published- 3rd time.

This marks the 3rd time I've been published (besides in the school newspaper and high school yearbook). First time, I was 17 and it was this youth testimony book called "Case Files." 2nd time was for Currents, CNU's Literary Magazine (I had two entries in there...and I don't mean to brag but my short story won first place).

And now here's the third time- Dr. Lee, my journalism prof from CNU has an online creative non-fiction magazine, and he liked a story I wrote for his class last year on the legitimacy of short term missions work.

So here's the newest edition of The Lookout.

I would love to hear your thoughts on the topic, so please post them on here!

mmmmmmusic

I am re-discovering my love for song lyrics. However, whenever I post them on my facebook status I get asked about them as if they apply directly to my life. Which in a slanted, symbolic way they are related. But when I posted "I was asleep and he woke me again" (a Sufjan stevens song about God calling Samuel) I got asked by my dad and brothers about which guy they should look out for who keeps waking me up at night. People get so literal. They should know I am hardly ever completely literal.

Music lyrics remind me of my first love- writing. This I have been ignoring, lately. I thought about that today- why am I ignoring my number one gift and possibly my life's calling? What excuse do I have? I talked to another writer recently (one who is actually writing) and she reminded me that writing is a muscle you need to keep exercising to grow stronger. Perhaps thats why I've been completely uninspired- I simply have not been working the muscle.

It's like going to the gym after ignoring it for awhile. I really really don't want to work out at those points- it's hard to work that energy back up. But once you do, you get motivated again and that energy starts coming.

So if I start writing, something will come. Maybe I should keep reading song lyrics and get back to the short stories of my muse, Flannery O'Connor. I don't have a lot of time to committ to reading novels... but there is nothing I enjoy more than a well-crafted short story.

slums

I cried the first 30 minutes of Slumdog Millionaire. I did not cry during any part of the movie that was more intense and hence would've been more appropriate to cry...no, I cried at the beginning.

I was practically sobbing in the theater, hoping that the 4 other people, who were there in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, wouldn't notice.

The scene I watched was of a group of boys playing where they're not supposed to...some police guards catch them and the camera closes in on 2 little boys trying to outrun these guards...sprinting into their slum community and trying to lose them.

The director did a beautiful job catching the slum they were in, and portraying the living conditions to the audience. It was the perfect introductory scene to show what conditions the protagonist came from.

I spent three weeks working in a slum in Nairobi called Kibera. Coming home from Kenya, I never really liked to talk about. I'd write about it sometimes. But I got very weird about talking about my missions experience. Nothing totally life scarring happened there. I did not witness some outrageously cruel events. But I did see cruelty: it was my own.

I asked God over and over again when I was in Kibera to pierce my heart for the slum. Why? When I walked through it, I did not feel any feeling I would have expected. I was absolutely numb. I wanted to feel love, but that numbness turned to almost apathy.

I had a few short interactions with people in the slums that didn't pierce my heart, but absolutely broke it. One situation can be portrayed by a scene in a short story I wrote a while back:

The girls nearly ran down the dirt roads to get to the Otiende compound where the sisters were waiting. They started down the trail, through a garland of flowers where men without jobs were hired to tend. The sisters greeted the men with a cheerful “habari zenu,” to which they replied, “mzuri sana!” The girls emulated the sisters in sing song vocals. Sr. Marie Rose engaged the men in dialogue neither of the girls’ Kiswahili was proficient enough to understand. However, one man was friendly enough to soon break out in English:

“Why are you Americans here?” His stern eyes looked Hannah in the face. “You so rich, you just touring through! This is where we live.” With a fearful zealousness, Hannah reached in her bag for a track, but Tamera interrupted before she could grab one.

