the distinctive line between us Christian and them Muslims is not as clear as we think. Sometimes they see the power of the message of the cross clearer than us, who can easily get used to it.

Okay, time out for a second. Partly because I want you to fully digest that, and partly because this little interruption mirrors an interruption I had at the same place while reading. Just a sentence or two after the paragraph above I heard the voices of my mom and our little 6-year-old neighbor friend singing Hillsong in the other room… “My God is mighty to save, he is mighty to save, Forever, author of salvation, He rose and conquered the grave, Jesus conquered the grave.”

Nice timing, huh?

Well, I kept reading after that, so you should too, if the timing is right, as he goes to his next point:

The dividing line between us and them is not one related to faith only, but to power as well. The message of the cross has always to be related to the context of power relations. The powerless interpret it differently from the powerful. It is for those marginalized, weak and powerless within the Corinthian congregation and within our times that the apostle proclaims the message of the cross as the power of God. “Them” here refers to those who think they are wise and strong. For those strong the cross is nothing but a nice decoration, or even sometimes a cover for their ideologies. For a frightened Christians in the catacombs making the sign of the cross on their bodies is a sign of faith in the crucified Lord. But for Byzantine soldiers to engrave the cross on their helmets is a sign of a triumphant ideology. The last two and a half years were very, if not the most, difficult years in our lives. We never felt so powerless like when the F16 airplanes where roaming over our cities and striking our neighborhoods. We know how the people in Iraq now feel. Never did we feel so powerless as when the Israeli tanks invaded our populated towns and cities, approached our houses and started firing. Several tanks were stationed around our compound. For 13 hours without much interruption. One was stationed in the front of the house, another on the other side. When the tank in the front would fire, we as family would run to the backside of the house. When the one in the backside would fire we would all run to the front of the house. When both were firing at the same time, we thought the end is near. My mother was praying, my wife screaming, my children crying. Our neighbors were killed by the soldiers, a mother and her son. For 37 hours the other son was holding the hands of his mother and brother, crying, “my brother and my mother have forsaken me.” You feel so forsaken, not only from the World but even from God himself. We know how the Iraqi civilians are feeling these days. We know what conflict does to the souls, bodies and spirit of people. Yet never did I feel the power of the resurrection as in the last two years. This is not to glorify the suffering, it’s a curse, it’s harmful, it’s ugly, and the psalmist portrays his experience of exile as a refugee as feeling the wrath of God. It is this experience which Christ on the cross had when he cried, “my God, my God why has you forsaken me?” But the power of God manifests itself in such a context. It was when we felt left alone, abandoned, helpless and powerless that we were granted new power. The Israeli military forces destroyed our compound, yet God gave us the determination to rebuild it. The mighty forces of destruction lost their power over us. Wasn’t this your experience in the US also? Wasn’t it that on 9/11 when the two towers fall, when your country was so vulnerable, that you experienced something from the power of the resurrection as well as the solidarity of the world? What a difference to the context now. Isn’t it that when we strive to dominate and when we think we are powerful, that we will prevail, that we stumble and become foolish? The power of God can’t be found outside the cross. The resurrected Lord is the one who still carry on his body the wounds of the cross.

This is already quite lengthy. Thanks, friends, for those of you who read. As curious as I am know about what you think of his rhetoric or politics or artistics, honestly I’d most love to hear about Christ on the cross, and what you have going on in your head about that. Because my head’s a bit dizzy trying to sort out Christ from culture and God’s power from politics, as well as also then seeing where those things actually really do intersect. Oh yeah, and while we’re at it, of course there’s the application of how they intersect, and how then they should intersect in our lives while we’re trying to make sense and make cents.


How epicly overwhelming.



But chin up, at least we don’t have to worry about vampires and werewolves…




------

Full-text of the sermon
http://www.mitriraheb.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=252:1-cor-1-18-25&catid=27:ensermons&Itemid=28


Good third-hand description of the center and its college
http://www.globalministries.org/mee/projects/international-center-of-bethlehe.html


Movie being screened September 30th that you can attend in L.A. with Biola peeps

http://littletownofbethlehem.org/

recalculating

I just got out of a really complicated relationship. I mean, the communication was terrible. I don't even know if we were leading each other in the right direction. It's like, even if we had the same destination, we were taking such different paths. Even though we said we had the same end goals, I couldn't see how our short-term steps were getting us there. Her name is Gloria. She is my mother's GPS machine. :) Like so much of our time together, she and I are now recalculating our routes.

