Someone complemented me the other day in a way that I don’t think I’d ever heard before. The words were simple, but the meaning is something that I’ve been praying to be realized for many months or even years.
In May I applied for and was offered a job working at a Jewish Community Center for their Summer Day-Camp program. It turned out to be an incredible job that seemed almost too good to be true. I basically spent ten weeks singing songs with kids, playing games, learning about Israel, going on cool field trips, going swimming, learning some Hebrew words and having a lot of fun all while getting paid for it. Of course every job has it’s ups and downs and there were definitely moments I questioned what I was doing, but more than that it was an incredible opportunity to reach into an area of society I would probably never normally be able to reach.
I had different groups that I was assigned to for different sessions. My first group was about 24 second and third graders. They were a lot of fun as they were usually very engaged and eager to be involved. The second group was some older kids grades 4,5 and 6. They were a little bit more of a challenge as the group was so diverse. There were little petite fourth graders playing dodgeball next to big sixth graders. The third group was first graders who had all kinds of wiggles and energy and all I could think of with this group was Controlled Mayhem. My fourth group was a big mix of grades and we were a sand sculpture group that had the tough job of going to the beach everyday to learn how to make sand sculptures. The last group was a big group of 2nd and 3rd graders whose names I finally figured out near the end of the session.
Lots of names and faces. Lots of lives and hearts and dreams and potential. I had an opportunity the very last day of camp to address the entire group of campers. It was part of the morning skit and I knew that in that moment I had a chance to either make them laugh, or speak to their hearts… I chose both.
I stood before them without any costume or anything to hide who I was. I introduced myself as Matthew, a Head Counselor for one of the groups. I told them that I had been there all Summer and wanted to share something very important with them. I told them that even though we dress silly and act crazy sometimes, there are also times that it’s ok to just be who we are. That each of them has something inside of them called potential. The ability to do or become anything they want.
Somewhere along the timeline of our lives we go from becoming dreamers to becoming doers. But it’s not always that we’re doing what we dreamed of. Ask a child what they want to be when they grow up and you’ll hear some big ideas and you’ll see some eyes sparkle. And then somewhere along the line we’re told we’re not smart enough, good enough, tall enough, pretty enough, funny enough, fast enough, etc. etc. etc. Or a list of other things. Somewhere along the road we stop dreaming.
And so for just a moment, I told the kids not to stop dreaming. That even though we may pretend sometimes to be something we’re not, it’s ok to be who we are and continue dreaming.
One of the counselors and I were talking a while after the camp. We both agreed about how incredible it would be to be able to catch up with some of these kids after five or ten years. I’m sure they will have forgotten names and faces and speeches and encouragement we gave them. But hopefully, just maybe, they will remember to keep dreaming and to keep being just the way their Father created them.
As I walked to the car that last day of camp, one of the few other Christian staff members said simply “I think you were the salt of the camp”.
That’s my prayer, almost everyday I go, that I would have a spirit of wisdom and discernment and be salt and light in the dark places.
My journey has taken a turn. I applied and was accepted to Army Officer Candidate School. I leave Tuesday the 24th of August to begin a new season and chapter. I’ll be working in the Army Reserves in a Civil Affairs unit near my home in San Jose. I continue to pray for a spirit of wisdom and discernment and to be light in dark places as I learn to lead men and women, some of whom have forgotten how to dream.
The LORD shall go forth like a mighty man; He shall stir up His zeal like a man of war. He shall cry out, yes, shout aloud; He shall prevail against His enemies.
Is. 42:13
Thanks for reading.
8.23.2010
4.13.2010
Room for you
It’s taken a little more than a month to be able to settle on words that will inadequately describe recent events. And yet even a month seems that it won’t do justice to the new emotions that will continue to haunt the back reaches of my mind and thoughts. Something moves in the shadows of my heart that still hasn’t found the light of explanation, yet I’m compelled to try to express the beauty of it all.
Words and songs and phrases fail in my desperate need to bring some kind of summary of what’s happened. In school I was taught to analyze culture and people groups and to put them in categories or summarize their thoughts and behaviors. I try desperately to somehow find conclusions that are simply not there.
9:07am March 11th. Our world was colored with wonder and amazement. I remember some of my first thoughts and reactions as I entered the small delivery room. But many of them were too sudden or too fractured or too unexplainable to be able to try in a simple page to describe. Here, lying in a small bed was a new life, one untainted by worry or fear or doubt. This small life was carrying hope, joy, love, peace, destiny, purpose and biggest of all: intention.
4:07pm April 11th. I whisper songs of the Father into her sleeping ears, yet my words and sentences never complete as tears fill my ears and my throat tightens. How is it that she’s captured my heart in only one month? How is it that a life so small and fragile can move your heart to beyond words or explanation? How is it that she can rest so fully in arms of safety and security without being aware of where she is? How is it that I sometimes forget that I too can find my rest and security in my Fathers arms?
I smile in wonder at how she can sleep so completely while just beyond her reach the world seems out of control or in disarray and confusion. Yet not here, not with her. She closes her eyes and knows nothing of the troubles of life. When was the last time I rested like that? When was the last time I fell asleep and let myself dream in my Fathers arms? When was the last time I realized that my problems only seem big when my view of my Father is small?
Your Father sings over you Violet. He proclaims songs in unity with your heart. He declares songs that will give you character, emotions, skills, talents and personality. He shouts songs of destiny and divine calling; to be a daughter who walks in authority of her heritage as a releaser of captives and a provider of life.
There is room for you here Violet. Your life is most welcome in our world and in our hearts. There is purpose for your life and your breath and there is a need for your beauty on the earth. Your steps will not be missed, your words will not go unheard, your songs will not go unwritten and your heart will not go unguarded.
I the Lord, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand.
I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people
and a light for the Gentiles.
Is. 42:6
Thanks for reading
Words and songs and phrases fail in my desperate need to bring some kind of summary of what’s happened. In school I was taught to analyze culture and people groups and to put them in categories or summarize their thoughts and behaviors. I try desperately to somehow find conclusions that are simply not there.
9:07am March 11th. Our world was colored with wonder and amazement. I remember some of my first thoughts and reactions as I entered the small delivery room. But many of them were too sudden or too fractured or too unexplainable to be able to try in a simple page to describe. Here, lying in a small bed was a new life, one untainted by worry or fear or doubt. This small life was carrying hope, joy, love, peace, destiny, purpose and biggest of all: intention.
4:07pm April 11th. I whisper songs of the Father into her sleeping ears, yet my words and sentences never complete as tears fill my ears and my throat tightens. How is it that she’s captured my heart in only one month? How is it that a life so small and fragile can move your heart to beyond words or explanation? How is it that she can rest so fully in arms of safety and security without being aware of where she is? How is it that I sometimes forget that I too can find my rest and security in my Fathers arms?
I smile in wonder at how she can sleep so completely while just beyond her reach the world seems out of control or in disarray and confusion. Yet not here, not with her. She closes her eyes and knows nothing of the troubles of life. When was the last time I rested like that? When was the last time I fell asleep and let myself dream in my Fathers arms? When was the last time I realized that my problems only seem big when my view of my Father is small?
Your Father sings over you Violet. He proclaims songs in unity with your heart. He declares songs that will give you character, emotions, skills, talents and personality. He shouts songs of destiny and divine calling; to be a daughter who walks in authority of her heritage as a releaser of captives and a provider of life.
There is room for you here Violet. Your life is most welcome in our world and in our hearts. There is purpose for your life and your breath and there is a need for your beauty on the earth. Your steps will not be missed, your words will not go unheard, your songs will not go unwritten and your heart will not go unguarded.
I the Lord, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand.
I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people
and a light for the Gentiles.
Is. 42:6
Thanks for reading
1.26.2010
alamere falls
rain
A necessary ingredient for life, yet sometimes an unwanted ally. I walked through over five miles of it yesterday in search of something. Not sure I found what I was after but something definitely found me.
slogged
I wasn’t sure that was a word until today when I noticed my computer didn’t try to fix the spelling. I thought I had invented the word yesterday when puddle after puddle muddled my pants and shoes. Should have been more prepared.
muddled
Just realized that is also a word.
meander
I had set off quite hastily in the morning with only a few snacks, a GPS, my running shoes, a camera and a slightly hazy idea of where I was going. I hadn’t been there in probably seven years. But it wasn’t just my desire to go that was drawing me, there was something else.
romanced
The high cliffs and waves pounding the coast make for an incredible backdrop to the 5.5 mile hike to Wildcat campground. The last two weeks of rain and yesterdays forecast of more rain and wind made the journey even more adventurous. The drive takes you through parts of San Francisco, across the Golden Gate, along winding coastal highways, through small sleepy beach towns and finally to Point Reyes National Seashore. The park has multiple access points which means you should probably have a good idea of where you’re going before you end up at the visitor center realizing you missed your point of interest fifteen miles ago. Not that I learned from experience, but that’s just what I’ve heard.
As you drive down the dead-end road you pass some grazing areas for animals and a Coast Guard communication base. Although it’s more just a small building tucked into the hill, the building is surrounded by big radio towers and things that look like they are monitoring a lot more than just the tides. At the very end of the road you come to Palomarin Trailhead. From here you begin the journey that will separate men from boys. This was where I found myself.
At about two minutes into the walk I stopped suddenly and stared at the trail. There before me lay a large muddy puddle that completely covered the path. I realized quickly that I had completely worn the wrong shoes and I would be better off just getting into the car and going back home where it was warm and less windy and less rainy. However, something deeper inside me said to find a way through. So I did. I passed by the left side of the puddle through some sticker bushes and some of the less sloggy parts of the trail. Once past that I figured the rest should be easier. I need to stop trying to figure.
The trail is steep at points, rocky at points, covered in water at points, slippery, wet, dark, dangerous, etc. The very beginning of the trail warns you of mountain lions in the area. So I quickly began talking out loud to warn any would be ‘attackers-of-hikers’ that I was approaching. The trail I was looking for was an un-maintained trail that was so overgrown the branches and bushes are scraping up against you as you walk through. It’s a well-worn dirt path but no one goes and cuts back the under or overgrowth. So basically after you’ve made it through the main trail about three miles, you veer off towards the waterfall and into the difficult part. When you finally get to the waterfall you can’t actually see it unless you scramble down the eroded dirt cliffs to the ocean. On the chance something bad did happen to me, I realized I hadn’t explained very well where I was going which means no one would start looking for me for at least another five hours. So as courageous as I was, I decided not to venture into the deep ravine cut out by the recent rains and erosion. The waterfall was nice to look at. The hill I was perched atop was neat. The wind that almost, literally almost blew me over was interesting. But there was something else there that day that really caught my feelings.
nudge
I’m not sure if that’s the best way to even describe it. But that’s kind of what it felt like. A nudge by a friend to get my attention. Someone just simply saying, hey. I think on Facebook we call it a poke. Kind of weird but I think God had poked at me. Not a super poke, or throwing chickens or practicing karate or whatever all those other things are. Just a hand on the shoulder kind of thing that makes you realize you’re appreciated and cared for. A nudge. Before I had even reached the waterfall, I found myself walking along the trail and feeling that I had been brought here for Him to take His caring hand and shine my heart up a bit. Almost a nudge on my heart that makes you shiver in a good way. I think it was His way of expressing love. And it felt really good.
today
My legs hurt. It’s still raining and I’m remembering the last few moments of the adventure. I made it back to the car. Took a picture of my muddy shoes and pants. Took off my wet raincoat and sat down to eat my poppy seed muffin. Much to my dismay it was a little past due so I drove home hungry. Yet for some reason the commuter traffic, the lack of food, the wet muddy shoes, wet socks and feet, the continual rain, the bad drivers and the long drive home didn’t seem to matter that much. For something of a much greater nature had happened that day. I had been nudged by my creator. And it made me happy.
thanks
for reading
"Certainly spending just one day in your temple courts is better than spending a thousand elsewhere. I would rather stand at the entrance to the temple of my God than live in the tents of the wicked"
Ps. 84:10
A necessary ingredient for life, yet sometimes an unwanted ally. I walked through over five miles of it yesterday in search of something. Not sure I found what I was after but something definitely found me.
slogged
I wasn’t sure that was a word until today when I noticed my computer didn’t try to fix the spelling. I thought I had invented the word yesterday when puddle after puddle muddled my pants and shoes. Should have been more prepared.
muddled
Just realized that is also a word.
meander
I had set off quite hastily in the morning with only a few snacks, a GPS, my running shoes, a camera and a slightly hazy idea of where I was going. I hadn’t been there in probably seven years. But it wasn’t just my desire to go that was drawing me, there was something else.
romanced
The high cliffs and waves pounding the coast make for an incredible backdrop to the 5.5 mile hike to Wildcat campground. The last two weeks of rain and yesterdays forecast of more rain and wind made the journey even more adventurous. The drive takes you through parts of San Francisco, across the Golden Gate, along winding coastal highways, through small sleepy beach towns and finally to Point Reyes National Seashore. The park has multiple access points which means you should probably have a good idea of where you’re going before you end up at the visitor center realizing you missed your point of interest fifteen miles ago. Not that I learned from experience, but that’s just what I’ve heard.
