New Year New Blog, Day 344

Blogging virtually every day this year has been incredible. I've learned a lot about myself. I've changed in very positive ways. I've grown.

I appreciate beyond words those few individuals who've faithfully read each posting. Seeing that people do care, that people are interested makes me feel like I'm not living in a box talking to a wall (which sometimes feels like a reality, I believe in everyone's life).

thank-you for reading.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Need, Day 343

I've been thinking lately about Need. (I have a feeling that I posted a very similar blog previously this year but I haven't the energy to search for it at present)

Essentially all we need is food, water, clothing (to protect against the elements), and shelter. But we believe so very differently. A very impoverished person, hungry and homeless on a stormy night would mostly have no other need than that of food and shelter. That individual would most likely not be concentrating on ideas of new shoes or luxurious foods like chocolate and sodas. The person accustomed to hunger and homelessness would be needing simply those things which he or she needs.

An individual who's used to consuming meager meals, but meals enough to satisfy their hunger; who lives in a ratty little building wouldn't be NEEDING food or shelter but that individual may feel they need new shoes, or better food, or more food, or better shelter.

An individual with access to any food they may want, with a luxurious home and everything imaginable (at least imaginable to the above mentioned first and second individuals) may still possibly need something. Maybe this individual is plagued by thoughts during every waking hour of their need for a new couch or a better television. Maybe this individual needs a new outfit in order to maintain sanity.

Is their an unwritten yet predetermined measurement for need existing somewhere? Does the second individual NEED better shelter? Does the third individual NEED a new couch? I don't think so. But if they think so does it become fact? Do each of us need only what we believe is necessity?

I think the world would have us believe so. As long as the truly impoverished people aren't knowingly dieing en mass then it's OK to focus on the hardly impoverished people closer to home. And if the hardly impoverished people closer to home are surviving OK then it's OK to focus on ourselves and our "needs."

But I don't think we have any need whatsoever that trumps the true needs out there. My husband did not need the PS3 Move which he truly believes he'd be unable to live without. The people in this world without food and without clean water they do need those necessities.

I don't want to circle back to shame here. I don't want to belittle the lives of others. I don't want to forget about the blessings that God has showered upon me and you and so forth. But I don't want to be foolish and ignorant and worse yet cold hearted (just pretending its not there because I can't see it).

Sick, Day 342

I've been negligent with blogging over the past few days. I've also been VERY sick and the computer has been utterly repulsive to me.

Jesse, Day 341

I love this man soooo much. He's one of the wonderful things about life, 

one of the many things I am thankful for.

Day 340

Well I'm up to 57 purchases now. Oh well. And Christmas is driving me CRAZY!!! I'm way WAY WAY to much of a procrastinator!

2010 Purchases, Day 339

I'm up to 54 purchases for the year. That's 54 non food things that I've acquired... although the vast majority of those items were gifts for others (22 of them actually). If I can get through Christmas and the next two weeks with making only 2 more purchases that'll put me at an average of 1 thing a week.

Honestly, to me that sounds like a ridiculous amount of stuff. I'd planned to buy as little as possible but one item a week, 56 things this year, well that seems like a lot. The crazy thing is that I've avoided literally a countless number of purchases. My consuming life has dramatically changed since I began this blog. Clearance items used to be unavoidable for me. I'd bring home several different things each week. And trinkets, I don't even want to get started on trinkets. I used to buy little things for people regularly. At first it was virtually impossible to pull myself from sales that now I can walk past without even flinching.

54 items bought, 22 gifted, and not even one pair of new shoes; I'd say that I've been quite successful this year in terms not buying things. Yay! I wish there was a way to calculate all the money I've saved.

Hello Winter, Day 338

Day 337

I'm trying to just relax and breath. Today I was overcome by all of my surroundings. As I drove to work the trees, cows... everything was amazing. I couldn't help thinking as I passed by hundreds and hundreds of naked trees how each one of them had survived so many winters, so many storms, they've each lived this long at least. Every single leafless branch from the largest to the tiniest twig had to have started out at one point as a simple little bud. The world is miraculous.

Every time that I started to feel emotionally overwhelmed today for whatever reason be it deep rooted wounds, foolish procrastination, obligation poking away at me, whatever; I decided to breath deep and let it go. Today life was ready to be lived and I was in no mood to let stupid nonsense stop me.

Well, thats my story.

A Prayer, Day 336

I lay my crowns at Your feet along side my brokenness. I trust that as You see me righteous and pure I too will soon be able to see. I lay aside my fear, anxiety, doubt, false truths and pride. I choose to cease waging war with myself. I've been bloodied and bruised for long enough. As I step forward and breath in deep a breath of appreciation and thanksgiving for the life that's been offered to me I choose the path which is most inviting to my feet. A path strewn with light and beauty. A path that leads to you only. Heavenly Father I look forward to being made new and to laying down my life so that I can know the truth. I realize now that every last bit of me, all of which I place at your feet is tattered and torn and in serious need of mending. I realize now that you've never asked me to let go of me but you've only ever offered to make me complete. Thank you for life.

One of those, ahhhh moments, Day 335

Torches together. Let us burn brighter. Maybe in living, in growing, increasing, in being we might inspire, impact, fuel a fire that lights the world. Thankfulness could be the impact I make. Shining light on the beauty that so often goes unseen could be a very important part of living. After all what is an artist but one who shows and shares and ideally shines an interesting type light in this world. That's like a breath of clean air or a cool refreshing drink. It might just be ok for me to just be me... no what do you want to be's... I'm just gonna be me.

Yay for living!

Purpose part 2, Day 334

This entire first paragraph is a link to a blog I wrote earlier. That blog is basically the beginning to this blog if you feel inclined to read it. So this overwhelming emotional cloud of unknowing, maybe a cloud of doubt has been hovering over me. The question raining down from it's presence is one of destiny/ purpose. What's the point? I'm guessing that the clouds main purpose is to keep me from getting out of the matrix but none the less it's there. I can give the cookie cutter Christian answer to that question and I honestly believe it to be true. The point is to fall more in love with God, draw nearer to Him, hear Him more clearly; the purpose is to live for Him.

Most people's purpose is directed towards something more tangible. People find purpose in their careers, in their families and significant others. Well my job is dumb and I don't have kids and my husband and I have very strong identities of our own and although I am genuinely only half a person without him he's not my purpose in life and I'm not his. I can capture all the neat photographs imaginable. I can clean my house until the cows come home. I can be a hard diligent worker and I could possibly even pay off all my debt and get my life all in order but what's the purpose? 

After spending a year focused on "being" focused on not "having" I'm finding it difficult to even rationalize that one should "have" a purpose (even though the cloud of questioning refuses to budge). Does there always need to be a goal? Should conquest and victory and accomplishment play such huge roles in our lives? Isn't it ok to love life for what it is? Isn't it ok to exist to exist (that sounds dumb, but I mean it); to love, to appreciate, to see beauty and be moved by it, to be? Something within me says "no, it's not ok. You must strive for..." But you know what, I don't want to strive for... anymore. I LOVE the idea of living free from want, free from finish lines and on your mark get set... I love the idea of life being the point. 

