Quote of the Week

(It was the quote of the day, a few days ago. But it has been every day since, too, and may end up being the quote of the month, and I have a feeling quite possibly of the year. I'm getting more okay with that.)

On how to live recent events with "a Christian response", positively, strongly, whatever:

"Isn't that just as okay a response,
to be deeply in need of grace right now,
and not just to be the strong one for others?"

-Matthew Hiltibran
(I am so grateful for grace-reminding friends, always, but this semester especially).

Oh, 1 Cor 12.

Yes, being deeply in need of grace would be the Christian response. Maybe the ultimate one.

...Oh, that we might know the Lord!
Let us press on to know Him.
He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn
or the coming of rain in early spring.

"Christ, can you make sense of all I saw?"

Yesterday, our HNGR class led the 40-minute chapel service for the Wheaton faculty and student body. Planning was pretty overwhelming at times- how do you explain six months in 40 minutes, how do you combine twenty five separate stories into one cohesive presentation, how do you communicate meaningfully with 2,400 people? But I'm really happy and thankful with how it came out. There really are an infinite number of ways HNGR chapel could be done, and every year's class has focused on some different elements. One main goal we had was to try and communicate "tension": how do we accurately recognize and mourn deep suffering, acknowledging that there ARE no easy answers or pat comforts, within the context of deep belief in an all-loving and merciful God?

Two of my sweet housemates, Sarah and Kendall, wrote this dialogue that they presented near the end of the service. I think they did a beautiful job of communicating the cries of so many of our hearts over what we saw (they were working in a children's hospital in Uganda and with genocide victims in Rwanda, respectively), as well as reminders of who Christ is and what He did. In moments over the last few months/year when I am overwhelmed and exhausted and confused by the reality of sin and horrificness, thinking about the fact that Christ ENTERED THIS, and OVERCAME THIS, has meant more than it ever has.

Hope it is meaningful for any of you, too.

...I wasn’t there when Gilbert’s father tried to burn him and his three siblings in their house. I was there the morning after they arrived at the hospital, people crowded around pointing and staring, their blistered skinless bodies, the smell of burnt flesh.

Lord, did you see that too?

I was there to see these children whimpering in pain, slowly dying, the nurses more concerned with the daily gossip than the children’s immediate need for IV lines.

Lord, have mercy on us.

But I was there to bring soda and bread to their mother, the one with the tortured and ashamed look on her face.

Lord, help us to know how to act.

I was there to see her dip small pieces of bread in to the soda so she could squeeze it into Gilbert’s mouth. I saw him slowly begin to heal. He smiled. He would respond to my touch. Then the next week, he sat up. I saw his siblings die, but Gilbert has another a chance at life.

What do we do? With the weight of the reality of both scarcity and abundance, despair and hope, death and life.

I saw those all in the hospital.

We realize that this is the human experience. We cannot avoid it, but we should not be afraid of it. For this is also the story of Christ, who lived fully as man, who lived the full spectrum of our human experience.

Christ, can you make sense of all I saw?

Your love was such that you became one of us, you didn’t leave us in our death, you didn’t leave us in our despair, you didn’t leave us alone. You didn’t leave us. You became one of us, you cried with us, you thirst with us, you hungered with us, you wept in front of the grave. You submitted yourself to our condition, you suffered, you died, and rose again. You gave us hope because in your new life, we find life. Behold, Christ is making all things new and we are called to participate . . . this is our story.

I want to believe this is true, but sometimes it is hard. I get confused, overwhelmed. I can forget our story. I can forget my role. I can forget how it ends.

We believe together. We mourn together and rejoice together, valuing both in their season. We remind each other of our story, we remind each other that we are called and being used by God, we remind each other that Christ has the final victory and one day every tear will be wiped away.

How do we live this?

We come together as one body. We remember our defining and unifying story: Christ died, Christ is risen and Christ will come again. We gather together at the table and are nourished by the body and blood of Christ. We come before God in prayer.

What do we say?

We pray as Christ taught us to, coming before God in this tension, as believers have for centuries.

Please join us in saying the Lord’s prayer...

Praying.

"It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak."

-Mary Oliver

but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.

We received the news on Thursday that my mother has breast cancer.

She is beautiful.

Please be praying for her,
and our family.

Yesterday:
Me: So Mom, how are you feeling?
Mom: Well honey, quite frantic. This snow is MELTING and I still need to get more skiing in...

...So she spent the weekend at a cabin cross-country skiing with some of her best buds.
Quite characteristic.
Oh I adore her.

