The Gamble

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and unite the cord of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—When you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.  Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.  “If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves on behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.  The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and strengthen your frame.  You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.”

Isaiah 58:6-11 (NIV)

I have underlined this passage in my bible again and again.  I read the words and think of my beautiful Haiti girls, my Mexico babies and the hundreds of women and children on the streets and in brothels I have only met through the pages of my books. These are the oppressed people I feel called to set free!

Then I realize how limiting that is!  The passage says to feed the hungry.  It does not say to feed the hungry people who are in an economically worse situation than you.  It says to clothe the naked. It does not say to clothe the naked who shop at Goodwill more often than you do.

Everyone says to eat your food, because there are starving children in Africa.  What about the starving children in Seattle?  

What about my classmate with uncomfortably worn out shoes?

What about the people I see every day, oppressed by a racist, sexist system?

They need me too.

I know, that sounds like a lot of people.  1 in 4 children in Washington are at risk of hunger, according to Food Lifeline.   

How can one person given enough to feed them all?

Before you fall into the depths of inadequacy and despair, remember the rest of the passage.

After this call to action, there is a promise!

If we do these things, we will be healed!  

If we do these things, God will answer our cry! 

Our light will rise, night will be like noonday and – my personal favorite – “[The Lord] will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land.” 

How amazing would it be to feel satisfied? 

Not satisfaction from sitting in the lush green of nature with the sun caressing your face and the wind just barely lifting your hair, with the taste of bacon on your tongue and a Jane Austen novel in your hand.

Nothing like that.

Satisfaction in a place where none of this exists.  Satisfaction in a sun-scorched land where the only water is the perspiration on your brow caked with the dry dust that floats chokes your nostrils with every step.  

Satisfaction in that place of utter lack and desolation.   

I think we do not give because are afraid of that place.  

“If I clothe all the naked, what will I have left to wear?”  Well, should you reach a point of having no clothes, do not worry about it.  

You have reached the sun-scorched land and you are satisfied.  Having given so completely you will have reached a point where what you have simply does not matter anymore.

It is a risk; to give until you have no more.  You might end up with nothing, but according to this passage, it will not matter.  You will be satisfied.

Will you take that gamble?

Light and Shadows

The shadow of death.

An image described with every recitation of the 23rd Psalms, but how many of us really think about what it means?

The shadow of death.

Death ahead, death behind, blocking the sun with its mammoth frame.

The feeling:

Like metal on your teeth.

Like a vice wrapped with waiting to squeeze your throat.

But then, a light.

Not the dull glimmer of a dying ember.

Not the weak beam of a flashlight in need of new batteries.

A bright light.

A great light.

Like a light house standing proud.

Like a baby growing inside its mother.

Like the glow of a bride walking the aisle to meet her groom.  White dress rustling, hair alight with the pleasure of the family she passes, all pleased with the union.

The music swells with joyous epiphany.

Sweet vanilla fills the air.

Glorious.

Dark is the absence of light.

Peace is not the absence of weeping.

The Prince of Peace wept.

God does not say no more distress.

He says no more gloom for those in distress.

Just glorious light.

1 Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the nations, by the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan—

² The people walking in darkness
    have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
    a light has dawned.

Isaiah 9:1-2

Inadequacy is Irrelevant

Grief.

It is as though a wild beast tears a chunk of flesh from your arm, leaving muscles, nerves, and blood vessels exposed to the world and it hurts.  It hurts to look at.  It hurts to touch.  It hurts when it comes into contact with air.

It is a place where all you feel is pain.  There is no option but to dwell in the sadness.

This is where Mary Magdalene, James's Mom and Salome found themselves.  The man they had called Teacher and Master, who they had voluntarily served, who they had dedicated their lives to, who spoke the words that touched their very souls, died.

Gone.

Forever.

They went to Jesus's tomb, so distracted by grief they did not plan for the mammoth stone that would prevent them from reaching their goal. Only after they had almost arrived did they realize they could not accomplish their task alone.

Tearfully, they reached their teacher's resting place and saw their inadequacy did not matter.

The stone had been rolled away.

It did not matter what they could not do, because the Lord did it for them.

Their inadequacy was irrelevant.

The task was complete.

The most permanent thing had been reversed, the most impossible thing accomplished.

Jesus had risen!

And he did it without the help of anyone.

Dear Jesus,

I thank you that nothing I can or cannot do matters. My failures do not matter.  My poor planning does not matter.  My weaknesses do not matter.  Thank you that everything is covered by your grace.  Thank you for using me for your glory anyway.

I love you.

Amen.

When the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. ² And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. ³ And they were saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?” ⁴ And looking up, they saw that the stone had been rolled back—it was very large. ⁵ And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe, and they were alarmed. ⁶ And he said to them, “Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him.

 Mark 16: 1-6

Haiti: The Sound of Lightening

Sprinkled mostly between rows 26-30 on a flight from Fort Lauderdale to Miami, eighteen people put their hands in the air, roller coaster style, as the plane accelerated down the runway.  Of the nearly 200 people in the 737, we certainly held the honor of being the loudest bunch.  Not in an annoying way, but in the manner of twelve college students and six adults full of life and energy at the prospect of a missions trip adventure in Haiti.

Staring out the window, Lorrie and I marveled at the ground below.  Big details, such as the panes of glass on the mall room or the white lines of a parking lot, shrank to tiny details, as the picture below us grew simultaneously smaller and larger.  Asphalt high ways receded and individual trees became a mass of green.  A string of lakes reflected in the sun, reminiscent of skid marks after a bouncing crash.

Already our second plan trip, my knees felt crunched as I tried to sleep on the cramped airplane.  A cranky attitude grew, then faded when Lorrie directed my thoughts to the beautiful out doors.