And the inward battle continues. I believe that I should be ridiculously thankful for the air I breath, for the health in my body, for the overwhelming shower of blessings that rain down upon my life, for the family and loved ones that surround me... there should be NOTHING to strive for, to NEED... there shouldn't be a purpose. Okay, that sounds like a cop out. What I'm trying to say is that life is wonderful. This world is beyond amazing. There aren't words to describe it's beauty. One could spend every single moment of an entire lifetime simply appreciating this place. The people spanning the globe are incredible awesome little glimpses of our Creator and they're each so unique and wonderful. Why do we need more? That's my question. 

What is this inward itch that's pushing me to conquer; something, anything, it doesn't even matter what it is, my mind just tells me that I need to make an impact? But I want to be impacted. 

Here's the thing: I've identified that I believe inwardly and emphatically that I am a failure. I can work it over and over again in my head but my heart knows this (false) truth. When I type the above announcement, "I am a failure," when I say it my heart cries out a shout of relief. In the same moment is beats a schizophrenic rhythm of comfort from having been given the opportunity to release what's been held within for so very long and sadness from knowing the truth, the absoluteness, the certainty of failure. 

I'm guessing that my NEED to accomplish, to go out there and slay a dragon, my NEED to HAVE a purpose is in direct correlation to my belief that I am a failure. If I can overcome the (false) truth; if I can accomplish and conquer and be victorious THEN the I'm free. But that's stupid. I'm already free. I already know (in my head) that I'm not a failure. This thing called life is so messy and this is getting really long again.

The point is to follow Christ. I can think of no alternate purpose and thus I shall pray for sunshine and watch as the cloud of unknowing dissolves. Live. Love. Experience beauty. The truth: life is too precious to waste on false truths, insecurity, and chasing after the wind.  

Choose Life, 333

For what great nation is there that has God so near to it, as the LORD our God is to us, for whatever reason we may call upon Him? Only take heed to yourself, and diligently keep yourself, lest you forget the things your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. And teach them to your children and your grandchildren. I call heaven and earth as witnesses today against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore choose life, that both you and your descendants may live; Set your hearts on all the words which I testify among you today, which you shall command your children to be careful to observe—all the words of this law. For it is not a futile thing for you, because it is your life, and by this word you shall prolong your days in the land which you cross over the Jordan to possess. Duet 4:7,9 30:19 32:46-47

God didn't want His children to stray from Him, from His Word (which is Life), from His path. Most of the Old Testament consists of God instructing His people how to LIVE and beseeching them to not stray from the path. Interestingly enough many and most of us are or have been perplexed by God's instructing the Israelites to annihilate every living creature they came upon in the land He was bringing them into. Today I see it a bit differently. God was instructing His children to destroy the lies, to destroy the falsity, to annihilate a plague that would destroy them (and that did destroy them) if they let it exist. 

We can listen to people, observe with our own eyes the supposed truth, and believe the false reality that's been woven into ourselves or we can listen to God and see the truth through spiritual eyes, through eyes of faith. All of the sudden I feel like the majority of the old testament was saying exactly what I've been seeing as of late. The impact this world has upon us is so harsh that God called it death. He instructed His children to eliminate the picture of false truth that was nothing but a curse to them. He was constantly beseeching them to not let society rule their lives. He taught them of life; He set the truth before them and asked that they gird themselves in it and pass it on to other generations the same way the Mayans have passed on their tribal clothing for centuries. God was begging them to not give in to the man made reality that we so often dwell in and He so very clearly explained that doing so would be the end of them (and it was). 

This still reigns just as true today. Although Christ has covered our mistakes and redeemed us from our foolishness we're asked to follow the straight and narrow, to carry our cross, to choose life and truth and follow Christ. I think following Christ is exactly the same thing as when God said to the Israelites, "Set your hearts on all the words which I testify among you today, which you shall command your children to be careful to observe," and so on and so forth. We aren't to follow this society which surrounds us. We're to "hate/ love less" those things (and people) which we cling to as truth. The only truth is in God, in His word. Get out of the matrix. Cling to what is true; Discover what is true. 

Or you can exist within the matrix if you want to. That's your choice. Even God said so very clearly that He's given us that choice. Do what you will. I'm clinging to what "I know," to what's comfortable (in my mind), to what experience has taught me BUT I am realizing that truth is separate from what I know. Life is far beyond what I've been living. 

Oh, my goodness, I'm a rambling fool this morning. 

purpose? Day 332

If you've read any of these most recent blogs you've quickly realized that I've been on this strong inward self examination kick as of late. So much of what we know, including ourselves is so masked. It's sort of like living in the matrix. You can just accept everything you know as real and true and live your fake life (spoon fed to you through programing) in a daze void of truth and any hint of reality or you can get messy, get out of the matrix, discover truth and fight till your dying day to stand up for what is right. Maybe what you know is right is never again purchasing child labor, slave labor manufactured clothing. Maybe what you know to be true is the real individual inside of you that no ones ever seen, the one who's strong and passionate about things but who's been trapped for decades by the fearful, jaded, guarded you. Maybe what you know to be right is that life isn't about success, progress (materially speaking) but it is in fact about life, living, breathing, heart beating creatures. It's really up to you.

So this overwhelming emotional cloud of unknowing, maybe a cloud of doubt has been hovering over me. The question raining down from it's presence is one of destiny/ purpose. What's the point? I'm guessing that the clouds main purpose is to keep me from getting out of the matrix but none the less it's there. I can give the cookie cutter Christian answer to that question and I honestly believe it to be true. The point is to fall more in love with God, draw nearer to Him, hear Him more clearly; the purpose is to live for Him.

Most people's purpose is directed towards something more tangible. In our youth it seems as though we're existing for the sole purpose of becoming ourselves but I've witnessed thus far that the reigning definition of  "becoming ourselves" is actually becoming as much like all the other selves as we possibly can without ripping our own faces off (and people are doing that nowadays). Once we've officially blended into society (as much as we're capable of) and honestly look at the youth who are trying so adamantly to escape societies clutches, you can't tell one from another. None of them look like individuals but rather they ALL resemble a new society. Sorry I had to add that.

So, again, once we've officially blended into society the point of it all becomes one simple (and seemingly impossible task): find someone. Once the someone has been found the purpose becomes possibly more complicated then it's ever been. The purpose could now be keeping that someone. It could be transforming that someone. It could be further still transforming oneself to become more appealing to that someone. And possibly, just maybe it could actually be really truly and honestly loving that someone. Or all of the above and more.

And then as all living creators are known to do the two someones having finally become something together bring life into the world. This is the point at which all of my peers stand. Everyone I know has so much purpose attached to their lives at present through the loving and raising of their children. I could think of nothing more wonderful right now then to be in a similar situation (of which I'm not... interjected just in case someone I don't know EVER reads this rambling). The raising of children gives purpose to people for decades and for some individuals it lasts the rest of their lives. I think the mid life crisis is the point in which ones children are suddenly no longer ones purpose and life loses meaning and becomes void and unbearable and confusing.