Her friends are wonderful.

It has been a few days of emotional intensity, needless to say. I have the best friends in the whole world ever. WHOLE world EVER. WHOLE WORLD EVER. My friends are. The best. In it.

They have prayed prayed prayed. Sat with me when I cried. Done a lot of that, actually. This past year has been such a ridiculous experience of learning the value of freakin' PRESENCE. Sit And Be With People. Just do it. It's so much more helpful than like, anything else. It was me learning to do that with my girls in Bolivia, with my host family- first because it was the only thing I actually had the lingual ability to do, but then because I realized it was way more precious and important than anything else I could pretend to be able to do. And these last couple of months, it has been TEARS OF GRATITUDE for those people who are willing to do that with me. To sit and just be with me, be with my questions and tears and theological freak-out-moments and restructuring as I have come back from this crazy Bolivia thing. And now, they are sitting with me and my family as we start this new journey.

In addition to the sitting...
friends have also paused an all-HNGR group meeting to pray for my mom and our family, scooped me out to dinner, ignored my ignoring of their phone calls to show up and cuddle with me, rolled their eyes at my insistence that I was fine to handle the cafeteria and brought food to my house, rearranged spring break plans to get me home for longer, held my hand, rubbed my back, cried too, not believed me when I said I was okay, shared their own stories, been willing to drop everything to listen and be. Did I mention prayed for my mom?

Oh, and it's also been
Rachael, after giving me a huge hug and asking concerned questions,
sending me this email:
"Do you read My Life is Average ever? Read these...

Today, I got a new orange kitten. I live on the second story of my apartment building, which has a balcony. I felt it appropriate to blast The Lion King music and re-enact the scene where Simba is held up on the cliff. People gathered, watched, and then applauded. It was epic. MLIA...
Today I was listening to the radio, and they were asking little kids what they wanted for Christmas. All the answers were expected until one little girl. When she was asked, she said she wanted a little brother named french fries. Me too little girl, me too. MLIA

I love you babe,
Rach"

In my opinion, possibly the best response to finding out your friend's mom has cancer... ever.

...I like my parents all the time, but right now I am overwhelmed with gratitude as I think about how much I would never want anyone else.

...And how blessed all of us are with the support and love by which we are surrounded.

...And... not much more to say at the moment.

Thanks for loving us.

(Um, on a separate note, I've been really wanting to do a post about how great the music I've been listening to this semester is. Check it- current playlist contains: Owl City (Fireflies and Hot Air Balloon), Taylor Swift (All, but especially White Horse, Tim McGraw, Stay Beautiful... Taylor Swift really just makes EVERYTHING better, for the record), Deb Talan (All, but especially Big Strong Girl, Kinder Columbus, Thanksgiving, Tenderness, How Will He Find Me, The Gladdest Thing), Joshua Radin (All, but especially No Envy No Fear, Paperweight, These Photographs, What If You, Winter, Today... ok... really, just all), Train (Hey Soul Sister), and Glee.
I know right- Best. Playlist. Evvv-errr, be jealous. Or just copy me like you know you want to.)

To end: Some more MLIA's I found and loved.

Today I walked into my kitchen where my dad was helping my little brother with his math homework. While I was getting my glass of milk I noticed that my dad was holding a nerf gun and then proceded to watch him shoot my brother with it everytime he got a wrong answer. MLIA

Today, I was outside of Home Depot, when I almost got knocked over by an old man riding by on one of those orange cart things. His grandson ran up to me, apologized for his grandfather's bad behavior, then proceeded to run after his grandfather saying, "Alright Grandpa, if you get us kicked out of one more store, I'm telling Grandma." MLIA

Today, my twin brother tried to convince me that he doesn't exist and that I'm actually schizophrenic. He then refused to open doors because ghosts can't open doors. We're almost 18. MLIA

The other day I was in the car with my dad. The song Single Ladies by Beyonce came on and he started singing along. But he was singing, I'm a single A! I'm a single A! I'm a triple A! I'm a double A! He said he loved the battery song. I didn't even bother to tell him. I love my dad. MLIA

Currently listening to: Glee, "You Can't Always Get What You Want". ...But we get what we need.

He invents, creates, governs. Love, laughter, daffodils, a frosty sunset. A universe.

"Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him... But the picture I was building up last night is simply the picture of a man like S.C. — who used to sit next to me at dinner and tell me what he'd been doing to the cats that afternoon. Now a being like S.C., however magnified, couldn't invent or create or govern anything. He would set up traps and try to bait them.
But he'd never have thought of baits like love, or laughter, or daffodils, or a frosty sunset.
He make a universe?
He couldn't make a joke, or a bow, or an apology, or a friend."