Last week I went on a trip to Cleveland with my mom for my (great) aunt's birthday and to see family. I got to walk through a tropical forest of butterflies in a greenhouse, recount favorite pokemon with my younger cousins and watch Evan Almighty with my mom, as well as play a LOT of guitar. But I also got to drive in rain and lightning, where I couldn't even see the road lines on the freeway, through six-way intersections of death, and with two and sometimes three different voices telling me two and sometimes three different directions to drive. Bwah!

I cried. Several times. Much like a little girl :) I was already stressed out by other navigations I was making with, you know, my life. Job searches and heart searches. Rejections. Recalculations. If I take professional rejection this hard, then I shudder to think about personal rejection!!!

Anyway, Gloria and I really do have a complicated, love-hate relationship of our own. I could only get her to show me the immediately next direction, and not the one after that. And it freaked me out, because I wanted to know more, to be prepared for the next turn, to get in the right lane. It was too much like my life! I don't really know how to prepare for the next turn, cuz I don't know what it will be yet.

Well, every time I went the wrong direction, Gloria would say "Recalculating route." Insert choice words of frustration. That's right. I called her a poopie head. Gasp! Anyway, as much as I hated that, I kind of learned a lesson from it, too. Sometimes, I heard her say recalculating with a certain kind of annoyance, like "wow, the wrong direction again?" but other times it was more of a cheerful, bemused "wow, what a trip!" Obviously, Gloria is a machine, with a pre-recorded voice, so neither is true. Unless there's a vast conspiracy. But barring that possibility, I just read my own emotions into her voice. Regardless of that, she kept recalculating.

And I kind of want to be like her. I hate recalculating, because it implies you went the wrong way. But sometimes actually we were going a different way, that one of our relatives had told us to go, and it had to recalculate accordingly. Of course, most of the time we did go the wrong way. Either way, as much as she annoyed me, it was comforting to know she'd always be able to recalculate and find a new way to get to the destination. And she'd never just give up. How inspiring.

So, maybe I only get to know one direction ahead at a time for now. Or maybe not even really that. I just know the general direction I should drive in. God's more of a compass-type than step-by-step kind of guy. Yeah? Maybe. Either way, I have a lot of recalculating to look forward to. If you do, too, sucks for us :) But not really. Only if we let it. Either way. Anyway.

As a random side note, apparently anyways is a colloquialism and not a real word. While anyway, despite how horrendously weird it looks, is a real word. Yucky. Just look at the y's, on yucky, too. How weird. Gross. Gross.

longboarding...no fear?

I'm a coward. I've known that for a while, but it always amuses me. Luckily, being a coward doesn't stop me from being brave, though it does make it harder. Longboarding has been really cool this summer, since I'm not exactly comfortable speeding down hills. Don't get me wrong, it's exhilarating. It's just like heart-attack fun.

My old housemate, Chelsea, helped me learn how to go over those rain gutters all over La Mirada, the ones that go across a street and are about two inches wide and two inches deep. It's pretty easy if I don't just get scared and bail. The thing is, as plenty of you probably already know, it's all about having the speed. If you're going fast enough, gravel, rocks and even rain gutters can't stop you. But if you're not going fast enough, and if you're not committed enough to the board, either the board stops and you fly, or you stop and the board flies.

It kinda reminds me of what another friend of mine, Christina, said to me back in Jr. High. I was briefly - ever so briefly - on the soccer team, and I was trying to kick the ball away from her. I failed. Several times over! Afterwords, she told me I just had to commit, to choose when I was going to take it and fully take it. None of this dancing around.

And so, being me, I think of life, and my future, and being brave about going for new opportunities with enough speed and energy and commitment - instead of being hesitant or uncertain. I just had to giggle to myself, because I'm not a great longboarder, soccer player, or ....liver??? No, I'm not a great liver :) But I think I know how I can get better, at all of the above. Besides, practice makes perfect, right? As long as you're giving it your all, at least. Well...and as long as you're not being all perfectionist when you say perfect. Heh.

Did you see?

You cannot see anything from the road. More strictly speaking, all you see is an ordinary village. Boys run out to meet you, each begging that you choose him as a guide... My guide's name was Tadesse Mirele and he was a schoolboy. His school was closed, everything was closed - there was famine... Tadesse said taht he hadn't eaten anything in several days... "Sir?" "Yes, Tadesse?" I replied, "I'm listening." "Be my helper, please! I need a helper!" He looked at me, and I saw then that he had only one eye. A single eye in the haggard, frightened face of a child.