As you drive down the dead-end road you pass some grazing areas for animals and a Coast Guard communication base. Although it’s more just a small building tucked into the hill, the building is surrounded by big radio towers and things that look like they are monitoring a lot more than just the tides. At the very end of the road you come to Palomarin Trailhead. From here you begin the journey that will separate men from boys. This was where I found myself.
At about two minutes into the walk I stopped suddenly and stared at the trail. There before me lay a large muddy puddle that completely covered the path. I realized quickly that I had completely worn the wrong shoes and I would be better off just getting into the car and going back home where it was warm and less windy and less rainy. However, something deeper inside me said to find a way through. So I did. I passed by the left side of the puddle through some sticker bushes and some of the less sloggy parts of the trail. Once past that I figured the rest should be easier. I need to stop trying to figure.
The trail is steep at points, rocky at points, covered in water at points, slippery, wet, dark, dangerous, etc. The very beginning of the trail warns you of mountain lions in the area. So I quickly began talking out loud to warn any would be ‘attackers-of-hikers’ that I was approaching. The trail I was looking for was an un-maintained trail that was so overgrown the branches and bushes are scraping up against you as you walk through. It’s a well-worn dirt path but no one goes and cuts back the under or overgrowth. So basically after you’ve made it through the main trail about three miles, you veer off towards the waterfall and into the difficult part. When you finally get to the waterfall you can’t actually see it unless you scramble down the eroded dirt cliffs to the ocean. On the chance something bad did happen to me, I realized I hadn’t explained very well where I was going which means no one would start looking for me for at least another five hours. So as courageous as I was, I decided not to venture into the deep ravine cut out by the recent rains and erosion. The waterfall was nice to look at. The hill I was perched atop was neat. The wind that almost, literally almost blew me over was interesting. But there was something else there that day that really caught my feelings.
nudge
I’m not sure if that’s the best way to even describe it. But that’s kind of what it felt like. A nudge by a friend to get my attention. Someone just simply saying, hey. I think on Facebook we call it a poke. Kind of weird but I think God had poked at me. Not a super poke, or throwing chickens or practicing karate or whatever all those other things are. Just a hand on the shoulder kind of thing that makes you realize you’re appreciated and cared for. A nudge. Before I had even reached the waterfall, I found myself walking along the trail and feeling that I had been brought here for Him to take His caring hand and shine my heart up a bit. Almost a nudge on my heart that makes you shiver in a good way. I think it was His way of expressing love. And it felt really good.
today
My legs hurt. It’s still raining and I’m remembering the last few moments of the adventure. I made it back to the car. Took a picture of my muddy shoes and pants. Took off my wet raincoat and sat down to eat my poppy seed muffin. Much to my dismay it was a little past due so I drove home hungry. Yet for some reason the commuter traffic, the lack of food, the wet muddy shoes, wet socks and feet, the continual rain, the bad drivers and the long drive home didn’t seem to matter that much. For something of a much greater nature had happened that day. I had been nudged by my creator. And it made me happy.
thanks
for reading
"Certainly spending just one day in your temple courts is better than spending a thousand elsewhere. I would rather stand at the entrance to the temple of my God than live in the tents of the wicked"
Ps. 84:10
10.13.2009
Cooking Utensils
While I’ve never been much of a great creative genius when it comes to cooking; I am partially able to tell the difference between teaspoons and tablespoons, the difference between baking soda and baking powder and the difference between forks and spoons. Although there are still a few items and techniques that I don’t understand, somehow I find myself researching meat tenderizers.
It seems that it can be multiple different things from an enzyme, which breaks down the connections of the proteins in the peptide bonds that blah blah blah… Or other options which include a hammer or an old cudgel like instrument that you use to beat-down a steak with. Still other options include a small gadget that looks like an “As Seen on TV” special. It has multiple blades on it and you use it repeatedly to pulverize a harmless pork roast. Regardless of which option someone chooses, the result usually comes out the same: a beat-down, helpless and surrendered, tenderized piece of meat. Which is about the correct definition of my heart.
A few months ago I got a surprising yet short phone call. My brother who’s been married for over four years now called to tell me my sister-in-law is pregnant and due in March. As this seems to be a very natural part of the marriage, growing-up and continuing the human species type event, I was kind of prepared for the day that I would get that call. However during a recent trip home something was very different about the whole event and how our family would be changing. The enzyme had started working.
Now the obvious part of the whole thing, which was explained to me recently when I related this story, is that because she’s pregnant she’ll start to have a little bump for a stomach. Which I guess I wasn’t really ready for until they met us for dinner one night. Suddenly the reality of my mom’s grandma status, my extended uncle status and the weirdest part of Micah being a Dad helped continue this strange tenderizing process. I think it was the cudgel.
A few days later as I’m driving and thinking about the new baby I start getting all glossy and watery eyed. (I had the windows open so it could’ve been some dust or a bug or something that just happened to get into both eyes at the exact same time) But I think it was something much deeper. I felt God opening my heart to an understanding and to feeling love and connection to someone that I’d never felt before. I began realizing that this small child that’s not even born yet, probably doesn’t even weigh as much as my wallet, has somehow captured my heart already. Somehow this young life is introducing me to a new way of knowing God’s love. It was definitely the hammer.
“Your heart is being tenderized” my Pastor told me recently as I related this story to him. I hadn’t thought of that. I had come home from the visit feeling that now more than ever I wanted to move back to California so I could be a part of this event. So I could be there when it happens, not actually be THERE in the delivery, but to be around. A life is being brought into the world and not that it hasn’t ever happened before to anyone else in the world, but for some reason this pregnant lady is different. For some reason God has taken all these cooking utensils and begun to unlock new places and new understandings of not only what love means, but also to continue capturing my heart for Him. The movement of His spirit isn’t so much focused on my physical location, but focused more on the status of my heart.
Whatever feelings of love, excitement, connection, anticipation or whatever else I’m feeling, I’m beginning to see that the only reason I’m able to feel or experience this is because a Creator placed it there. While made in His image, we must also be made in His likeness, which would then lead me to believe that we also carry His emotions.
What other avenues or areas is God waiting to open or explore in our hearts? How much more of Him can we begin to experience as we experience life and just let Him move in us? Is it really possible for God to love us and like us even more than we’ll even be able to know?
And yes of course I’ll be a good uncle who appropriately spoils this kid. Maybe not with all kinds of material possessions or things, but maybe I can spoil her or him with an unlocked place in my heart full of love, affection, encouragement and amazement. With how much I feel is in there, I wonder if it’s even possible for God to have more.
The Lord has appeared of old to me, saying:
Yes I have loved you with an everlasting love;
Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you.
Jer. 31:3
It seems that it can be multiple different things from an enzyme, which breaks down the connections of the proteins in the peptide bonds that blah blah blah… Or other options which include a hammer or an old cudgel like instrument that you use to beat-down a steak with. Still other options include a small gadget that looks like an “As Seen on TV” special. It has multiple blades on it and you use it repeatedly to pulverize a harmless pork roast. Regardless of which option someone chooses, the result usually comes out the same: a beat-down, helpless and surrendered, tenderized piece of meat. Which is about the correct definition of my heart.
A few months ago I got a surprising yet short phone call. My brother who’s been married for over four years now called to tell me my sister-in-law is pregnant and due in March. As this seems to be a very natural part of the marriage, growing-up and continuing the human species type event, I was kind of prepared for the day that I would get that call. However during a recent trip home something was very different about the whole event and how our family would be changing. The enzyme had started working.
Now the obvious part of the whole thing, which was explained to me recently when I related this story, is that because she’s pregnant she’ll start to have a little bump for a stomach. Which I guess I wasn’t really ready for until they met us for dinner one night. Suddenly the reality of my mom’s grandma status, my extended uncle status and the weirdest part of Micah being a Dad helped continue this strange tenderizing process. I think it was the cudgel.
A few days later as I’m driving and thinking about the new baby I start getting all glossy and watery eyed. (I had the windows open so it could’ve been some dust or a bug or something that just happened to get into both eyes at the exact same time) But I think it was something much deeper. I felt God opening my heart to an understanding and to feeling love and connection to someone that I’d never felt before. I began realizing that this small child that’s not even born yet, probably doesn’t even weigh as much as my wallet, has somehow captured my heart already. Somehow this young life is introducing me to a new way of knowing God’s love. It was definitely the hammer.
“Your heart is being tenderized” my Pastor told me recently as I related this story to him. I hadn’t thought of that. I had come home from the visit feeling that now more than ever I wanted to move back to California so I could be a part of this event. So I could be there when it happens, not actually be THERE in the delivery, but to be around. A life is being brought into the world and not that it hasn’t ever happened before to anyone else in the world, but for some reason this pregnant lady is different. For some reason God has taken all these cooking utensils and begun to unlock new places and new understandings of not only what love means, but also to continue capturing my heart for Him. The movement of His spirit isn’t so much focused on my physical location, but focused more on the status of my heart.
Whatever feelings of love, excitement, connection, anticipation or whatever else I’m feeling, I’m beginning to see that the only reason I’m able to feel or experience this is because a Creator placed it there. While made in His image, we must also be made in His likeness, which would then lead me to believe that we also carry His emotions.
What other avenues or areas is God waiting to open or explore in our hearts? How much more of Him can we begin to experience as we experience life and just let Him move in us? Is it really possible for God to love us and like us even more than we’ll even be able to know?
And yes of course I’ll be a good uncle who appropriately spoils this kid. Maybe not with all kinds of material possessions or things, but maybe I can spoil her or him with an unlocked place in my heart full of love, affection, encouragement and amazement. With how much I feel is in there, I wonder if it’s even possible for God to have more.
The Lord has appeared of old to me, saying:
Yes I have loved you with an everlasting love;
Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you.
Jer. 31:3
5.08.2009
Ziplocked Legos
I’d like to say that many years ago as I was growing up I used to play and build with Legos. Being truthful though I’d have to add that even today there are still a few sets to be found laying in various parts of the house with a bin full of them in the garage. My brothers and I would strategically place castle, medieval and pirate characters around a base or a fortress of some kind. Like they say “You can take a kid away from Legos, but you can’t take Lego’s away from a kid…” Or something like that.
Tonight after I locked up the church ministry center I got a phone call. One of the fellow staff members was hoping I was still inside and hadn’t left yet. Unfortunately I said, I’m already on my way home just heading out of the parking lot. “Is everything ok?” I asked. As it turned out a small meltdown was taking place.
Apparently one of the young kids that night had left his Ziploc bag full of Legos in the church and the lady was wondering if we were still in the building to check for them. I’m sure she had gotten a call from a mom who was trying to console a panicked kid about his (or her) favorite Lego collection. At the time I was already leaving and was advised not to worry about it, that she would call one of the other staff members to see if she had found the missing multi-colored bricks.