I should just stop now. This is long and I never intended to write any of it and my entire point of this blog might be lost if I make it any longer than it now is.

Frozen Saturday Beauty, Day 331

Very few people go to the beach in the middle of winter

yet it seems to me that beauty resides in those places where very few people go

While I was Driving, Day 330

There was a huge squirrel munching on something in a field. It's so very cold outside and yet the little critter looked so powerful and content. It made me smile.

I noticed an incredibly thick power line spanning between two poles. As I got closer the odd thickness was revealed to be hundreds of small birds, each directly next to the other, wings touching, feet gripping the wire, apparently huddled close together for warmth. That's a sight I've never seen before (not birds on a wire, but birds seemingly becoming a wire).

While I'm on the subject of birds I feel I must mention the monstrous black birds at the landfill. They're enormous and I'm certain they run a brutally strict gang. I've never seen a small bird anywhere near the landfill. Every single week when I drive by there are a few giant black birds perched upon the huge electrical towers constructed at the landfills edge like vultures. I'm certain those fellows are on the look out for trespassers. The off duty beasts are free to roam the air and the ruble. They're huge, impressive birds whom I'm certain have an exhilarating story which none of us knows. (I have to wonder at the length of their life spans)

Yesterday as I was advancing North I suddenly entered a winter wonderland. Every bit of every article everywhere the eye could see was coated with brilliant thick snow. It was as if I'd driven into a Christmas card or a snow globe (but it wasn't snowing). One moment the world was cold and white and in the blink of an eye the world was magnificent and magical. I was blessed by the scene for the remainder of my journey. Every tree branch, tree trunk and twig was coated. Every remaining weed, cattail and fence post wore the same outfit. The sky was blue but a white bubble sat just beneath it. Snow is so amazing; simply frozen water, each tiny flake unique in all the world; it has the miraculous power to turn the whole world a new, transform every sight, grant purity and holiness when it's united.

Be Amazed.

Day 329

Not to move forward, to stay where we are, to regress, in other words to rely on what we have, is very tempting, for what we have, we know; we can hold onto it, feel secure in it. We fear, and consequently avoid, taking a step into the unknown, the uncertain; for, indeed, while the step may not appear risky to us after we have taken it, before we take that step the new aspects beyond it appear very risky, and hence frightening. Only the old, the tried, is safe; or so it seems. Every new step contains the danger of failure, and that is one of the reasons people are so afraid of freedom.

-Erich Fromm

Of Life and Death, Day 328

We believe ourselves so superior and then we die. I know a man who's brain is dying. He's a successful wealthy retired businessman. His family became aware of the sickness when he began to acquire an odd cheery disposition. Each day it's as if he's delving deeper into drunkenness. At first the only sign was the euphoria. Then it became slightly difficult for him to walk and he'd fall sometimes. He gradually got weaker and started to slur his speech. In just a few short months the sickness has progressed so rapidly and it came out of nowhere.

Life is so short. The few waking moments we've been granted upon this beautiful planet are but a breath. Yet we twiddle them away in frustration, anger, and trivial worries about essentially meaningless things. Have you full capacity of your limbs?... Praise the Lord and use them. Are you able to skim through literature and comprehend what's written?... Seek out knowledge and truth and never stop seeking. Have you loved ones anywhere near you?... Appreciate them, enjoy them, pardon them their trespasses and seize the day! Today I can't help but set aside all that ales me. I am healthy. I am alive. All is well and I praise God for that!

Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothes the grass, which today is in the field and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O you of little faith? Luke 12:27-28

The Path I Trod, Day 327

The way to being is penetration through the surface and insight into reality. -Erich Fromm

C.S. Lewis says that the devil offers us two opposite sets of bad. I believe that the straight and narrow path mentioned in the scriptures passes between the two bads. To trod the straight and narrow path requires balance. When one leans towards the right or the left they stray from the perfect path.

I've discovered a central truth (false truth actually) that courses through my veins. I believe in my very core that I am a failure. (I imagine that this is a base lie that the enemy feeds to many MANY individuals) My heart beats a resounding cry of defeat and inadequacy which causes me to shrink back from life more often than not. The real truth is that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me but the lie which has been woven into the fiber of my being from my childhood negates the truth and relinquishes the power in the name of Jesus.

I've recently realized that I've been attempting to battle this lie (unconsciously) through accomplishment. I feel that if I can juggle all the balls and let none drop then I can defeat the truth of my inability to succeed. But I always drop at least one ball. In fact I very rarely am able to get them all into the air. Time and time again I fail  which only solidifies the false truth of failure which seems to own me.

The straight and narrow involves me walking faithfully forward with my eyes all the time focused on Christ. To the left of this path lies absolute defeat, idleness, slothfulness, fear, not one reason to advance because failure is immanent. To the right of the straight and narrow lies the opposite bad. This is me on my own attempting to overcome Satan, attempting to conquer the world, attempting to juggle every single ball and obtain perfection. I can no longer succumb to defeat or walk down the path of solitary struggle for victory. In order to BE I need balance. I need to follow the straight and narrow path that leads to Christ.

I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.  Philippians 4:11, 13

Hate the falsity that looks so real, Day 326

"If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple (pupil)." Luke 14:26

Ever since the very first time I read this verse I was certain that it did not belong in the Bible. I couldn't ever imagine Jesus speaking these words. It's never made any sense to me. Even when I heard pastor's preach sermons including this verse it didn't seem right and stuck out like a soar thumb. In all of Jesus' teachings LOVE is the main theme and a house divided against itself will fall so how could Jesus ever instruct anyone to hate for any reason? Yesterday when I wrote the blog about my nightmare; about the impression that living has left on who I am as a person I couldn't stop thinking about this verse. I knew that it belonged attached to that blog. 

The original word in the greek is miseo. Translated into English the definition of the word is "to hate" or "to love less." Every last person who has ever walked upon this earth has been flawed beyond recognition by life. We're flawed to such an extent that God is unable to look upon us without the cover of Jesus' blood. We are each the result of our parents and their parents and their parents impression of this world. Our view is flawed. Our lens is flawed. Our entire selves are flawed. If anyone, even an atheist can argue with the truth of that I'd like to hear it. I believe that the redeeming blood of Christ allows God to look upon us as we should be, the way He intended us to be, without flaw, without mar, without filth and dross and blemish. I truly believe that when my Daddy God looks upon me He sees perfect beauty, He sees me; not mistakes that my mom and dad made, not a whole boat load of false truths that have been handed down by my grandparents, not wounds and scars and bruises from the kids at school. Because of Christ my Heavenly Father sees me. The funny thing is I can't even see me. But I know He does.

I'm certain, when Jesus said you must love your father, your mother, everyone LESS if you want to learn anything from me He was simply saying, that guy who you see as your dad isn't really your dad. That guy is a mess. My Father cannot even look upon that guy. I think Jesus was telling his followers that they wouldn't ever be able to learn anything from Him if they weren't able to abandon the brokenness in their families, in themselves; a brokenness that they loved.