A while later Tadesse suddenly grabbed me by the arm. I thought that he wanted to ask me for something, but then realized he was only preventing me from falling into a chasm. For just below was a church carved out of stone...so that Muslims invading these lands could not spot them from afar...

"Look, sir!" said Tadesse, pointing down to the courtyard in front of the Church of the Savior of the World... A dozen or so meters below where we stood, in teh yard and on the steps of the church, surged a crowd of lame beggars... The people below were so tightly squeezed together, their crippled limbs, stumps, and crutches so tightly intertwined, that they formed a single crawling mass, out of which dozens of arms stretched upward like tentacles, and, where there were no limbs, innumerable gaping mouths extended upward, waiting for something to be thrown into them. As we walked from one church to another, this gnarled, moaning, expiring creature below crept after us, and from it dropped every now and then an inert, already lifeless member, abandoned by the rest.

There had been no pilgrims here in a long while, to throw down their alms, and these cripples were unable to get out of the stony chasms.

"Did you see, sir?" Tadesse asked me as we made our way back to the village. And he said it as though to suggest he thought this the only thing really worth seeing.


-------

This is an excerpt from The Shadow of the Sun by Ryszard Kapuscinski. A true story. It's a book that greatly impacted me, though reading through it again reminds me of things I've forgotten. I find it so powerful that his guide, who wants to make sure he saw, has only one eye. And that before the boy asks for a helper, Ryszard tells him he is listening. Makes me ask myself if I see, if I listen. I wonder about, as pilgrims, how we sometimes think we are going to places like the Church of the Savior of the World to meet God in places of beauty, only to find him in places of suffering.

God, give us new eyes and new ears, so that we may find you in the people all around us and in our moments of pain as well as joy, in the shadows as well as in the sunlight. Amen.

want a burger?

I was just beginning to walk up the steps to my apartment after longboarding home from work, when the family directly below us called to me through the window: "Want a burger?" Maybe an hour later, I finished watching Family Guy, talking about Justin Bieber and talking in English/Spanish with the mom, her three kids and one of their friends. All because the mom was sweet enough to invite me in and share a meal with me.

A couple of nights ago I got to hang out with some Torrey peeps. We started the evening off with pancakes - Pittle style - and fruit kebobs and toasty bread and fire alarms from a hilarious cooking fail. It was so fun to be in the kitchen with people, both before the hang-out in preparation and during. And it was really sweet to share a meal with them.

I've already been exposed to some of the literature and talk about the power of hospitality and sharing the table with people, but it just kind of struck me strong today. I felt a lot of community and love from being invited in, and it gave me the opportunity to see another side of the family and of my friends. It made me...at home, even in the sense that I wasn't in a hurry to go running off to find my future.

It was a nice feeling, considering that running off to tomorrow is what I spend a lot of my time doing: searching for, applying for and interviewing for jobs (getting passed over for jobs!). Today I realized what a good, weird, cool place this is to be right now, that I should be a little more still and chill about tomorrow in the meantime of today. Of course, that's easier said than done.

I know I've been more irritable and just plain out of it because of letting the uncertainties weigh on me more than they ought. But I'm trying to do that whole "trust God" thing. I've heard some people call it faith, or something :) It's easy for me to worry about how I need a job/career after the summer, as well as a second job during the summer. But it's silly of me, when I should be grateful to have a job at all. And a home. I journaled today that I would stop giving space and voice to that fear. So of course tonight I had already started doing it again. Then I saw a homeless guy, with the cardboard message "homeless. hungry. God bless." Shut me up good, but also opened me up good to the fact that it's not enough to have faith that God'll take care of you, but that God'll still take care of you if you take care of others with what he gives you.

On that note, anyone up for burgers? Pancakes? Call me up :)

How to Serve - according to a Franciscan intern

What happens when everything you have to give isn't enough? I'm applying for this Americorps position with a Franciscan volunteer program, and read the blog entry of an alumni from the program, as she discovered where her limits were and realized she couldn't rely only on herself. Here it is:


Every day when I step in front of my two E.S.L. classes, I peer at my students with a sense of wonder and admiration. While each student’s culture and language is drastically different from the other, their lives are similarly courageous. One student arrived in Pittsburgh from western Africa where he earned his M.B.A. in his own language, but desired to escape his prejudicial country. Thus, he came to America in order to learn English from scratch and eventually earn his PhD in business. Sitting near him is a student from Guatemala who grew up in a country where 20+ different dialects of Spanish are spoken. He had a difficult time learning to read and write in his own language because his grade school teachers taught in a different dialect than him; thus, he finished school at a sixth grade level and worked on his home farm for self-sufficiency. Across from them is a married couple who came from a refugee camp in Nepal where they learned basic English in the ‘safe’ confines of a camp for 10+ years. A few months ago, they came to America where they finally live in a physically safe home, but don’t necessarily feel or speak as if they were at home.