I guess I kind of laughed a little at the thought of the kid at home having a “meltdown” about some toys. Here it is past ten-o-clock at night and I’m sure he’s sitting up in bed in his pajamas crying his eyes out. Amazing the importance these small toys have on his life.
And then of course, in God’s simple and gently ways, the spotlight is turned on me.
Tonight, for a second week in a row, one of our pastors read from Haggai 2:7. If you had asked me three weeks ago whether Haggai was a book in the Bible, I would’ve had to think a long, long time about that.
The verse speaks about God saying He will shake all the nations. He will shake them to fill His house with Glory. An interesting verse, an interesting thought and an interesting way that I see it being applied to my life.
There’s an allure to the “stuff” I can have in my life. An attraction to having something “newer” or “better” or “bigger” or “faster” things. All these things that I’m told I need in my life. All these things that everyone seems to have and they seem to bring happiness. All these things that can somehow become a priority over God in the amount of money, time or resources we give to them. Legos.
What are the things that I have in my life that God is going to shake? What things do I invest too much time or resources in? What things in my life do I take comfort in? The stuff that I have in my life that will someday be in the back of my closet in a Goodwill bag, does it take first place? Have I placed my comfort, security and peace of mind in something that will never last forever?
When I put all these things; careers, jobs, house, car, family, money, health on one side of the scale and put a righteous pursuit of God’s Heart on the other, which weighs heavier? Which side takes priority? Honestly?
When I look at the boys’ (or girls’) meltdown I think how trivial, they’re crying about Legos. How insignificant is that? To that child though, those Legos are comfort and security. What are the Ziplocked Lego bags in my life? The things that if God were to shake up a bit it would cause me to sit up at night crying in my pajamas in bed.
I want to desperately seek His Heart and intimately know His Love. To find security, comfort, peace and rest knowing who my safety and who my Father is. Knowing that whatever Legos are given or taken away from me in my days, none will match His smile on my life.
I contemplated turning around and going back to search for the lost treasure. However I was assured that it would be ok and I didn’t need to do that. Now as I sit at home writing this, I have a feeling the lesson the boy (or girl) is learning is soon to become my lesson as well.
Haggai 2:7
“…and I will shake all nations. And they shall come to the Desire of All Nations, and I will fill this temple with glory, says the Lord of hosts”
(page 832 in my Bible, I checked the Table of Contents)
My prayer is that God would shake things out of me in order to bring glory to Him.
Thanks for reading
Tonight after I locked up the church ministry center I got a phone call. One of the fellow staff members was hoping I was still inside and hadn’t left yet. Unfortunately I said, I’m already on my way home just heading out of the parking lot. “Is everything ok?” I asked. As it turned out a small meltdown was taking place.
Apparently one of the young kids that night had left his Ziploc bag full of Legos in the church and the lady was wondering if we were still in the building to check for them. I’m sure she had gotten a call from a mom who was trying to console a panicked kid about his (or her) favorite Lego collection. At the time I was already leaving and was advised not to worry about it, that she would call one of the other staff members to see if she had found the missing multi-colored bricks.
I guess I kind of laughed a little at the thought of the kid at home having a “meltdown” about some toys. Here it is past ten-o-clock at night and I’m sure he’s sitting up in bed in his pajamas crying his eyes out. Amazing the importance these small toys have on his life.
And then of course, in God’s simple and gently ways, the spotlight is turned on me.
Tonight, for a second week in a row, one of our pastors read from Haggai 2:7. If you had asked me three weeks ago whether Haggai was a book in the Bible, I would’ve had to think a long, long time about that.
The verse speaks about God saying He will shake all the nations. He will shake them to fill His house with Glory. An interesting verse, an interesting thought and an interesting way that I see it being applied to my life.
There’s an allure to the “stuff” I can have in my life. An attraction to having something “newer” or “better” or “bigger” or “faster” things. All these things that I’m told I need in my life. All these things that everyone seems to have and they seem to bring happiness. All these things that can somehow become a priority over God in the amount of money, time or resources we give to them. Legos.
What are the things that I have in my life that God is going to shake? What things do I invest too much time or resources in? What things in my life do I take comfort in? The stuff that I have in my life that will someday be in the back of my closet in a Goodwill bag, does it take first place? Have I placed my comfort, security and peace of mind in something that will never last forever?
When I put all these things; careers, jobs, house, car, family, money, health on one side of the scale and put a righteous pursuit of God’s Heart on the other, which weighs heavier? Which side takes priority? Honestly?
When I look at the boys’ (or girls’) meltdown I think how trivial, they’re crying about Legos. How insignificant is that? To that child though, those Legos are comfort and security. What are the Ziplocked Lego bags in my life? The things that if God were to shake up a bit it would cause me to sit up at night crying in my pajamas in bed.
I want to desperately seek His Heart and intimately know His Love. To find security, comfort, peace and rest knowing who my safety and who my Father is. Knowing that whatever Legos are given or taken away from me in my days, none will match His smile on my life.
I contemplated turning around and going back to search for the lost treasure. However I was assured that it would be ok and I didn’t need to do that. Now as I sit at home writing this, I have a feeling the lesson the boy (or girl) is learning is soon to become my lesson as well.
Haggai 2:7
“…and I will shake all nations. And they shall come to the Desire of All Nations, and I will fill this temple with glory, says the Lord of hosts”
(page 832 in my Bible, I checked the Table of Contents)
My prayer is that God would shake things out of me in order to bring glory to Him.
Thanks for reading
3.12.2009
Start with I
I was asked a question today that I wasn’t prepared for. A question that years or months ago there would’ve been a simple answer for, a simple unquestionable response; this evening though I stumbled to formulate my thoughts.
A friend of mine asked me to help out a friend of his who had to interview a missionary for one of their mission’s classes at school. One of the highlights of doing what you do is that people sometimes ask you lots of questions and you get the impossible task of trying to put years of experiences into linear thoughts and attempt to combine them into reasonable answers. The question wouldn’t have been too difficult to answer just a year ago.
For seven years I worked overseas with Book of Hope. I served faithfully in different aspects of the ministry in about 40 countries. I raised my own support, put aside dreams and careers and family and friends. Leaving the familiar for the unknown, saying goodbye to the American Dream for the Missionary lifestyle; leaving the normal and the semi-predictable for places of weakness, loneliness and desperation. It would seem that I’m patting myself on the back, but I’m not, I’m realizing that I was wrong.
The question went something like this, “What aspects have you learned from Missions that I can apply to my own life”.
Two words immediately came to mind. Two words that I could think of that have signified my work in missions and ministry. Two aspects came to my mind that I’ve actually taught as ministry essentials to new interns. Integrity and Servanthood. I used to teach two classes and even have the interns do a fill-in of key words and thoughts. As I began explaining myself and what those two words or aspects meant another word that starts with “I” began to invade my thoughts. A word that suddenly made me reflect on my seven years and whether I had missed the purpose of being in ministry or in service to God.
When you think about it. All the other words or aspects that you could name really flow from this one thing. Heart for service, joy, peace, patience, integrity, wisdom, servanthood, being all you can be. Integrity and Servanthood were things that marked my actions. But God isn’t interested in our doing. The word continued to plague my thoughts. Intimacy.
As I look back I can see that of all the work I’ve done, all the places, all the trainings, all the books, all the teams, all the sleepless nights, all the long plane, train and bus rides, all the foreign languages, all the schools and everything else to go with it doesn’t mean anything without an intimate relationship with Christ.
It’s just stuff. It’s just work, the same as someone sitting at a desk all day, the same as someone digging trenches all day. Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything without knowing Christ and His heart.
All these years of service haven’t meant anything without knowing God’s heart. All the doing means nothing without the loving. Perhaps the most “human-mind-boggling” part about the whole thing is that God desires this intimacy with us.
As the world careens towards the end times the most important thing in our lives will most likely not be which career we choose or where we live. The most important thing to fuel our existence will be an ever-increasing intimate knowledge of God’s heart. Intimacy with Christ will be what sets us apart and what saves us from being misled.
When I look back at pictures and stories from the past seven years there are some regrets and some places that I wish I would’ve had more integrity or I wish I would’ve served more. But in every single instance, I wish I would’ve searched for a deeper relationship and love of God and His heart.
I won’t carry the weight of regret or sulk about time lost or time given. I will however choose to put one thing in the forefront of everything else. To desperately pursue and passionately seek an intimate relationship with the Lover of my heart.
How precious to me are your thoughts, oh God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake I am still with you.
Ps. 139: 17-18
Thanks for reading
A friend of mine asked me to help out a friend of his who had to interview a missionary for one of their mission’s classes at school. One of the highlights of doing what you do is that people sometimes ask you lots of questions and you get the impossible task of trying to put years of experiences into linear thoughts and attempt to combine them into reasonable answers. The question wouldn’t have been too difficult to answer just a year ago.
For seven years I worked overseas with Book of Hope. I served faithfully in different aspects of the ministry in about 40 countries. I raised my own support, put aside dreams and careers and family and friends. Leaving the familiar for the unknown, saying goodbye to the American Dream for the Missionary lifestyle; leaving the normal and the semi-predictable for places of weakness, loneliness and desperation. It would seem that I’m patting myself on the back, but I’m not, I’m realizing that I was wrong.
The question went something like this, “What aspects have you learned from Missions that I can apply to my own life”.
Two words immediately came to mind. Two words that I could think of that have signified my work in missions and ministry. Two aspects came to my mind that I’ve actually taught as ministry essentials to new interns. Integrity and Servanthood. I used to teach two classes and even have the interns do a fill-in of key words and thoughts. As I began explaining myself and what those two words or aspects meant another word that starts with “I” began to invade my thoughts. A word that suddenly made me reflect on my seven years and whether I had missed the purpose of being in ministry or in service to God.
When you think about it. All the other words or aspects that you could name really flow from this one thing. Heart for service, joy, peace, patience, integrity, wisdom, servanthood, being all you can be. Integrity and Servanthood were things that marked my actions. But God isn’t interested in our doing. The word continued to plague my thoughts. Intimacy.
As I look back I can see that of all the work I’ve done, all the places, all the trainings, all the books, all the teams, all the sleepless nights, all the long plane, train and bus rides, all the foreign languages, all the schools and everything else to go with it doesn’t mean anything without an intimate relationship with Christ.
It’s just stuff. It’s just work, the same as someone sitting at a desk all day, the same as someone digging trenches all day. Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything without knowing Christ and His heart.
All these years of service haven’t meant anything without knowing God’s heart. All the doing means nothing without the loving. Perhaps the most “human-mind-boggling” part about the whole thing is that God desires this intimacy with us.
As the world careens towards the end times the most important thing in our lives will most likely not be which career we choose or where we live. The most important thing to fuel our existence will be an ever-increasing intimate knowledge of God’s heart. Intimacy with Christ will be what sets us apart and what saves us from being misled.
When I look back at pictures and stories from the past seven years there are some regrets and some places that I wish I would’ve had more integrity or I wish I would’ve served more. But in every single instance, I wish I would’ve searched for a deeper relationship and love of God and His heart.
I won’t carry the weight of regret or sulk about time lost or time given. I will however choose to put one thing in the forefront of everything else. To desperately pursue and passionately seek an intimate relationship with the Lover of my heart.
How precious to me are your thoughts, oh God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake I am still with you.
Ps. 139: 17-18
Thanks for reading
1.10.2009
A Natural Alarm
The last couple nights the moon has been full. I hadn’t really noticed it that much until this morning around 3am when I woke up to what I thought was someone turning on the light in my room. Actually I had left my blinds open a bit and moonlight was now pouring into my small space and illuminating the unpainted walls of my room. After laying there for about an hour unable to sleep and unwilling to get up and close the blinds, I finally rolled over and grabbed the binoculars.
I should probably explain that a little better. I don’t keep spying equipment at my window for any other reason than watching the wildlife; a few days ago I had been watching some raccoons play in the trees behind our house so the binoculars were still sitting on the window sill.
I stared up at the moon now through the binoculars. Everyone always says that there’s supposedly a man in the moon. Or his face or something like that. I’ve never been able to see that. As I looked up there all I saw was something that looked like a footprint, or the African continent or something, definitely no man. Maybe I was on the wrong side, or the man is upside down or something.