This could be super stretching it. It could be. But I believe that is exactly what Jesus was saying. I know He wasn't saying that we should hate, not love, despise, look down upon; He wasn't saying anything like that. But I do believe He was saying we need to stop loving the lies. We need to stop believing blindly all the junk that's been hardwired into us. We need to stop idolizing people. We need to look to Him, listen to Him, look away from people, and hear the truth. Honestly the truth is so foreign to our natural selves that we would have to hate those old ways and false truths in order to see clearly.

I won't go into all the ungodly messiness of my family members. I can magnify the filth in me however. I can say that I hate the laziness, I hate that I'm messy and pessimistic. I hate that people bother me. I hate that depression has a greasy hold on me. I hate the stubbornness. Like I said before in my monster blogs, I no longer even identify those parts of me as me. I know that in Christ Jesus I am a new creation. I know that God sees me outside of those things. This, I believe, is what Jesus was saying when he instructed his followers to hate (love less). I'm bordering on repetition now. So I shall close. I hope this makes sense.

A Dream I HAD, Day 325

I used to "have" a reoccurring dream/ nightmare. It began when I was a child.The nightmare went like this: I was driving my mother's blue extended cab Ford F150 pickup truck with my siblings riding along inside. It was scary driving that huge thing especially being that I was just a kid and so small so I was terrified at the task when all of the sudden a huge body of water would appear in front of the truck and I'd drive all of us kids right down into it. I'd wake up once we hit the water but I always knew we died. The dream morphed over the years. In my dreams I've driven every car I ever owned into a huge body of water that suddenly appeared around a bend, or after emerging from a thick forest, or from behind a building, or off a cliff that came out of nowhere. I died all but one of the times. (one time before I hit the water I popped out of a worm hole into a school building) Actually only one time I wasn't driving. One time the youth pastor was driving a bus packed full of youth groups kids and he drove us into the water. That one was really weird. We all died. I remember feeling horrible for leaving Jesse behind, all alone (he was in a different vehicle on the same coarse we had taken). And just before I woke up from the watery death obituaries for each person who'd died in the crash scrolled quickly through my mind on a black backdrop much like credits to a movie.

I always thought that dreamed stemmed from two roots. My Dad's always been somewhat of an instigator. When we were kids we played baseball in the front yard with the neighbor kids all the time. I was the designated pitcher while everyone else took turns batting and running and chasing the ball across the street into the neighbors yard. My dad used to come home from work and drive full speed into the front yard like he was going to run us all over. I'm absolutely certain he made some of those neighbor kids pee their pants at some point in time. We'd run frantically for the concrete front porch steps knowing that he couldn't run us down if we were standing on them. We knew it was only a joke but after his vehicle came to a stop at the edge of the steps some of the neighbor kids would run home crying. He also sang songs with our names inserted into them or he'd call us by a weird obnoxious version of our name. He did it to our friends too. For some reason the songs seemed funny to everyone except the person who's name was in it. He tortured my brother Matt most of all with those songs. Additionally he took the family for drives ALOT. Really that's the only time I remember him actually spending with us when we were kids. We drove to other cities and looked at houses that were being built, we ate at little smoke filled dives, and we always ended up at the water during some part of the drive. He thought it was funny to drive really fast down the boat ramp and stop just before we hit the water. It wasn't funny.

I'm proud to say that I've traveled a bit. I've driven to Seattle and then to the Pacific Ocean. My friends and I have taken joy rides to the UP, Niagra Falls, Kentucky, Tennessee. I've driven to Chicago on several occasions. On a long drive at some point in time there's bound to be an awkward bridge crossing over water with really revealing railing, or a road with a very narrow shoulder thats set right down into the water that spans out on either side of it. I've known no greater fear than having to cross such paths. For some reason I fear that I will lose control of the vehicle and end up in the water. The entire time I spend crossing the living nightmare I imagine how I might be able to escape from the sinking vehicle to save my life. I've always thought of this as the second root to my dream. The first is obviously my father. Then naturally the second would be a fear of water (although there's a good possibility that fear is actually because of my father).

Yesterday I wrote (and I apologize for the long excerpt): "I can blame the defective annoying me on my parents, on their divorce, on my dads anger and absence, on my moms lack of self confidence and reservation, on them unknowingly asking me to forfeit childhood at age 10; asking me unknowingly to take on the role of caretaker, housekeeper, cook, peacemaker... a role I was incapable of rising to and one that pounded an overwhelming identity of failure over my life. I know food as comfort. I can rely on chocolate, sugar, pizza and pasta to soothe the pain of reality; the reality that I am not good enough, that I'll never be good enough and that it's my fault everything sucks. I can't be ok without food. That's my march to the watering hole. That's the path life has taught me to follow. I can tell my heart otherwise but it's ingrained in me and it's a tooth and nail fight to tell the little monster anything to the contrary." And this morning I remembered the reoccurring nightmare. I can blame the imagery on my dad pretending to drive our vehicle into the lake but I realize now that the symbolism is much more important. I "have" an ingrained fear and expectation for failure. I identify myself as someone who is incapable of completing the journey. When I was a kid trying desperately to take care of my siblings I used to dream of driving them to their deaths. When I reached my young adult years; years overrun by depression and lack of confidence I'd constantly drive myself into that watery grave. The worst part was that I was completely incapable of remedying the situation. I never drove off the path I was on. The water always came out of nowhere when I was advancing at an incredibly fast pace. There was no possible way to avoid it.

I say that I "used to" have a reoccurring dream because I've been dreaming some version of the dream fairly regularly ever since I was a kid but I don't remember the last time it plagued me. In fact it's probably been at least a year. Today I'm willing to say that the reason I feel a constant push to accomplish, the reason I have a never ending list of chores unraveling in my brain at all times, the reason I beat myself up incessantly for failing to meet all of my expectations and the reason I am so incredibly hard on myself is 1.) I'm trying to break out of the mold, the only way I believe to be true, believe to be possible, believe to be natural; I'm trying not to fail and 2.) I'm setting myself up for failure the only way I believe to be true, believe to be possible, believe to be natural. That's my march to the watering hole or if I may say my route to a watery grave. I can see it so clearly now.

BUT I haven't had the dream in at least a year. I believe that woven into the fiber of my being is a truth which states "I am a failure." But I believe that God, that Jesus, that the Holy Spirit has given me a ticket to get out of jail free and I no longer have to be a marred vessel. I no longer have to be who this world made me to be. I no longer have to fail or fight against it. I gave up trying to redeem myself and now (at least consciously) I give up trying to perfect myself. I'm ok. And I stopped having that dream awhile ago.

"If anyone comes to Me and does not cast aside his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple." Luke 14:26

Day 324

How many times in your life has someone walked up to you and asked, "what's on your mind?" and then sat down to listen, to really listen and hear and notice who you are as a person?