“We’re here because we do care.” Tamera quipped. He turned towards the plainer girl.
“Ah, but you don’t care,” his chalky teeth spat. “You pass through and go on home.” The activist cast her eyes down to the dirt with nothing to say. Hannah looked at the man and noticed that his face was nothing but honest. “Jina nani?” she inquired, with the best smile she could force.
“My name is Peter!” the man exclaimed, surprised at Hannah’s attempt. “Na wewe?”
“Jina langu ni Hannah and this is Tamera.” The girls smiled angelically.
“We are not like all Americans,” the activist started again, enunciating her words articulately, so he could understand. “We want to help Kenyans like you and that is why we are here!”
“You want to help? Me?” His mustache curled up with his yellow teeth.
“Sure we do! That’s why we’re here!” Tamera said, starting to sound enthusiastic as Hannah, who nudged her, silently trying to communicate.
“I better get your contact info!” Before the girls had time to say anything, Peter dropped his tools and ran quickly to his tin house, searching for a scrap of paper. His house was swamped by sewage. He wondered what it’d be like if he ever made it to America.

Hannah looked at Tamera as if to say “Look what you did.” They were told many times not to give their contacts random Kenyans they met. Tamera looked back as the sisters and the girls started moving down the path. Peter sprinted to catch up. His hands flung excitedly in the breeze, gripping a dirty piece of paper. “Do you have a pen? Do you have a pen?” he cried. America was no longer so far away.

Tamera looked at him anxiously, not knowing how to respond. “No, I do not have a pen on me,” she lied. She carried one in her small journal and pen in her dress pocket.

There's very little question that Tamera, the "activist", was me. I walked into these situations like I was an American Hero, when really, there's very little I could ever do to actually help.

I guess, when you're overseas, your sins become a little bit more apparent. It's because of this that I almost have completely blocked my experiences in the slums out of my mind.

I can't watch movies like Slumdog Millionaire without feeling this pain that's associated with my guilt. 'Cause really this guilt never really left. People kept telling me that I should not feel guilt, so instead of dealing with it, I became apathetic to it. I left it all behind in Kenya. One movie I never finished watching was The Constant Gardener which was literally set in Kibera. I could never make it beyond the scene where the kids swarm the wife, chanting "how are YOU! how are YOU!"

I really need to embrace this pain, but it's still hard for me to reflect back on Kenya. But through much needed prayer, I know this guilt will be overcome with God's loving grace.

Above are just a few pictures I collected of Kibera.

between what i know i need to do and what i do

I have to let go of my distractions. Primarily of this year's big letdowns.

In the Bible, there are two kinds of fears (maybe there's more, but these are the two I'm concerned with). There is one which means dread (hebrew word for that isn't important to me, because I'd rather that concept. This reminds me of all my anxieties, heartaches and terrors.The other fear is the fear of the Lord, which people wrongly misinterpret, thinking we should be afraid of God. I mean, he is a powerful God so perhaps we be a little afraid. But the Hebrew word for this fear is yira. This is one of the most beautiful words to me, and one I hold dearly to my heart (I even have a necklace my best friend got made for me which says "Yira YHWH" in front of a tree.)

This word represents a holy fear, but it's closer to meaning reverence or awe.When I think about Yira YHWH, I think about my Father positionally. I hold him above all my anxieties and dreaded fears. I hold him up in reverence because he is my King, Lord of my life, and Creator of all things. He is the restorer and redeemer of life. He is way beyond the little things of my life. His love is greater than all the pains and trials I could endure in my lifetime.

I wear Yira YHWH around my neck to remember. I can get very anxious. One of my problems doesn't have to be as big a deal as I make it, but I blow it out of proportion and take it personally. One of my biggest fears gets whispered to me as a lie- "You are alone in this world, Janelle. Completely alone. No one knows you and no one loves you." I know this dread is a trumphed up lie.What do I do? I need to fix my eyes upon Jesus. Fear him. Or yira him if you still don't like that word. If my heart is attentive towards him, these lies dissipate. Jesus has already taken victory over these lies. He won my life on the cross. On the cross he overcomes our biggest fears.

There you go. I know what I need to do. But does that mean I'll do it?

quiet

I haven't had a lot of time to be quiet lately. I could blame that on recently starting two jobs..but no. This started way before now. I don't even know when it started. But it's made my relationship with God not relational. Instead it's been reduced to following a system of values.