Of course my mind began wandering to what it would be like to walk there on the moon. To have been one of the two or three people to ever step in a place no other human has ever been. To place a footprint that will never be disturbed or moved or placed again. In some ways I’m sure it’s a frightening, exciting, strange, ethereal and breath-taking moment. It would always be the one story your children and grand-children ask you to tell.
I closed the blinds, laid back in bed and soon began to think.
How absolutely incredible that the same hands, mind and heart that dreamed such a foreign and other-worldly planet also dreamed me. The same creator and designer whose hands carved the surface of the moon also lovingly traced my features. My nose, eyes, feet, hands, knees and even all the inside stuff.
And as thoughts of a master designer fill my mind I soon find myself the astronaut. Walking onto a surface that’s never been touched. Taking steps in life that no one else will ever take and then turning to look behind you to see your mark in the universe that will never be changed. Stopping and standing amazed when you reflect at the places you’ve been and the place you are. In every way possible it’s a frightening, exciting, strange, ethereal and breath-taking moment. At some point stopping and thinking to yourself “Wait a second, how did I get here?”
We all find ourselves in these places. Through life we find ourselves walking into the unknowns, the untouched and the unseen. We have moments in our lives when we don’t know the terrain, we don’t know the answers or we feel like we’re on another planet. In those times I have to remember who created the place in the beginning.
As overwhelming as my problems and challenges are, my God is so much bigger. My problems only seem too big or too heavy when my view of my Father is too small.
As I face this year, I want to remember that as my footprints are placed into unknown areas, the One who designed it all is much bigger, much more loving and much too concerned to forget any details. And it’s always a smile to remember that He knows which planet I’m making footprints on.
Thanks for reading
matt
I should probably explain that a little better. I don’t keep spying equipment at my window for any other reason than watching the wildlife; a few days ago I had been watching some raccoons play in the trees behind our house so the binoculars were still sitting on the window sill.
I stared up at the moon now through the binoculars. Everyone always says that there’s supposedly a man in the moon. Or his face or something like that. I’ve never been able to see that. As I looked up there all I saw was something that looked like a footprint, or the African continent or something, definitely no man. Maybe I was on the wrong side, or the man is upside down or something.
Of course my mind began wandering to what it would be like to walk there on the moon. To have been one of the two or three people to ever step in a place no other human has ever been. To place a footprint that will never be disturbed or moved or placed again. In some ways I’m sure it’s a frightening, exciting, strange, ethereal and breath-taking moment. It would always be the one story your children and grand-children ask you to tell.
I closed the blinds, laid back in bed and soon began to think.
How absolutely incredible that the same hands, mind and heart that dreamed such a foreign and other-worldly planet also dreamed me. The same creator and designer whose hands carved the surface of the moon also lovingly traced my features. My nose, eyes, feet, hands, knees and even all the inside stuff.
And as thoughts of a master designer fill my mind I soon find myself the astronaut. Walking onto a surface that’s never been touched. Taking steps in life that no one else will ever take and then turning to look behind you to see your mark in the universe that will never be changed. Stopping and standing amazed when you reflect at the places you’ve been and the place you are. In every way possible it’s a frightening, exciting, strange, ethereal and breath-taking moment. At some point stopping and thinking to yourself “Wait a second, how did I get here?”
We all find ourselves in these places. Through life we find ourselves walking into the unknowns, the untouched and the unseen. We have moments in our lives when we don’t know the terrain, we don’t know the answers or we feel like we’re on another planet. In those times I have to remember who created the place in the beginning.
As overwhelming as my problems and challenges are, my God is so much bigger. My problems only seem too big or too heavy when my view of my Father is too small.
As I face this year, I want to remember that as my footprints are placed into unknown areas, the One who designed it all is much bigger, much more loving and much too concerned to forget any details. And it’s always a smile to remember that He knows which planet I’m making footprints on.
Thanks for reading
matt
10.15.2008
The Cost
I apologize for the inconsistency with these two posts. I felt I wanted to share what's been happening the past week.
(Written in Oradea Romania Oct. 08 2008)
3 weddings. 4 birthdays. 1 Anniversary. Easter. Thanksgiving. If I had a giant scale and I asked you to put things on one-side that you feel you’d never want to loose what would you put there? Would family be first? Material possessions? Accomplishments? A job? What would go on the other side that would balance or tip the scale so that these things were less important than the other side? What could you put on one side of the giant scale that would balance out your job? Your house? Your family? Is there anything?
Being on the field a lot during the year there are things that you miss. There are events and functions and yearly traditions that you’re not able to be a part of. Before you start thinking I’m complaining or bragging about what I give up each year, I’m not. I look at myself and see that there are people who’ve given or lost more than I may ever be asked. There are young people in India and Indonesia today working with Book of Hope teams and other evangelism projects who literally may loose their lives because of what they believe in.
In March I had the chance to visit some of these National workers who’ve chosen to make a commitment to seeing that children and youth are reached with God’s message of love and salvation. It was difficult to stand there among them as I realized that these are the true missionaries. These are the true heroes and giants of our faith. And they were young. Some of the members on the teams were 17-19 years old. Many of the team members had come from Hindu families. Some of the girls were being told to return home as they had been promised in marriage to a son of their father’s prospective business partner. Yet here they were. Carrying loads of books, film equipment and flyers. Here they stayed in small one-room houses under the church they were faithfully ministering with. Here they prayed, for the strength to continue in the work that God had brought them to. And there I stood very humbly listening to their stories.
In Luke 14:25-27 Jesus speaks words that can be read very harshly. We read words that we want to excuse or try to explain away.
v.26… If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters- yes even his own life- he cannot be my disciple…
I wonder how differently our field staff in India, Indonesia and other parts of the world would explain these verses. How have they taken the message of these verses and integrated them so they live them out everyday?
I read them and they shock me. To hear Jesus say we must hate our families and our own lives? What did that mean then? What does that mean now?
I can’t say that I have any answers. What I’m learning though is that nothing should tip that giant scale in our pursuit of - and our relationship with - Christ. No matter how much we load the other side with responsibilities, careers, music, possessions, family; nothing should ever tip so the scale so that something else is first priority in our lives. There are heroes in parts of India who have measured and found that there is nothing more important than this.
So the cost? This year it was some very special weddings, a brother’s three-year anniversary, moms and all my brothers birthdays. Easter was celebrated in Romania distributing the Book of Hope. My birthday was in Ukraine assessing national programs. Fourth of July was England distributing the Book of Hope. Thanksgiving I’m not sure about yet and Christmas might be celebrated a little late.
I started thinking about all this the other day when I got a really strange email from home. My mom had been in contact with my grandmother who said my father was in the hospital. Some kind of problem after a surgery he had.
I’ve never really had a close relationship with him. I’ve only met him twice in my life that I remember. I learned a lot from him during one of those visits. I learned that he’s the one who missed out on my brother and I growing up. I learned that he’ll never have a second chance to fix things, he’s the one who missed out on my first day of school. I guess you can turn that around and ask me whether I’ve ever made a move to amend anything.
On Tuesday Oct. 7th in an email my mom says they are going to unplug him. Six hours after that, Marvin Eugene Moran, the man I never knew as a father had died.
I sat there and just stared at the email. Part shock, part acceptance and part confusion. The next few days were a little blurry. I wrote a lot during that time. I kept most of it to myself and didn’t say anything about what had happened.
A lot of things go through your mind. A lot of emotions and a lot of thoughts and decisions. None too formulated or processed. You don’t really experience one thing or another, just lots of thoughts all floating around. I question whether I should go home. I question what I should say or think or should I cry or what?
There was no funeral for him. No one there to really mourn his death. So add one more event that I’ll miss this year. Add one more thing to the scale.
As I search for answers and come up with more questions, one thing becomes very clear, my heavenly Father is still there. He still sees and cares and feels and knows my heart more than anyone else.
It seems that the cost this year has been a little higher than I may have planned or expected, but the scale doesn’t tip.
thanks for reading
matt
(Written in Oradea Romania Oct. 08 2008)
3 weddings. 4 birthdays. 1 Anniversary. Easter. Thanksgiving. If I had a giant scale and I asked you to put things on one-side that you feel you’d never want to loose what would you put there? Would family be first? Material possessions? Accomplishments? A job? What would go on the other side that would balance or tip the scale so that these things were less important than the other side? What could you put on one side of the giant scale that would balance out your job? Your house? Your family? Is there anything?
Being on the field a lot during the year there are things that you miss. There are events and functions and yearly traditions that you’re not able to be a part of. Before you start thinking I’m complaining or bragging about what I give up each year, I’m not. I look at myself and see that there are people who’ve given or lost more than I may ever be asked. There are young people in India and Indonesia today working with Book of Hope teams and other evangelism projects who literally may loose their lives because of what they believe in.
In March I had the chance to visit some of these National workers who’ve chosen to make a commitment to seeing that children and youth are reached with God’s message of love and salvation. It was difficult to stand there among them as I realized that these are the true missionaries. These are the true heroes and giants of our faith. And they were young. Some of the members on the teams were 17-19 years old. Many of the team members had come from Hindu families. Some of the girls were being told to return home as they had been promised in marriage to a son of their father’s prospective business partner. Yet here they were. Carrying loads of books, film equipment and flyers. Here they stayed in small one-room houses under the church they were faithfully ministering with. Here they prayed, for the strength to continue in the work that God had brought them to. And there I stood very humbly listening to their stories.
In Luke 14:25-27 Jesus speaks words that can be read very harshly. We read words that we want to excuse or try to explain away.
v.26… If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters- yes even his own life- he cannot be my disciple…
I wonder how differently our field staff in India, Indonesia and other parts of the world would explain these verses. How have they taken the message of these verses and integrated them so they live them out everyday?
I read them and they shock me. To hear Jesus say we must hate our families and our own lives? What did that mean then? What does that mean now?
I can’t say that I have any answers. What I’m learning though is that nothing should tip that giant scale in our pursuit of - and our relationship with - Christ. No matter how much we load the other side with responsibilities, careers, music, possessions, family; nothing should ever tip so the scale so that something else is first priority in our lives. There are heroes in parts of India who have measured and found that there is nothing more important than this.
So the cost? This year it was some very special weddings, a brother’s three-year anniversary, moms and all my brothers birthdays. Easter was celebrated in Romania distributing the Book of Hope. My birthday was in Ukraine assessing national programs. Fourth of July was England distributing the Book of Hope. Thanksgiving I’m not sure about yet and Christmas might be celebrated a little late.
I started thinking about all this the other day when I got a really strange email from home. My mom had been in contact with my grandmother who said my father was in the hospital. Some kind of problem after a surgery he had.
I’ve never really had a close relationship with him. I’ve only met him twice in my life that I remember. I learned a lot from him during one of those visits. I learned that he’s the one who missed out on my brother and I growing up. I learned that he’ll never have a second chance to fix things, he’s the one who missed out on my first day of school. I guess you can turn that around and ask me whether I’ve ever made a move to amend anything.
On Tuesday Oct. 7th in an email my mom says they are going to unplug him. Six hours after that, Marvin Eugene Moran, the man I never knew as a father had died.
I sat there and just stared at the email. Part shock, part acceptance and part confusion. The next few days were a little blurry. I wrote a lot during that time. I kept most of it to myself and didn’t say anything about what had happened.
A lot of things go through your mind. A lot of emotions and a lot of thoughts and decisions. None too formulated or processed. You don’t really experience one thing or another, just lots of thoughts all floating around. I question whether I should go home. I question what I should say or think or should I cry or what?
There was no funeral for him. No one there to really mourn his death. So add one more event that I’ll miss this year. Add one more thing to the scale.
As I search for answers and come up with more questions, one thing becomes very clear, my heavenly Father is still there. He still sees and cares and feels and knows my heart more than anyone else.