My March to the Watering Hole, Day 323

For 1 year I've been attempting to live my life in a way entirely different than what I've ever known. I've been attempting to progress forward apart from things/ stuff. I've been trying to live a "being" existence as opposed to a "having" existence. Our society is very having oriented. We crave things in order to find fulfillment. We surround our lives with stuff, with gadgets, with collectibles, with memories we can hold in our hands. We need bigger and better and more. The greater our physical treasures the greater we are as people. Our homes, our vehicles, cellular phones, televisions, and clothing define us. These things announce to the world who we are.

Going a bit further we desire to capture time, to own experiences, to "have" life. We take photographs of every little moment in order to not lose it. With souvenirs, trinkets, and gifts we can keep our travels, our journeys, and our relationships close at hand. In our free time in order to claim time, to make it our own, to HAVE it we often attempt to escape from it's grasps, to reclaim dominance by doing nothing (productive), by watching television, playing video games, by lounging, by not living, by not letting time boss us around any longer. If it's not forcing us to preform then we must be in control of it. I know that sounds a bit far fetched and possibly very confusing but I've been focusing on this issue for a year and let me tell you it's all very true.

We need to have in order to be. But there's this other lifestyle, one where the experience is what you receive from the experience. Time isn't a factor because you're living. Every moment you're increasing, moving forward, being impacted by the world around you, by life, by beauty, by processes occurring naturally everywhere. Life is about moving not about having. Life is about increasing as a living being not about increasing the things that surround your being. In this other lifestyle you find joy and pleasure in the act of living. You don't need stuff to fill your voids. In fact stuff clutters the picture and makes it difficult to notice progress. Stuff becomes a distraction. Stuff slows down the process of increasing, of growing, or changing, of every day becoming who you are. Stuff is counterproductive.

So this has been my journey for a year. I've been attempting to look beyond, to move past, and to overcome the stuff. I can very proudly say that I've almost entirely beaten the desire to consume, to acquire, to have stuff. I no longer need anything. It's a wonderfully freeing, awkward, at times even alienating feeling. I've been noticing the world that surrounds me, appreciating it AND I'm affected by it more than ever before. I love seeing the sky, seeing the trees, snowflakes and icicles, sunsets and shooting stars... really seeing them all the time and being affected by nature. As opposed to just noticing the beauty sometimes. The world that surrounds  me is greater and more fulfilling than anything I could ever hope to acquire and it's ALWAYS there. I've most certainly made progress in these aspects.

This year has brought light as never before to how strongly I "have" my own identity. This is very difficult to relay even though I've been struggling to put it to print for several months. My heart longs for freedom from confinement, from set ways, deliberate patterns, and learned acquired ideas (half-truths). I desire to be someone who loves, someone who appreciates, someone fueled by a passionate fire to live, to progress. I desire to breath deeply with strong healthy lungs the fresh air of life. I want to create. I want to learn, seek out additional truths, operate responsibly concerning living things. The more I've been attempting to BE the more this established, learned, mucky screwed up, programed me has been protesting to stay just the way she is. The little marred monster in me doesn't want to change no matter how passionately my heart beats for life.

This battle sucks. I am honestly lazy, messy, pessimistic, very secluded, generally depressed, and really REALLY stubborn. I can blame the defective annoying me on my parents, on their divorce, on my dads anger and absence, on my moms lack of self confidence and reservation, on them unknowingly asking me to forfeit childhood at age 10; asking me unknowingly to take on the role of caretaker, housekeeper, cook, peacemaker... a role I was incapable of rising to and one that pounded an overwhelming identity of failure over my life. I know food as comfort. I can rely on chocolate, sugar, pizza and pasta to soothe the pain of reality; the reality that I am not good enough, that I'll never be good enough and that it's my fault everything sucks. I can't be ok without food. That's my march to the watering hole. That's the path life has taught me to follow. I can tell my heart otherwise but it's ingrained in me and it's a tooth and nail fight to tell the little monster anything to the contrary.

For a year I've been noticing, I've been learning, I've been changing who I am. I've grown but the journey has only just begun. I'm giddy at the life, at the living that goes before me but I'm equally terrified at the work, at the toil that's destined to go along with being who I long to be.

So when Jesus heard these things, He said to him, "You still lack one thing. Sell all that you have and distribute to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me." Luke 18:22

A Misshapen Clay Something, Day 322

I'm convinced that people especially at a very young age are influenced so strongly by their environments that connections are permanently made in their brains; connections that establish who we are. I believe that our physical nature is impacted by outward circumstances and as small children the world around us isn't only impacting our hearts and our brains but is actually weaving the fiber of our beings.

We always have the ability to choose our own paths and to navigate our own footsteps but the ability to choose doesn't negate the nature that drives us. If we choose paths contrary to the nature that's been woven into our beings a ferocious battle ensues (this is where I get my little monster) and usually nature wins, I mean it's only natural. The connections in our brains that tell our bodies something should be a very particular way usually reign supreme. It's very difficult to convince the body of something opposite to what it knows to be truth/ natural.

When someone who's always been angry (who's life has been surrounded and consumed with anger) decides he no longer wishes to be so he must war with himself. When someone with strong addictive habit's (who's virtually never known otherwise) chooses to rebel against the drive to consume she must war with herself. When someone who views the world with an all prevailing melancholy (who's eye's only notice what's familiar, what's comfortable, what's dark) chooses to see beauty and light he or she must war with themselves.

Each of us is the result of billions of experiences and impressions. We have the ability to choose our own paths but I believe that before any of us can do that we need to be able to recognize the march to the watering hole; we need to be able to realize that SO many of the things about ourselves that we identify as ourselves are just consequences of our experiences. Those things, those habits, those viewpoints aren't necessarily you in the sense that you think they are.

Who are you?

The vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter; so he made it again into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to make. Jer. 18:4

I think the question surrounding each of our lives is, "am I willing to acknowledge that this vessel is marred by wear and tear, by life's messiness and by my ignorant attempts to fashion myself (even though I am not the potter but am only just the clay)?"

Busy like the ants, Day 321

I've this 500 or so page blog swirling around in my head. It's boiling and festering and ready to burst all over this keyboard but I don't think anyone would understand the chaos (or choose to read it) so I'm trying to gather it into cohesive bits of ideas.

The way I see it, and it ends up being a gross misuse of the word, everyone is BUSY, like the ants or elephants or fish. Whether or not anyone is productively busy is potentially unanswerable. The ants gather and store. I imagine not because anyone told them to but because nature has been created that way and in order to survive they follow the paths of nature. The elephants and penguins and polar bears and birds and fish migrate every single year like clock work. Probably not because the momma elephants told the little elephants, "this is what we must do, so always do it and teach your baby elephants the same." It's all nature. It's all a matter of survival. I'm not any sort of expert or schooled on this subject but I imagine that's the case.

I've lived long enough to have witnessed horrible addictions; life quenching, life threatening, life destroying addictions. I've seen intense OCD. I've known a lot of snotty mean people who I'm pretty sure don't think they're so. I've seen lazy, messy people who don't seem to care one way or the other about their world collapsing around them. I've seen people DEEPLY and unalterably wound other people who they truly love. And even to the other extreme I've seen people who "have it together" to such an extent that they're unable to let a ball drop without losing it altogether.