I do a lot of church stuff. And I know I need to cut it down. The problem is, I haven't yet committed to ministry with one church. I have this continuous discontentment with churches and I find that it's hard to be fed.

However, I am not so sure that the problem is necessarily with the churches. It's with me. I need to first cut down my involvements. Next I need to seek God in the quiet of the day.

Silence is golden. I don't spend a lot of time there. Even when my music's turned off and I am unexposed to any of media, my mind is still busy. It scrutinizes and over analyzes. It plans and it worries. It's self-absorbed...always seeing my life through the lens of a novel or a movie, instead of a real life.

Yesterday, I was on my way to work. I had my music on. It's counter-intuitive for me to turn it off. But I did. And to quiet the thoughts racing through my brain, I started praying aloud. It was the best thing to do. After that, instead of returning back to my mind of flesh, I just started worshiping God. It wasn't out of any triggering event. I did not have any emotions overwhelming to get to that point. It was simply a response. My first response in awhile that came without a complaint. It felt nice just to worship God without asking, asking, asking (which is all I had been doing).

I felt satisfied in God for the first time in awhile. It's so good just to feel content that you are walking in God's plan. Even if things are not as you expected. They're unpredictable and things are always transitional. Nothing stays. Except Him

places

"Stations make me think of my own travels
All the people
The places I've been through
And when you find out they're the same thing
As the people
The places where you grew"- Denison Witmer

I have always had a slight case of wanderlust. And while many people don't necessarily enjoy Manassas, I have mad cabin fever if I'm there too long. I got to get out. I have to see new places. There's something crawling around my heart that's tugging me to move. I know that's a weird way of saying it, but it's true.

I took up a new part-time job recently. And it's far away from Manassas. OK, it's an hour. Which isn't bad considering that most DC commuters from Manassas spend about 4 hours a day on the road. As much as part of me would enjoy a DC job, I am thrilled with the location of Purcellville.

First of all, there's the drive. If I want to be adventurous, I can take another route. There's hardly any traffic on the way up, especially because I leave Manassas later in the morning. And because it's daylight, I can see all the trees waving by.

There's something about the countryside that makes me wistful and a little more happy inside. There's so much land all around. Driving through the land today made me realize how little land there is in Manassas. Everything's developed.

And there's something about the countryside that makes want to explore, even at the risk of getting lost for hours. I am less prone to do this because of the mileage and gas I already spend. I see all these roads which point to wine vineyards and one of these days I will just turn into one and keep driving.

And then the houses. Sometimes I say I'll never live in a house. But I do want one. And I mean the houses in town, which are close to businesses and were built a very long time ago, so they need to be restored. And I would NEVER want a house to myself, or to just few people. If I lived in house, I would want to live with a whole community of people. I know it sounds like a silly hippie dream, but I don't care. It's more affordable and it gives serious lessons in learning how to love others.

I see so many houses. Ones on huge plots of land, and ones seated right next to an old historic church. I see a lot of mansions, too. And I'm less impressed by those. I think mansions are sort of greedy unless you house lots of people...but who needs all that space if you're just down to 1-5 people. It doesn't make sense. I'm from a family of 7, and it wouldn't make sense for us. I think what bothers me about mansions is that the allure is the sense of status it gives to an individual.


I like exploring little towns. It's my favorite because you likely can't get lost but there's so much to see. But I went to one little shopping center in Purcellville the other day, and many of the businesses there were closed down. It made me very sad. It was a cute little center, but it looked deserted and deprived.

The sense of depravity follows me everywhere these days. Even when I experience the fun of driving or walking to a new place, I also feel a lot of sorrow. The drive there is most indicative of this feeling. Because I am surrounded by more land, it's like I'm surrounded by more pain. Let me explain. Land is more open. It's exposed and vulnerable. It's where plants grow...or don't grow. If nothing grows, it doesn't produce. There's no harvest, no life on the land. It's just barren.