Each morning and evening, as these adult students come in for a two-hour long English lesson, their facial expressions clearly illustrate the wonder and expectations that they can not always verbalize to me. Questions such as, “How will she be teaching me English today, since I can not verbally express my specific needs and desires to her?” “Will she be my friend seeing how lonely I am in this foreign country? Can we be friends since we can not always speak?” “Will she be sensitive to my fears?” “Will she challenge me?”, or, “Will she go slow enough for me?” “In her youth, will she treat me as the respected adult that I am?” Initially coming into this year, I possessed a lot of zeal and enthusiasm to respond to each and every one of these questions and expectations.... Responding to each of these student’s unspoken questions and needs comparatively seemed like nothing, and fully responding to them is what I thought it meant to live the Gospel and to serve God and his people.


Soon, however, these tacit questions and expectations began to weigh very heavily upon my heart. Balancing the different students’ cries for “Challenge me more!” with the “Please slow down!” seemed impossible. Multiple students began asking for my phone number to “hang out” after work, but balancing my already an day of full-time work with God, family, a boyfriend, community members and friends was just stretching me too thin... In the midst of this experienced inner chaos and feeling of failure, I started to dread seeing my students and teaching in the classroom every day. The pressure to “measure up” ... felt emotionally and physically unbearable. And finally, I believed that I couldn’t really teach well... So how was I supposed to serve people if I couldn’t give to them what they needed? How was I to respond to the Christian call to serve God and his people if serving God and his people just seemed like too much to handle?


For the first three months, as I continued to grow in apathy and fear toward teaching my beginner E.S.L. class, God was simultaneously beginning to transform my call to service. The transformation of service began slowly and subtly through reading a few books by Henri Nouwen, by talking with my close housemate, Jaimee... A moment of clarity occurred one morning when my housemate Jaimee and I were talking about a few books we had recently read together by Henri Nouwen. Before we ran off to our service sites, she shared with me a beautiful insight regarding service that she had read the night before in Henri Nouwen’s book, “Adam.” “Laura, I’ve realized that it’s not so much about what you do, but it’s who you are that matters to people!” This shared insight struck me as quite simple but valuable... Perhaps the most important aspect of my service was not to create the perfect lesson plan, to adequately entertain my students, or to impress my supervisor and co-workers. Perhaps the most important aspect of my service was to first be open and present with my students in the classroom, and to listen, be interested and engaged in their everyday lives during class.


... The distinction I made between the words "for" and "with" finally marked the beginning of a unique kind of service for me. As I was acting out the definition of for to my students..., I noticed that...I cupped my left hand almost lifelessly facing the palm upwards. I then swiftly swooped my right pointing finger from my right side into the left palm. My right pointing finger became very tense. As I spoke, I illustrated to my students, “I have a gift for you!” SWOOP. “I work for Goodwill.” SWOOP. “I am here for you.” SWOOP. After acting out this word several times, I noticed that it was the right hand that did all the movement while my left hand remained open to receiving, but dull and motionless, time and time again receiving the rapid pointing finger from the right hand.


About 10 minutes later, I acted out the word with. Both of my hands were gradually brought together in a rested fashion in front of my chest. The students watched my hands with ease as one finger naturally folded over the creases of the other. Each knuckle provided a necessary support for the two hands to remain fully balanced, folded and rested together. One hand was not pressing too hard onto the other, but neither hand was pulling away, either. “I like to eat bread with butter.” FOLD. “Everyday, I eat dinner with my family.” FOLD. Or, my favorite, “I am here with you.”…FOLD.


Driving home that night, I was mesmerized by this distinction that I naturally made between the words for and with. As I mediated upon these words in a short morning prayer, the image of Jesus Christ on the cross had become much clearer in my mind, and God had provided a sudden revelation regarding love and service: I am to be the image of Jesus Christ in the world, the image of Jesus Christ crucified. Jesus serves us not only by dying for our sins, but He serves us by dying with us in our humanity as we die with him in his humanity. He calls us to die, to struggle, to laugh, to work, to love, and to live with him and with others in all our humanity together. The crucifixion provided for me a new way of unifying both an active and passive service and love of God and of others.