It seems that the cost this year has been a little higher than I may have planned or expected, but the scale doesn’t tip.
thanks for reading
matt
Fixing Errors
(written in Oradea Romania- Oct. 11th 2008)
I suppose I should just write and keep writing almost without using the backspace except to fix spelling errors. Cause those bother me.
My father is gone. It’s a weird thing. A strange thing to think that the life that brought me into the world has breathed it’s last and has stopped existing.
There’s all these things you feel and think. All these unsaid emotions and feelings and thoughts and regrets. All these things I wish I could’ve said before he died. I wish I could’ve told him that I wasn’t angry at him. I wasn’t upset or mad about the things he did. I know I’d told him before, years ago that I wasn’t upset or anything but I wish I could have two days. Or even two hours just to say what I feel. To say all these things that I’ll live with for the rest of my life. I want to see where he’s buried, but I don’t even know what that will be like I don’t know if it’s just a plaque or a sign on a wall. I need to see something. I’m afraid though of seeing all these things. But I have to.
I wish I had two hours. To find out where he was born and what he wanted to do with his life. To find out where he went to school and who his friends were and what happened to the motorcycle. Two hours to listen and see and apologize for not being more involved in his life.
I wish I would have gone to see him. To see where he lived and what he did. To maybe give him a little light and hope to continue living. In the end my father just wanted to die. He wanted to leave this world. He wanted to stop breathing and be done with everything. His body was tired and exhausted. He had no desire. No drive. Nothing to live for.
And I’m surprisingly ok. For the most part. One minute I’m totally fine. The next minute I’m crying. Then I’m questioning. Then I’m trying to understand what I need to do and how to find resolve and closure. I have a feeling it’ll be more difficult to find than I expect.
I don’t think I’ve ached like this in a long time. I actually don’t remember ever feeling this way about anything before. Ever. It’s like a constant nagging of something so heavy on your heart. Like in Peru when you’re up in the mountains and you feel like someone is pushing against you trying to keep you from breathing. That’s what it’s like. Like I struggle to breath.
Everything seems to bother me right now. I feel like I fake laughter. I feel like everybody knows and they just stare at me waiting for me to cry.
Life goes on. True. But it hurts.
I start to cry multiple times during the day. And I stop myself.
My father wanted to die. He chose to be alone at the end of his life. He chose to walk away from me and mom and Micah. Yet somehow I still feel like I should’ve done more. Like I will always regret not picking up the phone.
And God knew. He knew I would be feeling this. He felt it. He feels it everytime someone dies. Hurt.
Marv died. That’s all my mom’s email said. One email saying he was going to be taken off life support. And then six hours later those two words. Now in some way I’m supposed to have the emotional and physical and spiritual capacity to lead 10 people I’ve never met into schools and balance my work and home life while being 10,000 miles away.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be home where I can sit in my room all day and not think about anything. And not have people ask me questions or talk to me. I want to be home. Before when people went home early I always scoffed and thought how ridiculous that was that people would leave the ministry or the programs. How stupid to change all that stuff to be able to go back. It’s not like you can do anything about it now. You can’t really change anything or fix it or somehow solve anything. When people would go home because someone’s marriage was junk or someone died. They couldn’t fix any of that.
It’s not about fixing the problem at that point. It’s about fixing yourself. It’s less about what happened to someone and more what’s happening to you. It’s about healing yourself and finding restoration and the ability to continue doing what you do and continue living. Letting it hurt so you can open a wound and it can be healed so you can someday help others.
Someone on my team once went home early because of a death. Before they left they said that I wouldn’t have done that. They said I would have stayed. I thought they were right. I thought that I would have stayed if someone in my family had died. But they were wrong. I’m going home. Not to try and bring back my father. But to bring back me. It’s not about bringing closure, but about bringing understanding.
I want my life to count. I don’t want my death to be mourned and remembered as a grievance of missed opportunities. I will try to loose the guilt and the feelings of never being able to fix the errors I feel that I’ve made.
My father wanted to die. That’s what my mom said. But I didn’t want him to.
Please pray for my family and I as we seek God and His healing.
Thanks for reading.
matt
I suppose I should just write and keep writing almost without using the backspace except to fix spelling errors. Cause those bother me.
My father is gone. It’s a weird thing. A strange thing to think that the life that brought me into the world has breathed it’s last and has stopped existing.
There’s all these things you feel and think. All these unsaid emotions and feelings and thoughts and regrets. All these things I wish I could’ve said before he died. I wish I could’ve told him that I wasn’t angry at him. I wasn’t upset or mad about the things he did. I know I’d told him before, years ago that I wasn’t upset or anything but I wish I could have two days. Or even two hours just to say what I feel. To say all these things that I’ll live with for the rest of my life. I want to see where he’s buried, but I don’t even know what that will be like I don’t know if it’s just a plaque or a sign on a wall. I need to see something. I’m afraid though of seeing all these things. But I have to.
I wish I had two hours. To find out where he was born and what he wanted to do with his life. To find out where he went to school and who his friends were and what happened to the motorcycle. Two hours to listen and see and apologize for not being more involved in his life.
I wish I would have gone to see him. To see where he lived and what he did. To maybe give him a little light and hope to continue living. In the end my father just wanted to die. He wanted to leave this world. He wanted to stop breathing and be done with everything. His body was tired and exhausted. He had no desire. No drive. Nothing to live for.
And I’m surprisingly ok. For the most part. One minute I’m totally fine. The next minute I’m crying. Then I’m questioning. Then I’m trying to understand what I need to do and how to find resolve and closure. I have a feeling it’ll be more difficult to find than I expect.
I don’t think I’ve ached like this in a long time. I actually don’t remember ever feeling this way about anything before. Ever. It’s like a constant nagging of something so heavy on your heart. Like in Peru when you’re up in the mountains and you feel like someone is pushing against you trying to keep you from breathing. That’s what it’s like. Like I struggle to breath.
Everything seems to bother me right now. I feel like I fake laughter. I feel like everybody knows and they just stare at me waiting for me to cry.
Life goes on. True. But it hurts.
I start to cry multiple times during the day. And I stop myself.
My father wanted to die. He chose to be alone at the end of his life. He chose to walk away from me and mom and Micah. Yet somehow I still feel like I should’ve done more. Like I will always regret not picking up the phone.
And God knew. He knew I would be feeling this. He felt it. He feels it everytime someone dies. Hurt.
Marv died. That’s all my mom’s email said. One email saying he was going to be taken off life support. And then six hours later those two words. Now in some way I’m supposed to have the emotional and physical and spiritual capacity to lead 10 people I’ve never met into schools and balance my work and home life while being 10,000 miles away.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be home where I can sit in my room all day and not think about anything. And not have people ask me questions or talk to me. I want to be home. Before when people went home early I always scoffed and thought how ridiculous that was that people would leave the ministry or the programs. How stupid to change all that stuff to be able to go back. It’s not like you can do anything about it now. You can’t really change anything or fix it or somehow solve anything. When people would go home because someone’s marriage was junk or someone died. They couldn’t fix any of that.
It’s not about fixing the problem at that point. It’s about fixing yourself. It’s less about what happened to someone and more what’s happening to you. It’s about healing yourself and finding restoration and the ability to continue doing what you do and continue living. Letting it hurt so you can open a wound and it can be healed so you can someday help others.
Someone on my team once went home early because of a death. Before they left they said that I wouldn’t have done that. They said I would have stayed. I thought they were right. I thought that I would have stayed if someone in my family had died. But they were wrong. I’m going home. Not to try and bring back my father. But to bring back me. It’s not about bringing closure, but about bringing understanding.
I want my life to count. I don’t want my death to be mourned and remembered as a grievance of missed opportunities. I will try to loose the guilt and the feelings of never being able to fix the errors I feel that I’ve made.
My father wanted to die. That’s what my mom said. But I didn’t want him to.
Please pray for my family and I as we seek God and His healing.
Thanks for reading.
matt
7.16.2008
Two-Sixty-Seven
If anyone ever offers an unforgettable journey to the top of a tower, be sure to ask whether they’ve actually completed the climb before; and also ask a few questions of the employees about what happens if you want to turn back halfway.
York Minster is a historical landmark in England. Hundreds of years old and a beautiful building to see and step into, the church is truly breathtaking. There are thousands of stained glass windows throughout the building. The high ceilings, stone and woodworking are sights that you rarely see. There was something else that day that caught my attention as we toured the old church.
We climbed the 260 or so steps in the circular staircase to the top of the tower. The stairs actually curve upward to the left instead of to the right. So as you walk up them your right arm is touching the middle column area and your left arm is holding the small handrail. Hundreds of years ago when invaders would try to rush up the staircases they would be at a disadvantage as your sword arm (right arm) would be impeded by the small confines. The defenders of course coming down the stairs would have their right arm free to slash away and repel the attack. (Small history lesson there…)
I guess the best part about it is that when you finally force your feet onto the top of the tower you’re greeted by an incredible view of York. This is quite a reward as there are many points along the climb when your legs are telling you to stop, but the people behind you or your own self-determination push you upwards.
The day was perfect as well. Bright white clouds and a sharp blue sky made the red and grey tile rooftops even more brilliant. The different shades of green from trees and grass areas made the view even more spectacular. As I walked the square rooftop viewing the sight from the different angles, my gaze focused on the ground below us.
There near the base of the building was a school I hadn’t noticed when we first came up. I saw about twenty or so school children scurrying in the areas below. The children played carefree as the great towering cathedral stood behind them. They ran back and forth between sunlight and shadows, yet they are enraptured with their own games and activities giving no second thought to the building near which they play. I thought about this for a moment, how these children can play freely in the shadows of a mighty building that represents an authority and presence so important to the city.
And then somehow, the life lesson is revealed.
Today among other things, fuel prices are rising. We face an election that will probably change the face of our country. The housing market is crashing. The unemployment rate is past 5%. The price of commodities is rising. Yet in all this, my creator still sits on the throne.
In that moment of seeing those children run and play I saw myself in them. I saw how God wants me to stay next to Him. How the problems in life will seem much smaller as my view of Him gets bigger.
I will not look to who sits in the President’s seat to solve my problems. I will not pray more or less depending on which party wins or loses in the next few months. I will not trust in a job or in money. I will not fear when the world around me seems to say all is lost. I will trust in my Father as I rest in His shadow.
I stood there for a moment that day and watched the children playing in the schoolyard. Their laughter and yelling could be heard way up here, 267 steps from the ground below. I took a picture that day of the children playing in their blue, white and grey school uniforms. I’ll probably use it someday to remind me that regardless of how the wind blows, regardless of what storms come I will rest and put my trust in the One who never changes. The One who holds the universe in His hand is bigger than all the worlds problems and certainly bigger than mine.
So after taking in the thoughts way up high on the rooftop that day. I started to question how we would get back down. I was hoping for a fireman’s pole or an elevator, to hasten the journey back to sea level. To my dismay it turns out you get down the same way you got up. The 267 stairs way. As I walked back towards the staircase I stopped to ask one of the employees if anyone ever had to be rescued from the confined quarters of the winding staircase. Yes she replied; someone recently had to be airlifted off the roof where I was currently standing. It sure sounded like a much more exciting way to get down, but I did have to wonder who would pay for that?
"But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." Jer. 17:7-8
Thanks for reading
York Minster is a historical landmark in England. Hundreds of years old and a beautiful building to see and step into, the church is truly breathtaking. There are thousands of stained glass windows throughout the building. The high ceilings, stone and woodworking are sights that you rarely see. There was something else that day that caught my attention as we toured the old church.
We climbed the 260 or so steps in the circular staircase to the top of the tower. The stairs actually curve upward to the left instead of to the right. So as you walk up them your right arm is touching the middle column area and your left arm is holding the small handrail. Hundreds of years ago when invaders would try to rush up the staircases they would be at a disadvantage as your sword arm (right arm) would be impeded by the small confines. The defenders of course coming down the stairs would have their right arm free to slash away and repel the attack. (Small history lesson there…)
I guess the best part about it is that when you finally force your feet onto the top of the tower you’re greeted by an incredible view of York. This is quite a reward as there are many points along the climb when your legs are telling you to stop, but the people behind you or your own self-determination push you upwards.