I always thought of Manassas as a sort of waste land (T.S. Eliot style). Only its barreness is disguised. It's covered by ugly buildings and fake plastic trees. A new Wal-Mart, a new Starbucks ( heh). The constuction on Liberia is proof. So many buildings going up on land which had been bought and sold by firms and laid barren there for years. Barren but owned by the corporate world.

It's winter time, which means everything is naturally dead. The trees have no leaves and are an ugly shade of brown. Individually, their shapes beautiful. But bunched together, it looks like a bunch of mangled up twigs. The grass is a greyish-yellow at best. It runs for miles. I like country depravity. It shows its weakness, its vulnerability. The suburbs only wear a mask. And not the most appealing one, in my eyes.

I think people have different relationships with different places. And their spirits flourish or die depending on where they are. It's different for everyone.

I do like cities. I could explore a city all day and then the next day. But I have a connection to farmland. Never have I lived on farmland, I honestly don't even know if I can see myself living there. Most people thought I was pretty strange when I wrote a whole senior thesis on the connections between faith and farming. I do feel more at one with God when I am closer to the source of food.

Being in this place reminds me of God's constant provision, his faithfulness (even if it's dead, the seasons will change and it will come to life again) and his beauty.

yes, i like church (most of the time)

My faith is my life. It is not just part of my life. It consists of all of who I am. Even when I walk in cynicism, and I am extremely off-focus, my life is still my faith.

Maybe it comes as a surprise to some, as I am not any sort of stereotypical happy all the time and let me preach to everyone sorta Christian. I normally don't talk about it, unless it comes up in conversation because I don't like to push anything on anyone. But quite often, it does come up, because it is my life. It's casual. "Janelle, what did you do this week?" I could respond, such as this week, I went to the beach with my church group, or I went to a bible study, or I hung out with people (and some of these people I know through these things). So it does come up.

But, a lot of people go to church. People who don't give a crap about it go to church. A lot of people go to church and are completely bored. Not so with me. I go to church and I am usually engaged, or fascinated, or just feel extremely loved in the community of people who care about me a lot.

It bothers me when people interpret my church-going as something I just do because I am supposed to. I am very rebellious by nature and I don't do anything just because I'm expected to. I've noticed that people take their church experiences and apply it to me. Because they go to a boring church must mean that all churches are like that I think it's funny that because I am generally a sarcastic person, some people interpret my liking of church as me just being factitious.

I work close sometimes on Saturday nights. And that's my least favorite shift because we usually get out of there late and I have to wake up early for church. Waking up early is probably the thing I hate most about church (this is why I love churches that do later services, but alas, my current church doesn't). One time when we were getting out super late, a shift supervisor said something along the lines of "It's ok, you can sleep in anyways." And I am like, "No, we have to get out as soon as we can. I have church, and I am not missing it again." And something would be said like "Oh, God will forgive you."

And that gets me mad. I don't treat church like religion. If I want to miss it, I will. I didn't go to church for a long time but was still a practicing Christian involved in bible studies and college fellowships. I know that "God will forgive me" if I don't go to church. What is not understood, is that I have an actual desire to be there. It is often the best part of my week and I absolutely hate missing out.

My faith has been a little dry lately, so sometimes what I do feels like I'm just going through religious motions. But then I realize, this is all I got left. My personal prayer life is practically dead...but the encouragment I get from church and different groups keeps afloat and keeps me from turning away from God. God uses brothers and sisters in the body of Christ to communicate to me how much he loves me since I most of the time refuse to listen to him directly.

But despite this phase, I love Christ, will give up my life for him and I genuinely do enjoy being a Christian, no matter how sarcastic and cynical I get. I hated church for a long time as a Christian, because I did not understand its function in my personal walk with God. Sometimes it felt like relationships with Jesus, put out on a performance stage. But nowadays, I have developed a genuine love for church and a continuous desire to be there. That's all I got now, unfortunately. But I will work with that.

an afterthought edit: As I am reading through this, I realize I care too much about what people think. I write this blog as a sort of defense. But I don't think I care only what they think of me. I want people to understand faith differently, and that's why I care.

more and more human

Let's be honest. Most of my life has been spent on some cloud somewhere. I exiled myself there, because I did not want to face life as it really was. Lately, I've been floating down to the surface. I wrote a couple months ago that reality is hitting me like a ton of bricks. Now it's not. Now I'm floating, I am not being slammed down.