Reflecting back upon my hands when describing for and with, I realized the mistake I had previously made service to be. I had seen myself as the “right hand” in the definition of “for”. I had made myself the privileged, college educated, ambitious young Christian; fully alive, fully available, and fully on fire, who was giving gifts for the weak, the lifeless, and the dull of the world, “God’s precious people” you could say. They were the “left hand”. Although I had good intentions in my service, I was completely blind to the fact that I was serving people mostly for me to have the opportunity to serve; for me to have the opportunity to be the “right hand” and to do something for someone.

...John Michael Talbot beautifully said in his book, Reflections on St. Francis, that in serving, “We intentionally make ourselves smaller than others…The lesser brother genuinely sees the good gifts of others, and helps them to realize the full potential of those gifts. We must see the good in all people, and the gifts that each person holds as their own unique gift. In this sense, everyone has a gift that no one else has. Everyone is “better”, and everyone is equal. Only then can we genuinely realize our own gifts as well.”


How am I to serve, and how am I to follow Jesus? I am to serve and follow by first folding together with Christ’s crucified hand – for to serve is one human, wounded hand giving, supporting, holding, resting, and receiving from the other human, wounded hand. All is well; in the midst of our poverty and our giftedness, we remain folded together with God and with each other.




You can go here to read more entries: http://www.changeaheartvolunteers.org/Pages/Adayinthelife.html. This one was "The Power of Listening" by Laura McGee.

Switchfoot. The Sound aka John M. Perkins' Blues

Click here to read about John M. Perkins life sound.



The Static comes in slow
You can feel it grow
Our stream of conscience flows
Under the streets below

Ooooh

Ooooh

The rivers made of sound
Still running underground
Runs like a silent flood
We run as thick as blood

Can you hear it rise
Up from the ground
Can’t drown it out
Can you hear it now

This is the sound of a heartbeat
This is the sound from the discontented mouths
Of a haunted nation
We are the voice of breaking down

Can you hear me?
This is the sound of the desperation bound
By our own collisions
We are the voice of breaking down

The static comes alive
Beneath the broken skies
John Perkins said it right
Love is the final fight

Oooooh
Oooooh

Let it rise above
Rise above
There is no song
Louder than love

This is the sound of a heartbeat
this is the sound from the discontented mouths
of a haunted nation
we are the voice of breaking down

Can you hear me?
This is the sound of a desperation bound
by our own collisions
we are the voice of breaking down

Down

Let it rise above
Up from the ground
Can't drown it out
Can you hear it now

This is the sound of a heartbeat
This is the sound from the discontented mouths
Of a haunted nation, we are the voice of breaking down

Can you hear me
This is the sound of the desperation bound
by our fallen condition, we are the voice of breaking down

This is the sound
This is the sound

Unforgettable

Wow. I forgot how long a year is – for everyone, I’m sure. This time last year, I was fresh back from Uganda, didn’t know if I could or should come back to Biola, and was living out of boxes cuz I didn’t know where I’d be calling home. And now, too, I’m living out of boxes and not sure where I’ll be in a month - though I know I’m not going back to Biola this fall! A year is a long time.

But I also know where home is now, because I feel homesick just thinking about leaving my roommates and Gagelymates and metromates (Los Angeles metro area, that is!). Thanks for that, mates. I know you guys, and any of the transitions talk torrey people reading this, and anyone else, too, you all have your own stories this past year and homes made, too. Man, not just from one year but from all four years, if you’re a graduate! Long, complicated stories and dramatic, exhausting, exciting homes, I’m sure. And now we’re all embracing living on the liminal edge of not knowing where the crap our future stories and homes are headed.

If that’s not enough, we’re trying to remember and apply four years of lessons from our stories into every single one of our life choices. As Usher would say, Oh my gosh. And I thought remembering four months of lessons from Uganda was/is hard! I had a bit of a slap across the face reminder about that, and I want to share it. I got this chat message from a Ugandan student:

Sarah, how are u? when you left Uganda then u decided to forget about us.

This message sucks. I share it cuz I don’t want any of you people sending or receiving a message like this in a year, whether from a friend or from one of your most loved authors or from your own journal or a convicting song or even from God.

I don’t want you to, but you probably will. Me, too. We’re kind of forgetful. Heh. But I’m hoping maybe by sharing this reminder, maybe you guys can do a little better than me at remembering. And for you transitions talk people, maybe you can clue me in on good ways to remember that so I don’t get another message like this for a while. Maybe we could have story time about what’s happened to us these past four years, to help us remember. Ask ourselves what’s unforgettable, or at least what we want to be.

I love story time. Mmm. Tasty.

Peace.