-C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Such a good point.

I am sitting at a table in Caribou Coffee, in Wheaton, Illinois, watching the snow fall out the window. I am sticking my hair in a bun, pen held between my teeth, absent-mindedly looking through Grooveshark for good tunes for the afternoon. I am doing my reading for my graduate Abnormal Psychology class: from The Clinician's Handbook. This subsection: how to look for signs of physical abuse in a child...

"...There are a number of common physical signs of physical abuse. Burns of all types should cause concern, especially cigarette burns..."

...And I am cooking with the girls, we are laughing and chopping vegetables and the radio is playing reggaetón loudly, we are dancing. I grab one's hand to lift over her head and twirl her around. Without thinking, I gently rub my thumb across the round mark on her forearm, just above her wrist, as I set her hand back down. Faded but still raw looking. There are more on her upper arm, there are more on her back. I've seen them, hoping she doesn't notice my eyes linger- as she chats, cheerfully, as she throws her shirt in her laundry basket and pulls on another one, as she tells me about her morning and what she's going to do for the rest of the afternoon.

I am used to them now, they don't turn my stomach and take my breath the way they did when I first saw them. I don't think every time I see them, about what they mean, about where they came from... they are a part of life here, and I rebel against that with every cell of my body, my brain, my spirit, but it is how you continue to do this work day in and day out. Does she think about those marks and what they stand for consciously, when she looks at her arm, dozens of times a day? Do those memories cross her mind, or is she content in the now, in her life in this house, where she is finally safe? Does that mark on her arm seem as natural to her as the scar on my knee I got falling off my bike when I was five does to me? If so, is that good? Is that bad?...

...I secure the clip in my hair. I order my drink and laugh chatting with the barista. I underline in the book so I can remember the details for the test, but I write Lord have mercy in the margin.

the best made plans, are your open hands

"it's not now or never
it's not black, and it's not white
anything worth anything takes more than a few days
and a long, long night...

and even though you're a big strong girl
come on, come on, lay it down
the best made plans
are your open hands"

Guest post.

I've been wanting to link for awhile to my friend Steve. Steve keeps an incredible blog about being a Christian guy, who likes guys. I would say in total non-hyperbolic speech that I really think every Christian (and I'm sure many non-Christians) would benefit from reading it:

• The essays he writes are not just about being gay: they are about living a life of faith and faithfulness, and having everything in your life point you to falling more in love with your Lord. Every time I have read his writing, that has been the effect it's had on me. He writes about living as a guy who likes guys, and how to live seeking God and loving Him and others in that. I am not homosexual, but his words guide me to turn my heart to the Lord in my own struggles, joys, and pains. We're all more the same than we are different.

• You might not be gay, but you probably know someone who is. Statistically 1/10* people are attracted to the same sex. In my opinion (and experience) that's not different in the Christian community, including Wheaton. Knowing what our friends and neighbors are going through helps us to know how to support and love them. Which is really important!
• *Update: Okay, actually according to Steve the percentage may be smaller... BUT the point is it is definitely a significant number.
  

• His writing is beautiful, his voice is clear and also hilarious. (Title of his blog: "I Like Guys. There, I Said It." Need I say more?)
  

• And just in case anyone is reading my blog who doesn't read his and this is relevant, I'll extend the same invitation he posted in his first entry: If you are gay and have never told anyone, email him. Right now. (Or me, if you'd rather!).

OK. So now the actual awesome excerpt that made me post all this in the first place... bolds are mine. I freaking love his writing and I connected with this so much with where I am theologically/freaking-out-about-life-wise right now. (Linked from this recent post).

"...When God has actually spoken to me, two things tend to happen. Sometimes I think He has spoken to me and later realize He hasn't; usually in that case one of these two things hasn't happened. Both of them happened in that moment: I was overcome with relief, and I suddenly wanted to fall to my knees and confess.

Here is what I think God said. I think he said, "I demand obedience." Here is why I was relieved: there is nothing sexy about obedience. My ghost faculty fled in the wake of a higher authority, with much higher standards and a much easier yoke. In this case the relief was tied to the confession: I was relieved to be able to confess the right thing--not the intellectual copout I was so afraid (yet so much wanted) to make, but something much more important.

Here is what I confessed. I confessed placing an idolic importance on being right. I confessed my impossibly high standards of what right is. I confessed lying to myself and others to appear to be right. I confessed an underlying fear of being wrong. I confessed avoiding Amber and slandering Kayla out of fear that they were wrong.