The day was perfect as well. Bright white clouds and a sharp blue sky made the red and grey tile rooftops even more brilliant. The different shades of green from trees and grass areas made the view even more spectacular. As I walked the square rooftop viewing the sight from the different angles, my gaze focused on the ground below us.
There near the base of the building was a school I hadn’t noticed when we first came up. I saw about twenty or so school children scurrying in the areas below. The children played carefree as the great towering cathedral stood behind them. They ran back and forth between sunlight and shadows, yet they are enraptured with their own games and activities giving no second thought to the building near which they play. I thought about this for a moment, how these children can play freely in the shadows of a mighty building that represents an authority and presence so important to the city.
And then somehow, the life lesson is revealed.
Today among other things, fuel prices are rising. We face an election that will probably change the face of our country. The housing market is crashing. The unemployment rate is past 5%. The price of commodities is rising. Yet in all this, my creator still sits on the throne.
In that moment of seeing those children run and play I saw myself in them. I saw how God wants me to stay next to Him. How the problems in life will seem much smaller as my view of Him gets bigger.
I will not look to who sits in the President’s seat to solve my problems. I will not pray more or less depending on which party wins or loses in the next few months. I will not trust in a job or in money. I will not fear when the world around me seems to say all is lost. I will trust in my Father as I rest in His shadow.
I stood there for a moment that day and watched the children playing in the schoolyard. Their laughter and yelling could be heard way up here, 267 steps from the ground below. I took a picture that day of the children playing in their blue, white and grey school uniforms. I’ll probably use it someday to remind me that regardless of how the wind blows, regardless of what storms come I will rest and put my trust in the One who never changes. The One who holds the universe in His hand is bigger than all the worlds problems and certainly bigger than mine.
So after taking in the thoughts way up high on the rooftop that day. I started to question how we would get back down. I was hoping for a fireman’s pole or an elevator, to hasten the journey back to sea level. To my dismay it turns out you get down the same way you got up. The 267 stairs way. As I walked back towards the staircase I stopped to ask one of the employees if anyone ever had to be rescued from the confined quarters of the winding staircase. Yes she replied; someone recently had to be airlifted off the roof where I was currently standing. It sure sounded like a much more exciting way to get down, but I did have to wonder who would pay for that?
"But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." Jer. 17:7-8
Thanks for reading
5.02.2008
3.27.2008
Helicopters
I took a walk the other day. I suppose it was for no other reason than being outside on a beautiful California day. I walked in the general direction of a shopping center near our house, a small Christian bookstore I’d never been in before was where I was headed. After crossing the intersections and waiting for a police officer to pass I quickly jaywalked and stepped into the store.
I realized pretty quick that I wasn’t going to find the book I was looking for here amongst the Catholic icons and prayer beads. So I turned, thanked the lady and headed back home. As I passed neighbors houses that I didn’t know and homes and lawns that I usually drive by without really thinking about I slowed as my eyes caught sight of something laying in the street.
Before your minds race with the thoughts of dead animals or thousand dollar bills let me tell you it wasn’t anything like that. In fact it was something much simpler. Something that for ages had been lost in the recesses of my mind. There was something on the ground that began to stir in me the remembrance of careless days. Lying there in the street were helicopters.
Two weeks ago I entered a school in Ukraine. This isn’t a normal average High School that you would probably ever encounter here in the U.S. The students here were all defined loosely as orphans in one way or another. Through either an inability of the parents to care for them or the complete absence of parents; these kids lived here and studied here. They would spend most of their lives here striving and attempting to live out semi-normal existences.
Our responsibility that day was a simple one. We went to the school to distribute the Book of Hope to the children and show the animated film we use in schools around the world. As one of the groups of students were watching the film I noticed that there were other students still in class. Later I found out that the church we were working with had already been in the school and already distributed to and shown the film to the other students. Vitalek’s story would capture our attention.
Just 13 years old he lived at the school without parents. Regardless of what happened to his parents he was there and none of us wanted to ask what had brought him to the school. The teachers began telling us more of his story. He wasn’t a very good student. He was very disrespectful, used bad language and didn’t get a long with the other students. The teachers had always had a difficult time with him. At one point he ran away from the school to Kiev. Leaving the familiarity of friends, teachers and “home” he left to go two-hours away to the capitol. After living there for a few months he returned to the school and a few days later the church team arrived to show the film and distribute the Book of Hope.
As Vitalek sat and watched the film the scenes of Jesus being crucified on the cross brought tears to his eyes. The teachers would tell us they were all confused and shocked to see this happening. Vitalek’s toughness and years of rebellion began melting away. The teachers would tell us afterward that they’ve seen a complete change in his life. His attitude and behavior has changed. He is kind and caring. He no longer uses bad language and he does something now he never used to do… he smiles. Something none of the teachers had ever seen before. When I asked Vitalek what happened in his life and why he had left the school he replied softly and simply “I’ll never do that again”.
Do you remember helicopters? That’s what we called them. People may have called them something different. But I have a feeling you probably remember them. Those little seeds that fell off some kind of tree that had that one little “wing” on them. We would throw them up into the air and they would spin in circles coming down over us. We would gather up handfuls of them and throw them up into the air. It was always so exciting looking up and seeing hundreds of little spinning helicopters floating down towards you.
As I walked passed them that day I wanted to stop and pick them up and throw them into the air and recall many times of boyhood and the simple times before life got complicated and difficult. I wanted to stop and pick up as many as I could and throw them into the sky. For some reason I started to think about what my neighbors would think if they saw me throwing my arms around as these little things floated down around me. I began to think about how silly that might look and what people would say.
Do you remember the simple times? Remember when life was easy? Remember when your biggest concern was what mom had packed in your lunch that day? You didn’t think to not stop to pick up as many helicopters as your hands could hold because you didn’t care what people thought or what people would say… you just did it.
So I stopped. I picked one up and looked at it for a moment and I thought about Vitalek, a boy who’s probably lived more difficult and harsh days in his life than I’ll ever live in mine. I thought about how in comparison to his life, mine seems easy. I looked at it again and threw it as high as I could and watched it come down… spinning in circles over me. And I thought about how compared to many people around the world, my life is easy.
I realized pretty quick that I wasn’t going to find the book I was looking for here amongst the Catholic icons and prayer beads. So I turned, thanked the lady and headed back home. As I passed neighbors houses that I didn’t know and homes and lawns that I usually drive by without really thinking about I slowed as my eyes caught sight of something laying in the street.
Before your minds race with the thoughts of dead animals or thousand dollar bills let me tell you it wasn’t anything like that. In fact it was something much simpler. Something that for ages had been lost in the recesses of my mind. There was something on the ground that began to stir in me the remembrance of careless days. Lying there in the street were helicopters.
Two weeks ago I entered a school in Ukraine. This isn’t a normal average High School that you would probably ever encounter here in the U.S. The students here were all defined loosely as orphans in one way or another. Through either an inability of the parents to care for them or the complete absence of parents; these kids lived here and studied here. They would spend most of their lives here striving and attempting to live out semi-normal existences.
Our responsibility that day was a simple one. We went to the school to distribute the Book of Hope to the children and show the animated film we use in schools around the world. As one of the groups of students were watching the film I noticed that there were other students still in class. Later I found out that the church we were working with had already been in the school and already distributed to and shown the film to the other students. Vitalek’s story would capture our attention.
Just 13 years old he lived at the school without parents. Regardless of what happened to his parents he was there and none of us wanted to ask what had brought him to the school. The teachers began telling us more of his story. He wasn’t a very good student. He was very disrespectful, used bad language and didn’t get a long with the other students. The teachers had always had a difficult time with him. At one point he ran away from the school to Kiev. Leaving the familiarity of friends, teachers and “home” he left to go two-hours away to the capitol. After living there for a few months he returned to the school and a few days later the church team arrived to show the film and distribute the Book of Hope.
As Vitalek sat and watched the film the scenes of Jesus being crucified on the cross brought tears to his eyes. The teachers would tell us they were all confused and shocked to see this happening. Vitalek’s toughness and years of rebellion began melting away. The teachers would tell us afterward that they’ve seen a complete change in his life. His attitude and behavior has changed. He is kind and caring. He no longer uses bad language and he does something now he never used to do… he smiles. Something none of the teachers had ever seen before. When I asked Vitalek what happened in his life and why he had left the school he replied softly and simply “I’ll never do that again”.
Do you remember helicopters? That’s what we called them. People may have called them something different. But I have a feeling you probably remember them. Those little seeds that fell off some kind of tree that had that one little “wing” on them. We would throw them up into the air and they would spin in circles coming down over us. We would gather up handfuls of them and throw them up into the air. It was always so exciting looking up and seeing hundreds of little spinning helicopters floating down towards you.
As I walked passed them that day I wanted to stop and pick them up and throw them into the air and recall many times of boyhood and the simple times before life got complicated and difficult. I wanted to stop and pick up as many as I could and throw them into the sky. For some reason I started to think about what my neighbors would think if they saw me throwing my arms around as these little things floated down around me. I began to think about how silly that might look and what people would say.
Do you remember the simple times? Remember when life was easy? Remember when your biggest concern was what mom had packed in your lunch that day? You didn’t think to not stop to pick up as many helicopters as your hands could hold because you didn’t care what people thought or what people would say… you just did it.
So I stopped. I picked one up and looked at it for a moment and I thought about Vitalek, a boy who’s probably lived more difficult and harsh days in his life than I’ll ever live in mine. I thought about how in comparison to his life, mine seems easy. I looked at it again and threw it as high as I could and watched it come down… spinning in circles over me. And I thought about how compared to many people around the world, my life is easy.
2.25.2008
A likely conversation
-Shop Owner: Namaste.
-Driver: Namaste.
-Shop Owner: Can I help you? (said in Tamil, the local language here)
-Driver: Well yah actually, I’m looking for something, I’m looking for a horn. (Also said in Tamil, as is most of this conversation)
-A horn? We have plenty of those here. What kind of car is it for or what kind of sound are you looking for?
-Well I really want something that is pretty unique.
-Ok, let’s start with what kind of sound you’re wanting. You want something Loud and Proud? Something High and Shrill? Maybe something in the middle of those?
-Well, no not really, I’m kind of after something that’s really unique. Something that when people hear it they absolutely unmistakably know that it’s me.
-Shop Owner: Wow. Well that changes things. What kind of car do you have?
-Driver: I suppose I should have cleared that up at the beginning. It’s actually for a government bus that I drive. I need a new horn for it.
- Now I’m tracking. I know how you government buses run. You guys only have one speed “Get outta my way!”
- Haha. Yah that’s us.
- Well I guess I could set you up with something big and loud, you know something that’ll really scare those pedestrians, cars, auto rickshaws, bicyclists, cow carts, donkeys, other buses, trucks, cows, sheep and motorcyclists that get in your way.
- Um, I don’t know, like I said I’m looking for something really unique. Well, here’s what’s going on. You see there’s this tall missionary white guy coming here to Madurai. He’s going to be on my bus for at least 6 hours going from Salem to Madurai. My friends and I are just trying to make sure it’s an event he’ll never forget.
- Shop Owner: Haha! Those foreigners, they shake your hand one minute and pull out the germ killer the next… Haha… So besides the horn what else do you have planned? I mean did you strip down your seats so there’s a heavy metal bar in his back the whole time?
- Check
- Did you make sure there would be plenty of other people on the bus so he’s sitting on a bench seat crammed between a person and the window that the sun will be blazing through the whole time?
- Check
- Did you move the bench seats closer together to make sure his knee is grinding into the metal seat in front of him?
- Check
- Did you work down your gear box and transmission so every time you shift it grinds the gears and makes him think the bus is gonna break down?
- Check
- Did you make sure the road you’re taking is full of “diversions” that will take you over extremely bumpy gravel roads? And you’re going to have to be swerving around the whole time?
- Check and double check.
- Did you plan on stopping only once during the 6 hours for him to stretch and stand out in the hot sun drinking lukewarm coconut juice?