The Halls of Justice

So as part of my welcome into adult life after graduation, this past Tuesday I went down to Santa Ana’s Center Court at 7:45 a.m. for my first jury summons. Before 9 I was sent with about 100 of the 500 or so others to a court as potential jurors. I was still trying to figure out if I could/should beg out of it because that also happened to be our last day to move out of our house into an apartment. I was sitting, looking around at the other bored/tired jurors and at the back of the defendant, when the judge started explaining the case. Attempted murder, plus drugs charges. All of a sudden I couldn’t look at the defendant the same way. In another half-hour I was sitting with about 16 others in the jury box as a juror candidate. And the judge asks so many questions, if we can look at the defendant and believe he’s innocent, unless/until proven guilty. And later the lawyers ask a similar question, is it better for a hundred innocent to be imprisoned than one guilty person go free. And they ask if we are able to judge and make a verdict on what someone is guilty of, regardless of the punishment that goes along with it. And all I can think about if Dostoevsky and the Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment, and about Jesus dying for all and what kind of justice that is, and what kind of broken justice we have down here.

During lunch break I walked around outside of the court, because there were monuments and gardens and benches. And then I noticed something else. Hidden behind every planter along one of the walkways were bags and grocery carts and blankets and people. I remembered last semester doing the homeless ministry, and learning that there were many homeless in Santa Ana. It was somewhat surreal to sit and watch people in suits and security uniforms walk by while the homeless people sat and chatted. In some ways, it’s definitely a bad thing. Hidden people, invisible people, they don’t want to hide or be invisible. We pass legislation that makes it necessary for them to hide. We choose to close our eyes. And so in the outer garden ‘courts’ of Santa Ana’s justice center, the homeless hide. But that’s a simplification. Because as I continued to sit there and look on, I noticed one of the security guards smiling and waving at one of the homeless men. And while it’s far from ideal, I realized there was something surprising about the fact that there wasn’t legislation passed that kept the homeless entirely off the grounds, which would probably be easy enough. They seemed oddly at home. They’re still probably invisible to too many passersby, but maybe I need to give a little more credit to others.

Well, I didn’t get chosen for jury duty on the case, but it taught me a similar lesson. I’m skeptical of the corrections system we have, that while it protects the rest of the population, it’s just throwing away lives instead of helping them find new life and change. But some of the other jurors had more direct experience with it, and they shared that their family members had turned around because of their experience. And I realized that honestly, Rodya in Crime and Punishment didn’t go to a prison with some amazing reform program. Those still sound good to me, but I think I forgot in my heart the good that punishment can do, even if I remembered in my head.

It was a good way to start out the summer and start out post-graduation life. A good reminder. I was a little disturbed by the lightness of the sharing, of the jokes exchanged between judge, lawyers and jury, when a man’s future was hanging in the balance. But that was another reminder. Until this semester, I had rather forgotten that it’s okay to have fun and play. For too long it seemed too selfish to me, to spend my time and money on having fun. And it can be selfish. But it can also be done in such a way that it rejuvenates you and even builds relationships and community. So make jokes, even when things are serious. Chesterton would say you can be serious without being solemn. Oh, Chesterton.

But so I guess that’s how I’m starting life not as a student – though still a learner. Serious, but silly too, not solemn. So I can play on my longboard with neighborhood kids and join in a soccer game at the park. I can teach worship songs to a new friend, and I can go to a concert. And I can work (a lot). And I can think (a lot more). And if I need some correction, discipline, punishment, hopeful I’ll remember to be grateful for it.

Yayyyyyy :)

i guess i'll die then :)

"Default is a dead end and not what college dreams are made of."

I took the exit loan counseling, and I imagine this snide, snarky guy smiling to himself as he wrote out that line. And then, of course, there's the list of how one may qualify for loan forgiveness and cancellation:

•If you are a teacher or child-care worker who qualifies for Stafford loan forgiveness.
•If you qualify for loan repayment benefits for certain military personnel.
•If you are a volunteer in programs under the National Service Trust Act of 1993 (AmeriCorps) and qualify for an education award to help repay your Stafford loans.
•If you die.
•If you meet federal requirements for total and permanent disability.
•If you prove undue hardship in an adversary proceeding in a bankruptcy court.
•If you are unable to complete your studies because your school closes, or your school falsely certified your eligibility for a loan or failed to make a refund owed to your lender.

Isn't it great? I'm glad it's true, but I just love how it comes off, stuck in the middle like that and so much shorter than the rest. Thank you, loan corporations, for not haunting us in our graves. Although that may make an excellent slasher movie of sorts...