I am bruised by the bricks. I am still mourning the life I would've wanted. But I am better. Reality is making me stronger. Actually, it's making me weaker. But when I am weak, then I am strong.

More importantly, it's making me more relate able. I am not on some super spiritual high. It's good when that happens. It's good when you get a good super-charge of the holy spirit. But that's not where I am currently. Not like it isn't there. The spirit is keeping me afloat.

But I am more relate able after seeing my own sin clearer than ever. Through this I can better understand other people, and I am less inclined to judge. I have always been very accepting of all sorts of people but I have never understood how to interact with all types of people. I am still learning.

Work has been helping me. Sometimes my co-workers are such a pain. Sometimes they're wonderful. When people used to talk down to me, I used to ignore it completely and pretend it didn't happen. But I won't stand for it anymore. If someone, out of stress and tiredness, says something a little off to me, I might respond killing them with kindness or I completely ignoring the comment. But sometimes people need to know. For example, someone used to keep misinterpreting my body language and vocal tones. I had to absolutely communicate to her that this was all in her head. Starbucks is not my ideal job, but here, I am becoming more real with people. I am learning to take their punches and reply honestly when I need to.

in fact, i did write a poem today...

which i will post everywhere. even if it is crap.

I wear brokenness around my neck –

It's a green scarf with stripes- tattered but still fashionable.

I hide myself in it to keep from sudden exposure

To the crashing sky that breathes

Heavy, knockyaover winds

I carry brokenness with me

Slung upon one aching shoulder

- a quilted bag, each patch telling

stories of a place once strange to me.

stories I have chosen to forget.

I punch brokenness through the holes in my body

The black and white half moons dangle,

dragging my ears down with their weight

But vain beauty keeps them there all day.

My brokenness attracts other people.

The vivid colors, intricate patterns

Sometimes begs the question-

"Where did you get it?"

I am hesitant to reply. I don't want to brag.

As I stutter the place's name I still sound

Exotic. Lovely. Noble.

I am not those things.

I do not know why I choose to wear these pieces.

Especially when it relates to a place I'd care not

To re-visit. Perhaps because I can only be

At least a shadow of the girl I once was. But each

Accessory has brought the demise of that form of me.

I can't look back. Not even with the reminders.

I wear my brokenness as novelty now-

paraded with pride, people mistaking it with loveliness.

In private, I notice the scheme but

It's the only way it will fit.

cannot serve two masters

When I consider my current options and what I want to do, I cannot help but feel a little burdened.

I know I need to make money right now. I have bills to pay. I have college loans and a car lease.

But I don't want the rat race. I don't wanna be another fighting commuter and spend hours in a car each day. I don't want to live in a suburb where I drive at least 30 minutes to do most things I like to do. I don't want a job that overloads with me with work til I burn out completely.

I want to: live near my work, have enough free time to generously my time up, live in community, learn how to garden, be able to walk/bike everywhere, not feel so burdened by money, have adventures, have purpose, not want for anything.

I want to work for a church or para-organization. But how much do they pay? Not enough.
But then I am simply thinking about this in human terms. Doesn't God promise if we seek his kingdom, he will provide? I am so quick to doubt. So quick to worry about money and security (something I never thought I'd be worried about).

Part of me wants to move out of Northern Virginia very badly. But I am too scared to leave. Too scared to try to make it on my own without first having a full-salaried job. I am complacent and stuck, and maybe even a little lazy.

You cannot serve both God and money.

on my writing block

Anyone who reads my blog might assume I am depressed most of the time, going from highs to lows- but that's just what gets recorded. My blog entries are the edited clips of my life. Most of the time I am rather mellow and complacent. Though, it's easy for me drop fast. But then again, I am a writer.