We're busy just like the ants; we're busy trying to keep the path trod that's been trod before us at all cost no matter if the crumb we choose to carry will end up crushing us, or if the path leads through a playground where giant kids are standing by ready to smoosh you and everyone you love. God created us but we were made by our parents, by our societies, by the things we chose to read and watch and listen to. We're very busy, not becoming who we want to be but being who we've become. I really believe this. I really believe that we're clinging to our lives, holding on for dear life even if the elephant trail is leading to an empty water hole. We have what we've been given and in our eyes there isn't anything more, or different.

I guess that's the first bit.

Then Jesus answered, “Will you really lay down YOUR life for me? I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times! John 13:38

Guatemalan Widow Home, Day 320 (Guat story)

The day we built a house for a widow was SOOOO exhilarating. I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around the reality of building a home. How would we build a house in one day? What in the world would I do to contribute to such a task? I was told it could be done, but I was seriously skeptical. I felt pride welling up just thinking about the accomplishment and the ability I’d be granted to tell the story back home, “I built a house in Guatemala!” What an awesome adventure.

Guatemala is home to a countless number of widows. The year 1996 saw an end to a 36 year civil war which left thousands dead and missing. The survivors were left scarred, terrified, and alone. Guatemala’s wealth is very poorly distributed, a serious problem worldwide. There are ridiculously rich people living entirely separate from everyone else. There are ridiculously large numbers of indigenous peoples living in dire poverty. During the coup of 1954 the existing Guatemalan government was overthrown and the new government quickly began to rip to shreds the first signs of hope and the first taste of freedom and human rights that the impoverished people of Guatemala had ever known. The labor unions were outlawed. The land acts were disregarded. People who had thought they may soon own their own land no longer having to be in servitude to the wealthy plantation owners, people who thought they may soon be earning fare wages for the grueling unending work they endured in the coffee and banana fields were outraged. A guerrilla army formed; infuriated by the government’s total disrespect for human life the longest civil war in Latin America’s history began. Horrendous torture, brutality, terrorism, and murderous acts were committed against, mostly the indigenous peoples in the mountains. The government could not catch or stop the guerrillas despite the vast amounts of military aid and training from other countries such as the USA. Their only hope, in their eyes was to stop those aiding the ceaseless guerrilla army. And so raids into the mountains were conducted. Houses were demolished. Food was destroyed. Worst of all innocent people having no involvement whatsoever were taken, tortured and killed. After all, who’s going to aid a guerrilla even if he or she is on their side if the bigger badder guys can just come in and kill their husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons whenever they like because they’re helping the enemy. (The Office for Human (ODHAG) rights attributes almost 90% of the human rights atrocities during the war to the Guatemalan army and less than 5% to the guerrillas)

Ron’s ministry takes groups like ours from the states and builds a home for a widow in one day. It’s a relatively easy way to let them know that someone cares, that God loves them, and despite any horror they may have experienced there is good in the world. For our part our group was split in two; we built two houses in one day. Ron said one of the homes would take quite a hike so he asked for people who wouldn’t mind the climb. I was thrilled at the idea of walking through the wild Guatemalan mountains. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the photographs I might capture.

The truck seemed to drive up endlessly, turn after turn, the dust was even more relentless than the day before but it was exhilarating riding in the open air in the truck bed. No restraints. No cushions. The metal of the truck bed bruised my tail bone. I tried every position imaginable to find comfort. No matter how I sat the bumping, jerking, and tilting gave no relief. The ferocity of it was so un-American, it was freeing. I had to shield my eyes from the clouds of dust but I peered out from behind my arm to the world, the vast, foreign world around us. I tried to take in every sight, every tiny home we passed, every tired person walking slowly alongside the road, every scrawny dog that ran wild in the distance.

The truck eventually pulled off the road onto a two track that ran into a field. It slowed to a stop at the edge of a forest. There were children running through the field but there weren’t any homes in sight. We unloaded, each claimed the items they’d carry, and we followed our guides. I grabbed two drill cases, one in each hand. Others from the team carried buckets of tools or ladders. Our guides, the helpers from Ron’s team were super human. One of them carried an entire sterelite tub upon his back, filled with hammers, nails, measuring tapes and other various odds and ends. Crouched over he held the tub with one hand and carried other items at his side with the other. (it wasn’t until later when I tried to lift the tub and couldn’t even get it to budge, that my respect and awe for that guy (Cristhian) escalated). He walked up the tiny trail on the mountain side with ease. The wild Guatemalan mountain wilderness I’d eagerly volunteered to tackle presented a rather disappointing realization. As we ventured into the woods up a steep mountainside I felt I was back home in a forest on one of our Michigan sand dunes. Same trees, same climb, same excruciating exhaustion, except that I was having to carry house building supplies in very thin mountain air. My lungs were quite certain they’d met their end right there. I was feeling stupid for having volunteered for that. The trees broke in the nick of time, gasping for breath, almost crawling up the hillside; we’d reached the top of the mountain. The bright blue sky speckled with fluffy white clouds opened up above. The breeze was magnificent. I dropped the drill cases and collapsed. (Of course our guides/ helpers/ translators looked rather like they’d just taken a stroll through a park as they set down their immensely heavy loads).

I lay in the dirt next to the cement slab we’d be constructing a home upon. It was very small. Four sturdy posts stood erect at each corner of the concrete. I had imagined it would be bigger. Ron had said that the people considered these homes to be like the Tajmahal.

Up the hill a short distance from where I lay there were two small buildings and a mud igloo like structure. A few people scurried in and out of one of the buildings. Ron had said that showing love and being friendly to the family was just as important as the actual building of the home. There was so much fear of mission work amongst the people. They were skeptical and didn’t understand why these rich white folks were offering them things… water, candy, food, shelter. Ron was there bringing in teams of people all year long from different churches all over the states in order to establish a ministry of love, of serving, of Christ. He wanted to bring them clean water and stop the water borne illnesses. He was trying to provide them with healthy warm food to combat the daily hunger and malnutrition, especially in the children. He wanted to show love to the widows and let them know that there is a God who cares deeply for them. He said that we were there to build the houses, to show them love, and that we would present each home as a free gift from Jesus Christ, absolutely no strings attached. With a mission of love set in their minds of few ladies from our team headed straight up the hill towards those two buildings to face the unknown. I figured with them leading the way I could surely join in the venture and headed up right behind them.

Day 319

It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is: What are we busy about?

Henry David Thoreau

Guatemalan Mornings, Day 318 (Guat story)

Each morning in Guatemala I’d awake before the sun. Eager to partake of the new day in that mystical place I would climb right out of bed without resting further. I should have been tired, I needed additional sleep. But once my eyes had opened I was much too excited to close them again. I crawled out of bed in the dark, trying not to disturb any of the others in the room. I’d feel around through my things for a sweatshirt, my Bible, and a notebook. I wanted desperately to meet with God each morning, just the two of us. I’d tell Him of my gratitude for the wonderful experience and ask Him to help me get through another day of the complete unknown. I thanked him for my family and the amazing world I’d come from, a world full of luxury and food.