- Driver: Yep. Got it all. The whole experience.
- Shop Owner: Haha. Man that’s great. So now you’re looking to fill in the sound? You want to really send this kid home with an experience unlike any other?
- That’s the idea. See before he gets on my bus he’ll have spent 20 hours on the overnight train, and we both know how that can be. He’s gonna be on the top bunk with five other people in the cabin. The fans just inches above his head will be going all night. I already have people who’re planning on flicking on the lights every couple minutes. The coffee and tea guys are going to continually be walking through the halls, people’s phones will be going off all night, the guy across from him will cough loudly in his direction, other trains will pass and blow their horns and there will be a definite lack of sleep. So, by the time he gets on my bus he…
- Will he basically loathe the day he was born?
- Maybe not loathe, but definitely despise to a great degree any choice he had in coming here.
-Shop owner: Haha. Ok I think I got it.
-Driver: So what do you have?
- Shop owner: Well if I’d have known that was what you’re looking for, I would’ve taken this baby out a long time ago. Take a look at this. This my friend is the MASH- ITW 6000
- WOW. The what?
- The MASH- ITW 6000. The Most Annoying Sounding Horn In The World 6000. Guaranteed to make that kid’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. Scientifically proven to make them grit their teeth and make their toes pop.
-Driver: What’s it sound like? I mean can you describe it?
-Shop Owner: Hard to, but actually they have a description on the box here. Let’s see, one part “baby’s shrill cry”, one part “cat’s temperature being taken”, one part “nails on a chalkboard”, one part “hands on an inflated balloon” and of course one part “Early AOL dial-up”.
-Driver: Wow sounds exactly like what I’m looking for.
-Shop Owner: Well it probably is if you’re really looking to make that kid squirm in his seat. Here’s the deal though. You’ve got to really ride this thing. I mean you’ve really got to use it. See it uses some kind of special high pitched whistling mechanism that starts to deteriorate if you don’t use it every 30 seconds. And when you use it, really try to do multiple shots in quick succession or a long drawn out sound like when you stop at a station and the bus in front of you isn’t moving and you need to make sure he knows you’re behind him. So when I say really ride it, you’ve got to sound that thing loud for at least 45 seconds to a minute and a half.
-Driver: Wow this is great. Thanks for your help. I think this is exactly what I’m looking for. This should be just the thing to put him over the edge. I think I’ll take it.
- Shop Owner: Great. Anything else?
- Driver: No, I think that’s it. Thanks so much.
- Shop Owner: Well I’m glad I could help out. Hope that works for you. Have a good day….
- Driver: Thanks.
- Shop Owner: Sure thing… hey wait just one minute…
- Driver: Yah?
- Shop Owner: How exactly do you know so much about this kid? I mean how do you know all these things about him?
- Driver: Huh?... oh that? I just read his blog.
- Shop Owner: Got it, alright, good luck.
- Driver: Thanks.
-Driver: Namaste.
-Shop Owner: Can I help you? (said in Tamil, the local language here)
-Driver: Well yah actually, I’m looking for something, I’m looking for a horn. (Also said in Tamil, as is most of this conversation)
-A horn? We have plenty of those here. What kind of car is it for or what kind of sound are you looking for?
-Well I really want something that is pretty unique.
-Ok, let’s start with what kind of sound you’re wanting. You want something Loud and Proud? Something High and Shrill? Maybe something in the middle of those?
-Well, no not really, I’m kind of after something that’s really unique. Something that when people hear it they absolutely unmistakably know that it’s me.
-Shop Owner: Wow. Well that changes things. What kind of car do you have?
-Driver: I suppose I should have cleared that up at the beginning. It’s actually for a government bus that I drive. I need a new horn for it.
- Now I’m tracking. I know how you government buses run. You guys only have one speed “Get outta my way!”
- Haha. Yah that’s us.
- Well I guess I could set you up with something big and loud, you know something that’ll really scare those pedestrians, cars, auto rickshaws, bicyclists, cow carts, donkeys, other buses, trucks, cows, sheep and motorcyclists that get in your way.
- Um, I don’t know, like I said I’m looking for something really unique. Well, here’s what’s going on. You see there’s this tall missionary white guy coming here to Madurai. He’s going to be on my bus for at least 6 hours going from Salem to Madurai. My friends and I are just trying to make sure it’s an event he’ll never forget.
- Shop Owner: Haha! Those foreigners, they shake your hand one minute and pull out the germ killer the next… Haha… So besides the horn what else do you have planned? I mean did you strip down your seats so there’s a heavy metal bar in his back the whole time?
- Check
- Did you make sure there would be plenty of other people on the bus so he’s sitting on a bench seat crammed between a person and the window that the sun will be blazing through the whole time?
- Check
- Did you move the bench seats closer together to make sure his knee is grinding into the metal seat in front of him?
- Check
- Did you work down your gear box and transmission so every time you shift it grinds the gears and makes him think the bus is gonna break down?
- Check
- Did you make sure the road you’re taking is full of “diversions” that will take you over extremely bumpy gravel roads? And you’re going to have to be swerving around the whole time?
- Check and double check.
- Did you plan on stopping only once during the 6 hours for him to stretch and stand out in the hot sun drinking lukewarm coconut juice?
- Driver: Yep. Got it all. The whole experience.
- Shop Owner: Haha. Man that’s great. So now you’re looking to fill in the sound? You want to really send this kid home with an experience unlike any other?
- That’s the idea. See before he gets on my bus he’ll have spent 20 hours on the overnight train, and we both know how that can be. He’s gonna be on the top bunk with five other people in the cabin. The fans just inches above his head will be going all night. I already have people who’re planning on flicking on the lights every couple minutes. The coffee and tea guys are going to continually be walking through the halls, people’s phones will be going off all night, the guy across from him will cough loudly in his direction, other trains will pass and blow their horns and there will be a definite lack of sleep. So, by the time he gets on my bus he…
- Will he basically loathe the day he was born?
- Maybe not loathe, but definitely despise to a great degree any choice he had in coming here.
-Shop owner: Haha. Ok I think I got it.
-Driver: So what do you have?
- Shop owner: Well if I’d have known that was what you’re looking for, I would’ve taken this baby out a long time ago. Take a look at this. This my friend is the MASH- ITW 6000
- WOW. The what?
- The MASH- ITW 6000. The Most Annoying Sounding Horn In The World 6000. Guaranteed to make that kid’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. Scientifically proven to make them grit their teeth and make their toes pop.
-Driver: What’s it sound like? I mean can you describe it?
-Shop Owner: Hard to, but actually they have a description on the box here. Let’s see, one part “baby’s shrill cry”, one part “cat’s temperature being taken”, one part “nails on a chalkboard”, one part “hands on an inflated balloon” and of course one part “Early AOL dial-up”.
-Driver: Wow sounds exactly like what I’m looking for.
-Shop Owner: Well it probably is if you’re really looking to make that kid squirm in his seat. Here’s the deal though. You’ve got to really ride this thing. I mean you’ve really got to use it. See it uses some kind of special high pitched whistling mechanism that starts to deteriorate if you don’t use it every 30 seconds. And when you use it, really try to do multiple shots in quick succession or a long drawn out sound like when you stop at a station and the bus in front of you isn’t moving and you need to make sure he knows you’re behind him. So when I say really ride it, you’ve got to sound that thing loud for at least 45 seconds to a minute and a half.
-Driver: Wow this is great. Thanks for your help. I think this is exactly what I’m looking for. This should be just the thing to put him over the edge. I think I’ll take it.
- Shop Owner: Great. Anything else?
- Driver: No, I think that’s it. Thanks so much.
- Shop Owner: Well I’m glad I could help out. Hope that works for you. Have a good day….
- Driver: Thanks.
- Shop Owner: Sure thing… hey wait just one minute…
- Driver: Yah?
- Shop Owner: How exactly do you know so much about this kid? I mean how do you know all these things about him?
- Driver: Huh?... oh that? I just read his blog.
- Shop Owner: Got it, alright, good luck.
- Driver: Thanks.
11.07.2007
Constance
Judging from her height and her stance she looks no more than ten, yet experience tells me she’s at least thirteen. She sits across from me in the car as she guides us to her house down the dirt road. She motions to the right with her hand, but says left, I look at her puzzled, remind her quickly of the English words and she looks embarrassed and says left again with the motion and the word. We pull up to a small cement structure no bigger than my bedroom at home. Behind it stands a crude makeshift metal structure even smaller than the cinder block room in front. “Here” she says and opens the door to let herself out.
Stompy is what the coordinator called her. I wasn’t sure exactly why at first, but when I learn the meaning in Afrikaans I realize that it’s in reference to her height. She told us she didn’t like being called Stompy. She liked Constance better. I call her whatever she wants and give her as much dignity and respect I can. She’s a small girl, living in a small house on the outskirts of a big city in South Africa. Her story is going to become even more colorful.
As I walk towards the house another child comes to greet us, this girl is seven or eight, beautiful smile and inquisitive eyes. This is Constance’s “sister”. A quick glance into the home reveals a small table and two chairs. A bed is hidden behind the door. No water in the house, except they tell me, when the rains come and the water floods the area; the bigger problem then are the snakes that get into the “house”. Much of the immediate family aren’t here, at least not anymore.
Two adults appear from the homes, one is Constance’s mother, yet neither one look old enough. One is a bit younger than I am and the other I guess is a young twenty something. They are the caretakers for the children. Neither of them work, the only jobs available involve an unthinkable lifestyle. Constance lives here in this small home with nine other family members.
An aunt, a father and her grandmother have all died recently. I didn’t ask what the cause of death was, but I could have taken a guess with 98% accuracy. Even if I did ask the answer would be pneumonia or TB, not the real causes. The family has no male influence helping provide any necessities. The food they eat comes from relief organizations providing handouts for two of the children, the family stretches it to provide for all, but that is all they are given.
If I were to tell you AIDS killed the family members, somehow our minds immediately wander to think of the immoral lifestyle they lived and how they probably contracted the disease. Our minds try to understand or comprehend how their sin caused this type of situation and thus resulted in their deaths. If I was to tell you AIDS caused the death of the family members would it shock you? Or do we simply justify it thinking that their sin has consequences? Unfortunately actions do have consequences, sometimes on those most innocent.
I ask Constance the names of the people living in the home. She has difficulty remembering and listing them. She gets to about eight and then has to start over. She has a brother and sister, I think. It’s hard to tell who really are brothers, sisters or cousins. Most all of the kids attend school, but studying is a problem when there’s not enough food to keep their minds from wandering and school uniforms cost money. December is coming, most people will be on holiday, the food may not be delivered during the next month or so due to a lack of drivers. Think about that as you sit down for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.
If I told you AIDS has nearly destroyed this family leaving eight children orphaned would it really matter? Who cares how it happened, what difference does it make? It’s a situation that continues to happen. Our responsibility isn’t to judge or point fingers. Our responsibility is to care for those who need help. Our responsibility is to cry out to God for His Justice and the saving knowledge of Him to be revealed. Our responsibility is not to try and understand or figure out what happened. Our responsibility is to share Christ with a hurting and victimized world.
As we return in the car to the feeding center for the orphan children, Constance, her younger sister and a neighbor boy take advantage of the free transport down the road. When we reach our destination I open the door, get out and turn around to sweep up the younger sister in my arms to help her out. Her weight and frame tell me quickly she most likely will not escape the disease that has claimed much of her family. I set her down but she doesn’t go far from my side. I see Constance heading towards the other children that have gathered for their meal of the day. Rice.
Whatever our understanding or stereotypes about AIDS and the pandemic that is absolutely destroying nations; there are millions of innocent victims who will someday be nothing more than a statistic in a book. Was it Constance’s fault she finds herself in a daily struggle to survive? Is Constance to blame for the immense pressure she may someday carry trying to provide for her younger siblings? Is it her fault that someday shortly her mother’s life may be taken as well? Is Constance to blame that she too carries the same death sentence?
thanks for reading...