When I think more, it gets both more silly and serious. Consider this: if you want Christ's forgiveness, just accept it, he died for you; but if you want loan forgiveness, die. (Among other things). It's a funny comparison, but then there's a certain power to it. However much of a stretch, it reminds me again about how we have to to ourselves. Thank you, loan counselor, for the reminder. Die, self! Fear not those school loans, nor serve the god, mamon, of money! [Really wish I had a foam sword now to wave dramatically]

Seriously, though, I think this struggle not to let practical concerns rule me is the hardest thing for me right now...on top of figuring out what I am good at and what I want to do and what I should do. Oh, life. You so silly! If our snide and snarky friend is right saying dead ends are NOT what college dreams are made out of, than what ARE our dreams made out of?

Besides sugar plum fairies and poor little sheep...

save or savor

If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.

- E.B. White, in an interview with The New York Times in 1969

I feel like this appropriately defines a lot of the tension I'm feeling with what path to pursue after graduation. Even just within the different Americorps opportunities I'm looking at, some are especially focused on saving the world and being pro-active and creating after-school programs and assessing development. While the ones that savor the world still all have a component of saving it, they are more focused on building community together and internal reflection and growth and learning from life.

And it gets down to what exactly I believe the nature of the world to be. Is it something only evil that needs saving, or something only good that needs savoring? But I don't think this dichotomy really is helpful. Theologically, yes, the world is fallen and only evil and needs saving - although even then, not by our power, though by our obedience. However, to only see the evil in the world is to be blind to a lot of good. The fact is, everything's fallen, self included. But everything, every single person and place, was made by God through his Word, and there is still, somewhere that original goodness in it that can be redeemed by God. And certainly, we have to savor where that good is left, and where God is growing it.

So now I'm stymied. Heh...funny word. Because tensions are just...so tense. And there's so many of them we have to sit in and live in. And it's so hard to balance, find a way to both save and savor the world. It'd be so much easier if it was just one extreme or the other. But it's not. Forget about having difficulty planning my day between the two...I've been trying to plan my life! Luckily for me, that's just plain silly. What, like my life's my own? Nah. Lose your life to find it. What am I doing trying to plan out my life in the first place? Silly girl. Silly girl.

Race and Jesus and love and unity and James 4:17

You know how on the library it says “I am the light of the world?” I was looking at that, and thinking about how the Downtown L.A. library has like the river of life flowing in/out of it, and how as Christians we talk about that as mistaking knowledge for life. But I realized I make the mistake, too, that the library is the light, instead of Jesus. This week I spent a lot of time in the library. And I really liked it. I had two papers due: one about racial unity in New Orleans through the Catholic church, and a paper exploring the motif of light in John and his letters, through the lens of unity with the Father, and our unity in Christ.

At the same time, it was “Jesus Mural Awareness Week.” I went to an (amazing) chapel of our professors talking about the mural, and was so happy when they ended talking about love and unity. I was really scared to go to the student panel, because I feel like it’s more of a volatile issue within the student body, but I was blown away by their hearts and their minds and just…I cried. It was good. Sometimes it seems like for Christians who talk about love and unity, we don’t live it out. But this was good.
I heard someone mention how the student panel was more important than the theology panel, because it was more focused on how their theology was being worked out, people were talking about feelings as well and actual experiences. And you know…it’s true. I was writing those papers in the library, doing all this research about the African-American and Latino communities in New Orleans, but what does that matter if I never TALK to them? I was doing all this thinking about walking in the light as a command for unity and love, but what does it matter if I never DO it?

Lots of really encouraging things happened the past two days after that student panel. That night I got to sit in and listen to some girls having a bible study who also happened to be Black. I know how silly I am and how much more I have to learn from the fact that I was so nervous about going up to them and because just now I almost didn’t mention it since I didn’t know if I should call them Black or African-American and I was afraid of being that stereotyped ‘stupid white girl.’ But Eliot says “in order to arrive at what you do not know you must go by a way which is the way of ignorance” (East Coker, 138-9). Heh…BAM! Eliot attack. Anyways, so I can be ignorant. Eliot says so.

But honestly, I hadn’t gotten to go to a bible study in a long time, so even that was just like…a breath of fresh air. Then, Friday was Cultural Awareness Week and Avina kicked butt. And then I was playing guitar out on the lawn, and first my friend Peter who’s an international student stopped by and we played guitar, and then this other international student came by, too, Victor, that I’d never met before, and we played for a while too, and both talked about needing English practice and wanting to play guitar, so now hopefully we will meet again this coming Friday.