I don't know what the deal is about the link between the ability to write and one's mental health. I love reading author biographies in the Norton Anthologies I had in school. They all seemed to end up with some futile, hopeless fate. They get severely depressed and throw themself into a river; they are sick of society's restrictions and decide a pill overdose will release them from their marital problems; they become chronic alcoholics and can never seem to find a fulfilling relationship.

I guess I dwell on all of this to admit that I'm scared of writing. I've not written a story or a poem in a matter of months. I keep wondering what aside from laziness is keeping me from my craft.I write to tell the truth. And the truth is often depressing as hell.

Some writers can write depressing stories of life's truthful pains and somehow sound irreverent. One can read it, sorta feel bad, but all at the same time, draw a wicked smile out of the story. I guess that's why I am so drawn to black comedy. That's why I'm so prone to sarcasm and cynicism.But even that is self-defeating. And people don't often read sarcasm in my stories, they read the defeat. Even though I have a distinct capability to stay irreverent in my verbal interactions, it does not translate into my writing.Is it from being just an amateur writer, or is it just not who I really am?

The truth is this: I am unlike those writers who bestowed wicked fates upon themselves. I have hope. Yes, I am mildly depressed, but out of the cracks that run through me, there's light that can't wait to tear through. Light hurts. I don't know how much people realize that when contrasting light and darkness. Darkness is comfortable. It hurts a lot more to sit with the lights shining bright on you. It's exposing. Christians are representations of Christ's light. I am a Christian. Yet I am sitting here, in a dim lit room, all too comfortable where I am.

A lot of writers dwell in darkness the whole time. That's why I cannot read a lot of writers I want to read and I cannot write a whole lot right now. Only a certain amount of darkness is comfortable for me. Any more will swallow me whole.The real challenge is how can I be a writer who dwells in light? Wouldn't I rather be that? Wouldn't that be less life-draining and more life-giving? Wouldn't that remove the cliche of becoming a hopelessly depressed writer with nothing but haze in front of them?

I used to do it. My most inspired times of writing have resulted outof very intimate quiet times hearing from God. But I haven't had it for awhile. So all I can offer my pages is quiet hollowness and doubt.

I've been avoiding writing while simultaneously avoiding my relationship with my Creator, who helps me create. It's time to embrace both. It's time to sit in some light.

I almost wrote a poem today

Sometimes you can distance yourself from something for such a long time, that you forget how to reconnect.

For example, today I had a very big poetic thought. It was very vivid and almost inspirational, but once I got it on paper, the idea flopped. I need to re-visit it. Re-visiting is the only way to get over this slump.

I was at an advent gathering, and we had some quiet time to reflect on peace (because the candle of peace got lit today). I wrote out some of the things I needed peace over. As I was doing this and reflecting on my woes, I looked back on myself. I've been wearing a whole lot of stuff I acquired in Kenya lately. I find that interesting because Kenya broke me a lot, and it's like I'm wearing my brokenness. So the poem's about wearing your brokeness around your neck, slung on your shoulders and various other things, but I just don't know how to connect that back to Kenya in the poem. I don't know how to complete the metaphor.

Maybe I need to read some Billy Collins- he's not overly concerned about making the language overly elegant- he speaks in very down to earth, everyday terms that somehow connect beautifully. Maybe after reading other poems, I can sit down and write.

idols

I can't control anything that I want to happen in my life...even if I try to put myself in the "right place at the right time." That usually never turns out.

But still, how can I juggle the concepts that 1) I cannot put something in my own hands or on the other hand, 2) if I want something I just gotta put myself out there?

How much do they conflict? and how much do they intersect?

I think prayer is necessary. Ask God. After that, follows the action. God wants us to ask and he wants us to take risks. But taking a risk without prayer is just foolishness.

Risks without prayer turn those things you want into idols. I have one too many idols...it's time to sit before my father in heaven.

for each epiphany there are a million questions

I get depressed about not having a professional job, while I don't even want a professional job. I don't want to run the rat race. But there's no way to come to terms with reality when you just avoid it. This is the life God gave me. I can't just run away.