Stompy is what the coordinator called her. I wasn’t sure exactly why at first, but when I learn the meaning in Afrikaans I realize that it’s in reference to her height. She told us she didn’t like being called Stompy. She liked Constance better. I call her whatever she wants and give her as much dignity and respect I can. She’s a small girl, living in a small house on the outskirts of a big city in South Africa. Her story is going to become even more colorful.
As I walk towards the house another child comes to greet us, this girl is seven or eight, beautiful smile and inquisitive eyes. This is Constance’s “sister”. A quick glance into the home reveals a small table and two chairs. A bed is hidden behind the door. No water in the house, except they tell me, when the rains come and the water floods the area; the bigger problem then are the snakes that get into the “house”. Much of the immediate family aren’t here, at least not anymore.
Two adults appear from the homes, one is Constance’s mother, yet neither one look old enough. One is a bit younger than I am and the other I guess is a young twenty something. They are the caretakers for the children. Neither of them work, the only jobs available involve an unthinkable lifestyle. Constance lives here in this small home with nine other family members.
An aunt, a father and her grandmother have all died recently. I didn’t ask what the cause of death was, but I could have taken a guess with 98% accuracy. Even if I did ask the answer would be pneumonia or TB, not the real causes. The family has no male influence helping provide any necessities. The food they eat comes from relief organizations providing handouts for two of the children, the family stretches it to provide for all, but that is all they are given.
If I were to tell you AIDS killed the family members, somehow our minds immediately wander to think of the immoral lifestyle they lived and how they probably contracted the disease. Our minds try to understand or comprehend how their sin caused this type of situation and thus resulted in their deaths. If I was to tell you AIDS caused the death of the family members would it shock you? Or do we simply justify it thinking that their sin has consequences? Unfortunately actions do have consequences, sometimes on those most innocent.
I ask Constance the names of the people living in the home. She has difficulty remembering and listing them. She gets to about eight and then has to start over. She has a brother and sister, I think. It’s hard to tell who really are brothers, sisters or cousins. Most all of the kids attend school, but studying is a problem when there’s not enough food to keep their minds from wandering and school uniforms cost money. December is coming, most people will be on holiday, the food may not be delivered during the next month or so due to a lack of drivers. Think about that as you sit down for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.
If I told you AIDS has nearly destroyed this family leaving eight children orphaned would it really matter? Who cares how it happened, what difference does it make? It’s a situation that continues to happen. Our responsibility isn’t to judge or point fingers. Our responsibility is to care for those who need help. Our responsibility is to cry out to God for His Justice and the saving knowledge of Him to be revealed. Our responsibility is not to try and understand or figure out what happened. Our responsibility is to share Christ with a hurting and victimized world.
As we return in the car to the feeding center for the orphan children, Constance, her younger sister and a neighbor boy take advantage of the free transport down the road. When we reach our destination I open the door, get out and turn around to sweep up the younger sister in my arms to help her out. Her weight and frame tell me quickly she most likely will not escape the disease that has claimed much of her family. I set her down but she doesn’t go far from my side. I see Constance heading towards the other children that have gathered for their meal of the day. Rice.
Whatever our understanding or stereotypes about AIDS and the pandemic that is absolutely destroying nations; there are millions of innocent victims who will someday be nothing more than a statistic in a book. Was it Constance’s fault she finds herself in a daily struggle to survive? Is Constance to blame for the immense pressure she may someday carry trying to provide for her younger siblings? Is it her fault that someday shortly her mother’s life may be taken as well? Is Constance to blame that she too carries the same death sentence?
thanks for reading...
9.28.2007
This one is for Chase and the rest of the class...
It’s an interesting thing traveling to new countries. There’s always some kind of cultural misunderstandings or rules that you will inevitably realize a little too late. Many of these situations happen and then become the fireside stories that missionaries sit around and tell each other in candid moments. Sorry if you guys didn’t understand all that. Let me put it another way.
Not all people in the world live as we do in America. There are a lot of people who have different rules for their communities and culture and families and stuff. For example, in the United States most kids have their own room. If you have your own room raise your hand. O.k. now put them down. If you share with a brother or sister raise your hand. O.k. you can put them down. See in many places around the world a lot of people share a room with a brother, sister, cousin, mom or dad. Sometimes they may even share with two brothers or two sisters or more. Here’s another example. If you have more than three pairs of shoes raise your hand. O.k. put them down. Did you know that in many places around the world lots of children will never have a pair of shoes. They will walk to school and home and to the shops barefoot. So everyone take off your shoes and let your teacher smell them. Then walk around barefoot the rest of the day. (But only if your teacher says it’s o.k.)
Some countries have McDonalds and KFC and different restaurants that are similar to the U.S. but in some places the food isn’t the same. Actually the food may be the same, like chicken, beef, zebras, corn flakes and toast. It’s just that sometimes we eat different PARTS of the animals. Here’s an example. I was recently visiting a country in Asia. The country is called Malaysia. Can you find that on a map? It’s near Indonesia and Thailand. I went with a friend of mine to go have breakfast and guess what we had? Chicken feet. I was very surprised to have a bowl of tasty looking chicken feet sitting in front of me. My friends all ate them, so I picked one up with my chopsticks and ate one too. It was pretty good actually. Maybe someday you can ask your mom or dad for chicken feet for dinner?
Do you guys think it’s ok to have a competition between the boys and the girls? I think we should see who’s smarter. Who do you think is smarter? Girls or the boys? I’ll think of two questions, one for the boys and one for the girls. Then we’ll see who’s smarter.
Girls:
#1- How many countries are currently in the European Union? (Without using the Internet to find out)
Boys:
#1- What is the name of your school?
So who got the question right? Boys? Girls? Tell your teacher to email me and let me know who’s smarter, boys or the girls.
Ok. Everyone have a good day and I’ll try and take a picture of a giraffe for you.
Thanks for reading…
Not all people in the world live as we do in America. There are a lot of people who have different rules for their communities and culture and families and stuff. For example, in the United States most kids have their own room. If you have your own room raise your hand. O.k. now put them down. If you share with a brother or sister raise your hand. O.k. you can put them down. See in many places around the world a lot of people share a room with a brother, sister, cousin, mom or dad. Sometimes they may even share with two brothers or two sisters or more. Here’s another example. If you have more than three pairs of shoes raise your hand. O.k. put them down. Did you know that in many places around the world lots of children will never have a pair of shoes. They will walk to school and home and to the shops barefoot. So everyone take off your shoes and let your teacher smell them. Then walk around barefoot the rest of the day. (But only if your teacher says it’s o.k.)
Some countries have McDonalds and KFC and different restaurants that are similar to the U.S. but in some places the food isn’t the same. Actually the food may be the same, like chicken, beef, zebras, corn flakes and toast. It’s just that sometimes we eat different PARTS of the animals. Here’s an example. I was recently visiting a country in Asia. The country is called Malaysia. Can you find that on a map? It’s near Indonesia and Thailand. I went with a friend of mine to go have breakfast and guess what we had? Chicken feet. I was very surprised to have a bowl of tasty looking chicken feet sitting in front of me. My friends all ate them, so I picked one up with my chopsticks and ate one too. It was pretty good actually. Maybe someday you can ask your mom or dad for chicken feet for dinner?
Do you guys think it’s ok to have a competition between the boys and the girls? I think we should see who’s smarter. Who do you think is smarter? Girls or the boys? I’ll think of two questions, one for the boys and one for the girls. Then we’ll see who’s smarter.
Girls:
#1- How many countries are currently in the European Union? (Without using the Internet to find out)
Boys:
#1- What is the name of your school?
So who got the question right? Boys? Girls? Tell your teacher to email me and let me know who’s smarter, boys or the girls.
Ok. Everyone have a good day and I’ll try and take a picture of a giraffe for you.
Thanks for reading…
9.26.2007
Fish Stars
I sat at a table last night with a young child who’s imagination grew restless after about the first 5 seconds of the adults talking. Soon the chair became a jungle gym and his food was being covertly flung across the table. A lack of discipline wasn’t this boy’s problem; his father removed him from the table three times as we tried to “overtalk” the sound of crying from the other room. Just the lack of adequate sensory input was more our fault than it was his. Soon the imagination wandered and Fish Stars somehow found themselves in the story.
Sitting out at the edge of a savanna under the moon and star lit sky the boy’s stories grew bigger and bigger as the night wore on. I seem to recall something about a lion or a leopard in one of the exaggerated tales. At one point I think I made out the part in the story where I was some kind of astronaut sailing into the sky eating fish stars. I think I rescued everyone sitting at the table by going all the way up there to swallow them to keep them from falling and hurting people. I mean think about it, who wants to get hit by one of those? It felt kind of nice to be a hero for once.
Most of the times with the Nomad (intern) teams I’m kind of a familiar face that they all try to figure out. Laughing at times, joking at times, yet pushing them to give a hundred percent of themselves to the kids in the presentations at the schools. I train them and try to teach them to rely on and trust each other. I may ask more of them, I may make them work a little hard, I may break their will to live, but I do my best to prepare them for something. See I may not be a hero, but soon they’ll be one.
Soon they’ll stand in front of thousands of children and young people and relay God’s message of Truth and Purpose for their lives. They will be the ones rescuing and protecting those who’ve been hurt and had their lives broken. These are the ones who will be a child’s answer to whether anyone cares for them or not. The child searching for hope, the child feeling the burden of raising their younger brothers and sisters, the child who on that day they enter their school, has decided to give up on life. I’ve trained another semester of heroes.
How long has it been since you’ve been a hero? How long since a child could point at you or remember the day a simple word you said rescued them? I don’t think we realize what kind of impact the smallest word or a smile, an encouraging email or a phone call can make. How much time does it take to be a hero to someone searching for hope?
Pray for those heroes that are out there right now. Two teams near the border of Swaziland, sharing a smile with those searching for a hero. Pray for safety and unity in their teams Pray for me as I work in Malawi to level the roads for teams coming here. Pray for safety and God’s direction in my life. Pray for us as we point children to a true hero, and point to Him yourself. You don’t have to eat fish stars just to be a hero.
….become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of Life…
Phil. 2:15
Thanks for reading...
Sitting out at the edge of a savanna under the moon and star lit sky the boy’s stories grew bigger and bigger as the night wore on. I seem to recall something about a lion or a leopard in one of the exaggerated tales. At one point I think I made out the part in the story where I was some kind of astronaut sailing into the sky eating fish stars. I think I rescued everyone sitting at the table by going all the way up there to swallow them to keep them from falling and hurting people. I mean think about it, who wants to get hit by one of those? It felt kind of nice to be a hero for once.
Most of the times with the Nomad (intern) teams I’m kind of a familiar face that they all try to figure out. Laughing at times, joking at times, yet pushing them to give a hundred percent of themselves to the kids in the presentations at the schools. I train them and try to teach them to rely on and trust each other. I may ask more of them, I may make them work a little hard, I may break their will to live, but I do my best to prepare them for something. See I may not be a hero, but soon they’ll be one.
Soon they’ll stand in front of thousands of children and young people and relay God’s message of Truth and Purpose for their lives. They will be the ones rescuing and protecting those who’ve been hurt and had their lives broken. These are the ones who will be a child’s answer to whether anyone cares for them or not. The child searching for hope, the child feeling the burden of raising their younger brothers and sisters, the child who on that day they enter their school, has decided to give up on life. I’ve trained another semester of heroes.
How long has it been since you’ve been a hero? How long since a child could point at you or remember the day a simple word you said rescued them? I don’t think we realize what kind of impact the smallest word or a smile, an encouraging email or a phone call can make. How much time does it take to be a hero to someone searching for hope?
Pray for those heroes that are out there right now. Two teams near the border of Swaziland, sharing a smile with those searching for a hero. Pray for safety and unity in their teams Pray for me as I work in Malawi to level the roads for teams coming here. Pray for safety and God’s direction in my life. Pray for us as we point children to a true hero, and point to Him yourself. You don’t have to eat fish stars just to be a hero.
….become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of Life…
Phil. 2:15
Thanks for reading...
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