So I was rather in a good mood. But you know what I did then? I deposited a check at Albertson’s, a surprisingly big one, so I was thanking God for the blessing. And there was a lady, Daniella, and her son Armani, and they were begging. And so I gave them money, and I started talking to them. And she had a place to stay, but she couldn’t find work, because she had no papers. She was illegal. And you know I gave her my number, but she doesn’t have a phone. And as I was in my car, I thought, I should take them into Albertson’s and go grocery-shopping with them, that maybe I was blessed to be a blessing. So that I'm her friend, and so she doesn't just disappear. But I drove away. Because I had a play to go to. I got to Biola, but I kept thinking of James 4:17. So I turned around and drove back.

I crept through the parking lot, and I went inside the grocery store and looked down all the aisles. But she was already gone. It was a lost opportunity. So I saw my play, and I spent more money on that then I was willing to spend giving to her. And I doubt I’ll ever see her again. And if I do, I’m afraid I won’t have learned the lesson. But I am learning it, I really am starting to, at least. What you do in the library, in your prayer time, in your bible study? It’s really nothing, it’s less than nothing, it counts against you, if you don’t live it out in your life and relationships. And that’s not impossible to do, because the real light of the world, this crazy man-God Jesus Christ who was sent to us out of love, and unites us love, he’s going to be lighting your path, if you just start by taking a single step.

James 4:17 → Right after saying how full people are of themselves and their good works, he ends: “So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”

Thank God for forgiveness.

Haiti...When Helping Hurts

You know that question of giving man a fish or teaching him how to fish? Well, what if you’ve been taking the fish and making people pay to fish there and sell the fish to others? My mom and I were talking about how people were angry at aid workers in Haiti. She was surprised. I actually felt that anger, even at myself. Mark LeVine wraps up his article his article in al-Jazeera with reference to why they might be angry and how to help:

Haiti's complex and, from an American point of view, largely unpleasant and unedifying history must be acknowledged if there is to be any hope that the country's internationally financed reconstruction will not merely lay the groundwork for more poverty and disasters.

That history, the article describes, includes colonization and slavery, a US occupation and US corporation land bids, US support of the infamous Papa Doc and Baby Doc for two decades, and IMF/World Bank pressure for unpopular economic policies. Sometimes when we try to help, we end up hurting - that's dependency theory, that we create and even exploit relationships of dependency. Lots of reasons for anger there. But some times when we (the West) use our own example, we do help - that's modernization theory. We have done both, hurt and helped. We have to learn from our mistakes. We’ve got to use our heads, hearts and hands. Get the fish to Haiti, but make sure the people get the fish, and don't stop there. Make sure we're not killing or selling off any of their own fish. IMF and World Bank are MBA smarties, yet their program seems to do just that, being:

epitomised by the shift in agriculture from local production to export oriented crops and to the break-down of Haiti's rural economy with the import of heavily subsidised American products - exemplified by "faux-cheap" American rice with which the locally produced rice could not compete.

Fertile, third-world regions of the world have to import food staples because they are exporting so much. If we don’t start seeking out where Haiti already has fish and allowing them to protect those fish in trade, we hurt more than help. Fair trade is not just a slogan. Even America had protectionist economic polices when it was getting started; we still help our own farmers. If we really want to let them follow our own example, why can't Haiti do what we did? Obviously, economic policies didn't cause the earthquake. But now if we really want to help them, we need to be honest.

When Katrina happened, everybody wanted to help. Same thing with the tsunami. And now Haiti. Eventually Haiti's going to drop out of the news, like the others, and out of people's minds. When I say we have to get involved, I don't mean we must make Haiti our life mission, our bit of the world we'll save. I mean we've got to find a way to live that's fair, that helps more than it hurts. We want to help, but we're afraid to hurt ourselves in the process - there's so many causes competing for our time and money. If we divide our fish, they'll multiply, but we'll have less each, and have to deal with distribution. But if we help people raise their own fish - and only provide fish for emergency relief - the fish'll actually multiply, and we won't hurt anyone by trying to make ourselves into fishy sailor saviors.

At least, I think. Tell me what you think, about any of this. It's only thoughts, Give me yours. Haiti's hurting. We want to help. These guys seem to know how to do it:
- Paul Collier talks about the plan for Haiti that focuses on “jobs and communities and building institutions from scratch."
- iMedical workers and even the U.S. government are trying to meet the enormous medical needs of the rural people at the center of the quake.
- Countless NGOs in Haiti give an immersed account of what's hurting and how to help.
- The Haitian musician Wyclef Jean learns how to help from mistakes in his own charity.