So I get depressed about not getting what I don't want, because I am depressed by my own motives in getting what I do want. But most of all, my current situation depresses me beyond my motives and the professional world. So where does this leave me?

Is God good and powerful? Then why this silence?!

my life keeps the same tune on repeat

Library books are collecting dust on my window sill, on the top of my TV, and on my dresser. There are so many helpful books to read. So many interesting books to read, but I am simply disinterested.

Every few weeks I go back to idealist.org, craigslist, monster.com, the cnu job search site...and begin the futile search again. But I don't end up applying to many jobs. Each attempt is as if my child-like hand were grasping for small precious grains flying in the air, unable to ever be attained.

Then there's what I really want to do- the idealistic and volunteer-oriented jobs I am really interested in. I go back to those sometimes. But with their lengthy applications accessing one's character, motivations and maturity, I don't want to post any lies.

I have some very well-meaning people in my life who like to tell me the truth. Do they realize that one cannot simply be talked out of their sadness? That hearing it can just provoke more sadness, and thus get overwhelmed into more apathy?

WHO do we put our hope in?

Just a preface- this blog might be extremely popular among my Christian friends but likely not as popular among my non-religious friends or friends of other religions. To all of you, I dedicate this blog. I realize in the past, I have played it safe for you, as to not offend you and make you dislike me because I want you to like me. But I do not care as much about being safe or liked anymore. You may think I am close-minded claiming to believe in an absolute truth, but please take what I say to heart and feel free to ask questions and wrestle with the words. I pray what I say is not just a religious political statement, but actually speaks to your hearts.

I would consider some of my values to be more liberal than conservative, but in this past election I did not jump on the Obama train (Also, I did not vote for McCain). For very simple reasons. 1) As a moderate, he is too "big government for me 2) 4 years on senate, 2 spent campaigning as President (that troubles me) 3) While realizing that different Christians have different views of the legislation of abortion, I found it outrightly non-Christian of him that he supports partial-birth abortion (earlier stages of abortion can at least be debated as murder or non-murder, but partial-birth is outright murder.)

I do realize that he has many good qualities to him. First of all, we note the historical significance of voting in our first African-American President- this country has come such a long way, and for that I am proud.

Secondly, I love the morale of the American at a boost. Obama does not often preach politics of fear but politics of hope.

But that brings me to my worry. Preaching politics.

Now, I do not uphold the view of many conservative Christians that Obama is an anti-christ figure. I find that to be absurd, judgmental and completely ridiculous.


However as I look on facebook and blogs all around, I see people idolizing Obama, which is dangerous.
Let me make this clear - Obama is not our salvation. He is a good man, who will hopefully make good change in our country, but do not put your hope in MAN.

Politics are politics. They fall short of saving us humans. The only salvation we can know is the hope and change Jesus Christ brought to us through his death on the cross, and will bring when he comes back and instills a new heaven and a new earth when pain and sorrow will be no more.

We can strive to instill values of justice and hope in our public policy- I do believe that. But be careful. We are human beings with corrupt natures and we fall short of justice everyday. While many people out there believe values of righteousness and justice, where do we believe these values come from? They cannot be argued out of pragmatism, or for a stable future for the world. They come from a more deep-rooted place. We cannot achieve justice and human rights if our hearts are NOT FIRST CHANGED.

Change and hope starts in the hearts of human beings. But it has to be placed there by something. We are created in the image of God, therefore Christian or non-Christian we love things that God loves and hate things that he too hates. Change cannot come in our hearts without divine revelation.

My brother Justin puts it in this order-

Revelation ---> Revival---> Revolution

This works out in several patterns, in several ways God moves in creation. But let me give one illustration:
Revelation births revival. Revival is when our hearts are so stirred towards God that we wake up and do something. We give our Father glory through carrying out his will in the world. When we do that, revolution happens. Not a political revolution which gives corrupt man power, but a revolution which makes feeding the poor not a moral duty but a blessed opportunity to know your brother in love and share your resources, not out of government obligation, but by freely giving what you have been graciously given.