And then I confessed being wrong. How to even articulate this? "As high as the sky is above Wyoming, so are Your ways higher than mine." I am wrong about so many things. For every thing I know there are a hundred I don't. The things I do know I don't even know; I know that because that's the idea that keeps me up at night, the idea that makes being wrong so scary--because if I'm wrong about one thing, am I wrong about everything? Have I ever known a damn thing in my whole life? All creation starts to slip away through a sieve--ideas, beliefs, even relationships--until it's just me, alone, at 2AM, in a bed I don't recognize, with a snoring roommate who could be Florence Nightingale for all I know.

This problem scares me so much, and I'm sad to say that fear drives almost everything I do. This is something bigger and deeper than Gay and Not Gay; if you really want to know what troubles me, read that last paragraph again.

So I confessed that.

And here I have this God--this God who knows me more than I can ever know, a God who I know, in some complicated way that I do not understand. There He is and has always been, just as plain as the sky I see through this windshield darkly, just as close, just as incomprehensible. If I have the capacity to know anything, even one thing, even half-well, it is only in that He knows me. And if I can know more, not in full but in part, it is because He is a God who teaches. Here is why I think God told me he demands obedience--because I came to Him seeking knowledge. Seek the Scriptures--obedience trumps knowing, and it frequently precedes it.

That said, what do I know? I am in a car in Wyoming. I am driving to Bend, Oregon. I like guys. I was loved into existence by the God of the universe. By His grace I know that, if nothing else. And for the first time ever, I really believe gay is OK. But I might be wrong. I'm probably wrong, in fact. I just don't know. I do know I don't know, which is all I need to know right now. And I know I follow a God who does not desire to lead me into untruth. And I know He demands obedience..."

I know right?

holding.

I spent the last six months cuddling with 15 Bolivian teenage girls. Really. It is a big joke among my HNGR class that every single one of my twice-monthly assessment letters included at least something about physical touch. But trust me, to leave it out would not have given a good picture of my time. Of course, it makes grad school applications somewhat complicated. "Description of Clinical Experience: Please list job title and responsibilities". Responsibilities... um... is there a way to make "Rubbed backs and braided hair" sound professional?...

I loved it. I loved every minute. Bolivian culture involves a lot of physical touch; these girls in particular were way affectionate. And plus hugging doesn't require perfect Spanish. But, it felt more important than that. Did, in holding these girls, I get to communicate to them that they were unconditionally accepted? Touch can say so much more than words sometimes. To feel held is such a big deal. Did loving touch from the staff and from me communicate safety to them, when before, physical contact had been a tool for their pain and harm?

Did they feel loved when we lightly touched their head or rubbed their back? When we cupped their cheek or tucked their hair behind their ear? Did they feel known, like they belonged? Was it easier, then, for them to visualize the love of God that Gonzalo told them about in devotionals every morning, Tino taught to them as he structured and organized their days, counseled them on work, disciplined them when necessary, that Gladys led them to in their counseling sessions?

One girl I literally spent probably an hour every day just cuddling on the couch with. She was a shyer one. She took awhile to warm up to me. But once we became friends, about half-way in, she wanted to be leaning on my shoulder or laying quietly with my arm around her as I chatted and laughed with everyone in the living room as much as possible. Mosoj Yan threw a goodbye dinner for me two days before I left, but I had forgotten some stuff at the house and had to run back the next day to grab it. I was going to try to make it a really quick trip in because I didn't want to have to see everyone again and start crying... "Yes, that's a good idea, don't let the girls see you. Maria Eugenia cried the whole night after you left." What did I even do that would be that important to her? I held her.

We receive love by having material needs being met: Mosoj Yan gave them good meals, clothing, warm and safe beds. We receive love by having hope and a future: Mosoj Yan teaches them skills, counsels them that they are worthwhile, works to get them education. We receive love through words: encouragement; through memories: laughter, dancing, pizza parties, good conversations.

And, we are bodies. We are physical bodies with physical needs, with needs to be touched and held and loved physically. At times when my language skills weren't enough but even more than that my brain and heart failed to be able to communicate to them how deep God's love for them is, how much I hated what had been done to them, every hope and dream I had for them... I could lovingly touch them. I could pray that as I held them they could receive that they were hold-able, acceptable, worth knowing and loving, deserving of more than abuse.

What a privilege, to be able to hold.

Psalm 121...

I lift up my eyes to the hills,
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.