I spent each morning in the garden just before the sun awoke. I could smell the rich Guatemalan coffee brewing as I creaked down the stairs all wrapped up in my sweatshirt. After pouring myself a dark steaming cup of my new favorite beverage I’d slip outside into the cool morning air. I’d take a seat on the courtyard furniture and eagerly await the new day and the sunrise that would bring such vibrancy and life to it. I’d sit sipping; listening to roosters crowing in the neighboring courtyards, holding my Bible and reveling in the peace and overwhelming excitement I had stumbled into. I’d begin to read. I read so slowly those mornings in Ron’s courtyard, planted in that heavenly garden. I felt like God himself was sitting next to me speaking each word into my heart. There was such life in the words I’d read so many times before. It was as if I’d never heard them. Each word was new. Each sentence painted a vibrant portrait of life full of meaning.

On the second morning of my first week in Guatemala a cool morning chill caused steam to rise from my mug. The stars in the deep blue sky were brilliant. The blue of the sky just before the morning light of the sun creeps up on the horizon is the most beautiful blue I know. The sounds of birds in the distance and cars in the streets made me feel that I was in no way alone. The building next door had a dog living atop its roof. Ron said he was a guard dog. I’m not sure how a dog on a roof can prohibit a thief, none the less his bark was identical to a dog I’d had as a kid. The world I sat in was entirely foreign and new but I felt so very at home. I was home, peacefully, pleasantly home in that garden with the roosters crowing, the delicious hot Guatemalan coffee, my familiar Bible and God speaking everything anew sitting just next to me. 

That was the sanctuary at Ron’s Casa de Oracion. I read from James the entire week. Ron had quoted a verse, possibly 5 times already since we’d arrived, about caring for orphans and widows. His entire ministry was based on this verse from James. I felt he was over doing it a bit, continually quoting that verse. But I read it myself that morning under the stars, surrounded by flowers, inhaling the smell of ash and coffee, a cool wind rushing past me, warmed by the dark beverage in my mug, and delighted by sounds of animals all around. I wondered what purpose my life had served up until this point. What had I been doing up until now? For the first time ever I was practicing pure and undefiled religion, meeting orphans and widows in their distress. I’d never known a feeling so fulfilling before.

Scottie Goes to the Beach, Day 317

I had this sudden urge to take the monopoly dog to the beach at 8:00 this morning. So off I went practically in my PJ's but very bundled up with just my camera and the pewter scottie.

It was really fun. I'm always thankful when I follow through with those odd artistic urges.

Feeding the hungry, Day 316 (Guatemala story)

I was summoned to the kitchen just before the end of our production. This was the moment I had waited for all day. There were about five Mayan women in a small concrete building with very odd cooking utilities that I’d never seen and cannot even begin to describe. They chattered away in their clicky Quiche. Ron introduced me and the two others who’d been pulled away to help. The women clearly had everything under control and we were interrupting their routine. They smiled politely and shook our hands. With motions and pointing they indicated what we could do to help. We had to take the plates of food from the kitchen to the assembly of tables where the people would line up to receive them. The food consisted of one scoop of rice with vegetables and two tiny tamales. Each person would receive one plate and a cup of coffee. I wondered how this small bit of food was even a charity. I’d seen the fruit and snacks the kids consumed upon leaving school. This bit of food was nothing in comparison.

In the blink of an eye there was a huddle of hungry people on the other side of my table. I handed each woman and child a plate, and each said “gracias” to me. I didn’t need to be there at all. Each person could have easily grabbed their own plate from the table without me handing it to them. I was simply an extra piece to the puzzle. The people were still timid and skeptical but their eyes shone of gratitude. Effortlessly I’d smile the most genuine smile I’ve ever mustered and despite the tremendous barrier between those beautiful Mayan people and myself, there in a totally foreign world, I loved each one. I handed a small plate of food with an enormous amount of love wrapped in a gentle smile to every single person who walked through that line. Ever so quickly the plates on the table began disappearing. Families ate together at the outdoor café of tables. People sat eating on the stone stairway leading away from the café. The place was packed full of people who’d come for, and were now dining on the free food. I still wondered at their desire for this small bit of nourishment. I imagined surely they must easily have access to more food than this.

Everyone was fed. We still attempted to be friendly, invoking simple conversations with every bit of Spanish we owned. The high fives continued, a bit more enthusiastically now that everyone had eaten. The strong bashful taps from young boys led to lively games of chase. As people began to leave I noticed little plastic bags being pulled out from their blankets. They had eaten half of their food and then scraped the other half into the small bags. The little bit of food I’d scrutinized was split in half to be saved for later, or brought home to a father or other family member. A regular meal for me would consist of three times that much food. These people had walked miles and miles for this meal; one they partook of twice a week, and they didn’t even eat everything in this one sitting. I was shocked.

That evening our team gathered around the fireplace in the living room at Ron’s house. We had stomachs filled with hot food from the delicious evening’s dinner. We’d taken our hot showers and cleansed ourselves from the dust coating. We were all snuggly in our pajamas and comfy clothing. We discussed the day. Each of us told the story of a child we’d befriended and the revelations of our first day in the mountains of Guatemala. We discussed the poverty, the filth, and all of the shocking sights we’d seen. At the time I’d thought nothing of the way we discussed the day’s events, as if we’d viewed a freak show. There we sat in Ron’s beautiful home marveling at the spectacles, while right outside the green gate the very people we went on about slept in the streets, in the dust, and huddled together in their tiny one room huts on the dirt floors. At the time I’d have never thought that we might have been the ones lacking something.

Evangelism, Day 315

This is sort of my reaction to my sister Starr's blog. But it's also something that's been in the back of my mind a lot lately.

I've been looking at people. I've been appreciating people (or trying to a least). We're each so unique and I know that EVERY SINGLE human being breathes the breath of God. I know that we were all created by Him. I know that He cares for and loves us all. I like to think of everyone as sons and daughters of my Heavenly Father. Sadly, and this has come up while I've been reading a few different times lately EVERYONE isn't a son or daughter of God. I hate even typing that but according to the Bible anyone who's accepted Christ's redemption; anyone who acknowledges what God's only begotten Son did on the cross is in a sense adopted into the family. We each become son's and daughters of God once we accept God's Son.

I think evangelism is this: “a preaching of, or zealous effort to spread the gospel (the Good news, the glad tidings of Jesus Christ)” and a beseeching to all of God's creation to join the family. It's like a child who knows that his family is thee absolute best family in existence and this child is searching out and looking for all the orphan children who haven't got a family and asking them to "please, please, please come home and meet my Father and I promise He'll love you and become your Father too!"

This blog puts me to shame. I imagine that I love people. I imagine that I love my Heavenly Father. But honestly I've (with very few exceptions) done a horrible job at asking the orphans to join the family.