I am not scared of Obama taking office. I am excited. I think this is an excellent oppurtunity to re-think the way we live and partner with our administration in promoting change. Remember, Obama is not the key to this, though. Our hearts are. When our hearts are filled with love, we can live and move in ways we can never imagine. God is love. Turn your hearts toward him. He is good and powerful to save us. Wisdom and human works without God will ultimately fail.

1 Corinthians 2:9-16

However, as it is written:

"No eye has seen,
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him"— but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit.
The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words.The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned. The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man's judgment:

"For who has known the mind of the Lord
that he may instruct him?" But we have the mind of Christ.

i heart henri nouwen

I much prefer reading Henri Nouwen to boys.

I much prefer him to most Christian writers. His style is so elegant. His words flow off the page. He doesn't have to say much to make his point, but then will go for a bit explaining it. He's not overly religious or legalistic but you can see his love for Christ. He embraces faith holistically, and does not hold back on any issues.

His writing reminds me of a cross between Wendell Berry and a Christian Gary Snyder (ha, like that'd ever happen).

I'm reading Seeds of Hope, which only gives me excerpts from his different books on various topics he writes on. Pretty light reading, but still deep, powerful stuff in a few sentences.

I would say out of most spiritual texts I've read, this is one of the most accessible to the non-believer. He speaks often from a more philosophical viewpoint and doesn't tout around a lot of heavy Christian-nese language.

time to move forward, give my all, and refuse to give up

"I know that I have to move from speaking about Jesus to letting him speak within me, from thinking about Jesus, to letting him think within me, from acting for and with Jesus to letting him act through me.

I know the only way to see the world is through his eyes. Everything has to become very simple, very unified, very focused. It is no longer a question of being up-to-date or well-informed.

At this moment of history- my own as well as that of the world- I have to go to the very center of being; the center where time touches eternity, where earth and heaven meet, where God’s word becomes human flesh, where death and immortality embrace. There is no longer a question of options. I have heard a voice saying, “Give me everything and I will give you everything.” " - Henri Nouwen

Lately, I have been a slave to many things. I have one too many idols. The number one idol? Relationships. I'd rather relate with people (especially guys) than relate with God. Being a slave is exhausting and it keeps you from doing anything purposeful whatsoever, because you are just too focused on what you want which is keeping you bound. I want to focus upon the Lord, and give him all of my attention but my flesh repeatedly keeps myself from it. Today, I died again. Today, I am laying aside my earthly ambitions to somehow obtain Christ's death and resurrection. Through his strength, not mine. I cannot go on any longer on my own. It is way too defeating. Way too depressing. I will choose the better life, no matter how hard it seems, putting aside my judgments and how I think other people will now perceive me. If you're a close friend of mine, please help me stay accountable to this re-commitment. Please. This bondage has not yet given up on me. Pray that through Christ's strength, I might break it down.

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!"- Galatians 2:20-21

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned.If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples."- John 15:1-8

things i haven't done lately that i need to do, again

-go hiking
-workout 3-5 times a week
-go on a glorious bike ride
-cook
-read books
-write substantial blogs
- write poetry
- work on fiction
- do any kind of writing
-keep up with world events
-care about justice
-research theology
-read the bible (alone) and study it (in a group or with another person)
-pray/talk to God in my journal (constantly talk to god)



i'll give myself credit. this is all old me at different times. and being old me is hard.
the truth is, i don't care right now. it's really hard for me to begin to care. i'm wasting too much time on the computer or in front of the tv. but i just can't care.

wondering what to say to me? i ran into this john piper article- http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/TasteAndSee/ByDate/2008/3283/
but i didn't read it, cause i deemed it useless to me in the first two paragraphs. just like he said it would- funny enough.

"instead of getting better, she grew worse."

I wanna cry all my time. This increased vulnerability- not a good place to be.

My super-emotional tendencies are paralyzing me from doing anything really substantial. I forgot I even had those tendencies.

I need a big change of scenery. I don't even need to move to get it. I do need something. A miracle.

I know life is full of hope and opportunity, but I feel somewhat hopeless right now. Please pray for me.