ChristLIKE or not really so much, Day 314

A blue glass appears to be blue when light shines through it because it absorbs all other colors and thus does not let them pass. This is to say, we call a glass "blue" precisely because it does not retain the blue waves. It is named not for what it possesses but for what it gives out. -Erich Fromm

The three year old classroom that I teach Sunday school in is filled with fire fighting articles. The boys love playing fire fighters. One of the boys in particular gets quite excited about the game. He never tires of it. Andrew steps his 3 year old little legs into the full size fireman boots which come all the way up to his waist. He picks out just the right hat for extinguishing fires; the black one with the plastic face mask. There aren't fire pants or coats in the class so he's content to sling over his shoulders a florescent orange safety vest that's about 100 sizes to big. After he's fully suited he and the other little boys decide which part of our room is on fire and which baby doll needs saving. The little fire fighter hobbles towards the imaginary flames in the huge boots while holding a pretend hose and thoroughly douses the blaze. It's a fun game and if Andrew's passion for extinguishing fires grows as he does then maybe he'll be a fireman one day. But anyone in their right mind could take one glimpse at the child and know that he isn't a fire man. He's a kid dressed in silly attire playing a game.

Today as I was thinking upon Christians attempting to be Christlike I instantly pictured that one enthusiastic three year old boy from Sunday school. We can try and try with all our might to by Christlike but the reality is that none of us are even close to actually being like Him. We much more resemble a child dressed in silly clothing than anything even remotely like the real genuine thing. If Jesus hadn't sacrificed Himself for all of mankind so that our mismatched messy totally unauthentic clothing could be traded in for spotless white garments worn only by heavenly royalty well there'd be no point whatsoever in even attempting to be Christlike. There'd never be any attaining it. Fortunately He did give Himself for us ALL. And we can attempt to be like Him (even though none of us are) because that's exactly what He instructed us to do.

The point I'm trying to arrive at is that we aren't like Christ and it would be silly for anyone to claim so. However, a lot of Christians myself included act like the baby doll is really going to die because of the fake flames if we make one small mistake and aim the pretend hose in the wrong direction. I'm pretty sure that's called shame. And I'm pretty sure that's a lie from the father of lies. And I'm pretty sure the baby doll isn't going to die (and isn't capable to) from the fake fire because of our mistakes.

Every last one of us needs to try our absolute hardest to be like Christ. That's what He asked us to do. But none of us are Christ and that's okay. I'm pretty sure that God loves me because I'm me. I'm not supposed to be Jesus. Kind of like how Andrew's parents don't love him because he tries so hard to be a good firefighter. His parents love him because he's their son. A blue glass looks blue because it doesn't retain blue. It absorbs every color but blue. A Christian will never really be Christlike BUT we can reflect Christ. You aren't perfect. I'm not perfect. You aren't Jesus and I'm not either. But I am me, and you're you and that's okay.

Xepocol, Day 313 (Guatemala story)

Upon our arrival at the feeding program the equipment was again unload. These people were hungry and we were going to feed them with Jesus (and then food). We set up in a courtyard of white stones next to one of the school buildings. It was an amazing place. The mountain dropped off creating a steep hill just behind the courtyard. There was a grandeous view of the surrounding mountains which ran on forever covered with tall pine trees enveloped in clouds. Mothers and children slowly arrived and quietly and reservedly sat in benches huddled along the edge of the white stones. Over half of the children were wearing one of two t-shirts. Despite the filth and wear of the clothing they looked adorable in their matching shirts. One of the t-shirts was green and said “Jesu Christo es me amigo.” The other was a purple shirt that said “Love wins”. Above that it said the same thing in Spanish, “Amor Gana,” and above that it was written again in a very lengthy translation of Quiche. Ron later told us that the green shirts were handed out by him and his ministry and the purple shirts were brought by a group much like us that had visited. He also said that in the Quiche language there isn’t a word for love. So when they translated “Love wins” into Quiche it turned into a description of love, something like a warm feeling in your heart, “I ulokbal uc’ux ri Dios kachkanic.” It was neat seeing all those little people wearing two such wonderful t-shirts.

We tried our best to be friendly. Wearing big smiles, we greeted everyone. Our holas were met with shy eyes and timid smiles. We each tried to get high fives; only the bravest of boys indulged us. The mornings high soon wore off. The people were very reluctant and so scared. Ron had told us that many of the people believed that Americans came to Guatemala to take their children and turn them into soap. It was a horror story spread by the Mayan priests to keep the people away from missionaries. No doubt these people were terrified. They had very few smiles to offer. They were cold and frozen in the 80 degree heat. Their eyes slowly and intricately examined us. We came to help feed them and now it seemed we were the enemy.

During our production, my place was again, sitting with the watchers. I was so humiliated when attempting to speak with anyone in my terrible Spanish. Nervously, awkwardly I took a seat with three children. Their mom wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The eldest child was a perfectly responsible seven or eight year old little girl. She had a bubbly, happy, fearless little brother and an even younger sister. The tiny sister began to cry a bit when I said hello. She hid her face in her elder sister’s side. The little brother courageously and fiercely gave me a high five accompanied by a tremendously friendly little smile and big bright brown eyes. The elder sister calmed the little one and tried to comfort me. She giggled and smiled and implied an assurance that my presence was welcome and that her little sister was just tired (and totally unaccustomed to large white people). I’m not sure who was more fearful, that tiny little girl being introduced to my foreignness or me trying to overcome my pride in that foreign world.

While cannons exploded in the background (scaring away the demons) I sat with the small family as our show about Jesus began, progressed, and came to an end. The children warmed up tremendously during the games. A bit frightened but even more curious they marveled at the puppets. Our message had to be translated into Spanish and then into the Mayan Quiche. It was confusing and awkward. Our Spanish translator was a guy named Jose. The job had sort of been bestowed upon him at the last minute. The man who was supposed to do it had to leave town on short notice and Ron told Jose to translate for us. Jose lived at Ron’s. He was in his mid twenties. His hair is a shiny black, unlike the regular dusty black owned by everyone else. Despite his timidity he has extremely friendly eyes that squint when he smiles. He was insecure in his English, although I think he spoke it perfectly. He wasn’t very happy with the translation assignment. He was very uneasy about correctly translating what we’d said into Spanish and it was obvious that he was nervous the entire time he was up there. With the three different languages being spoken over the crowd I wasn’t sure anyone was getting any of it. I didn’t know if there was much of a point to our taking up so much of their time before we gave them the food they’d come for. They looked so tired and the sun was very warm. At the end of the production Sarah, and then Jose, and then the Quiche translator asked the crowd if they wanted prayer for anything. A few VERY hesitant sad looking moms made their way to the stage for prayer. I felt as if they were seeking out any possible remedy for their affliction. As if their reluctant hope in Jesus was par to the hope they had placed in an idol they may have offered prayers to earlier. They seemed fearful and skeptical. I don’t think they truly believed anything would happen but like a lottery contestant they hoped this might be the one. Each mom silently bowed their heads with eyes closed as members of our team prayed over them. I felt sad wondering what desperate need had humbled each mother enough that she’d made her way forward to a group of strange foreigners in search of hope.