I desperately long to adequately describe the majesty of the view above the clouds, but Dr. Amorose (of my creative nonfiction class) would consider me horribly cliché for using the worn out words typically called upon to express the wonder of cloud.  Then again, journalism classes assure me: clichés unite the human experience because everyone can relate to them.  With these two warring factions in my head, primarily food related phrases came to mind.

From the window I could see pieces of angel food cake, the brown exterior irregularly ripped away, reflecting the glow of a fresh peeled orange the zesty pink of water melon slices.

Mashed potatoes carefully peeled, eradicating all dark marks, poured unevenly in a pan and set under the orange glow of the broiler to keep warm.

Unevenly piqued clouds, piled high in the distance and stretched too thin directly below, touched every so gently with the splendor of a guava pink and peach sunset.  Shining blue sky separated our miniscule aircraft from the muddy green spike of earth below.

Gazing out the eighteen-inch portal and across the frozen clusters of water around me, the plan shuddered and shook. Even the serenity before me had a hint of restlessness.

The hint soon broke into dramatic proclamation as a streak of lightening flashed through the clouds.  I heard no thunder over the drone of the airplane engines, but as the waves of light illuminated the clouds I imagined the sound of percussion instruments smashing in the background.

In my biology class last quarter, we learned how some people in the world have their senses cross-wired.  Instead of hearing music, they see the sounds as color.  A documentary called God Vibrations shared that a correlation exists between sound and color.  With my limited knowledge on the subject, I construe this to be a result of waves.  Sound travels in waves, light travels in waves, and wave lengths match up. 

So I wonder; what does the flash of white lightening sound like? White is the perfect mix of every color, so is lightening the perfect mix of every sound?  Or is it a moment of discord dancing across the sky like the path of a drunken superhero?

Once more, I digress.

Haiti: The Beginnings

Eight days of Spring Break 2012, I spent in Haiti.

The journey started back in February, when my Tacoma church, Puget Sound Christian Center, announced the missions trip to the congregation.  Ignite Campus Ministry at Pacific Lutheran University would be taking a group of Lutes to Haiti., led by Dan Donohoe.  They had a few spots open, if anyone else felt called to join them.

My Mom put my name on the list for an application.

It is true, I have felt called to go to Haiti for a year or two.  I had tried to go on several trips before, but God always closed those doors and pointed me in a different direction.  Torn between my Mom’s approval and God’s previous “no,” I sat down to discern if I ought to apply.  Immediately, God directed me to Isaiah 61:1-4.

“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
A planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”

Without a doubt, I knew God had called me to go to Haiti, a country of poor, despairing hearts, people who mourn, trapped in darkness.  I needed to go to Haiti and spread any gladness that I could muster.

“Gladness” hadn’t really been my strong suit.  Ever since my Grandma passed away last July, my default emotion has been anything but glad.  There have been laughs and smiles and pleasant memories, but mostly just sadness.  One of my most constant sources of love could only hug me if I wrapped myself tightly in the quilt she sewed, and that can never compare.  Even so, my Mom shared how this passage fit me too.  Perhaps God intended for me to fine a crown of beauty for my ashes while I worked in Haiti.  Confident in my call, I applied and prepared to leave.

The day before my first Haiti meeting I started to panic.  I would be missing two or three days of school, I had to get shots, I had to raise almost two thousand dollars in a little over a month, and I did not know any of the people I would be traveling with!  I asked God, “Are you sure about this?”  Then, one of the first things Dan said at the meeting, “Isaiah 61:1-4 is kind of our verse for the trip.”  My insides danced with glee. 

God most certainly called me to Haiti.

Two weeks later, at a team potluck, Lisa started singing Les Miserables.  I joined half the team in a rousing chorus of One Day More.

God most certainly called me to Haiti with these people.

I asked God how I should pay for the trip.  He told me I should contribute a specific amount out of pocket.  He has paid for nearly all of my school and still given me a job.  I could afford it. 

For two weeks I asked if he really meant it. Finally, I took the leap and paid the amount out of pocket.  By the end of the week, somebody offered to cover all of the rest of my costs.

God most certainly had everything under control.

March 22^nd rolled around and, despite feeling utterly convinced I would catch a tropical disease and die, be bitten by an eighteen foot long venomous snake, or loose my left leg in a politically motivated pipe bomb explosion, I went to bed ready to go to Haiti.

Journey

Only in Washington does one go to the beach dressed ready for the next snowpocalypse.

Rain jacket, hoodie, columbia fleece, and a scarf wrapped across my forehead, over my ears, around my neck and tied under my chin.

I trekked along the water, wind blistering my face.  Three times the hail stung my nose and bounced off my glasses.  I pulled logs across the sand to build bridges where little rivers connected to the ocean, too wide to jump across.  Remarkably, my socks stayed dry even as I dashed away from the waves rushing towards the shore.

I walked and walked and walked.  Then I realized I was at my beach with my family, and they were probably starting to wonder where I went.  I turned around and walked back, leaping over puddles, praying the cars who drove across the sand would see me, because with the scarf tied around my head, I could not hear them.

As I walked along the path, crossing the sand dunes and entered the little town of Pacific Beach once more, I stopped short of the coffee shop at the rainbow looming in the sky.

Most rainbows I've see are multi-color streaks, shooting into the air.  This rainbow was almost a complete arch, stretching across the sky.  I could see the beginning and the end, but the part in the middle was somewhat hazy.

I found it somewhat applicable to my life.  I know where I am, and I sort of know where I am going, but that part in the middle - the part where everything happens - it's still a bit hazy.

Dear Jesus, I pray that you would give me just enough rainbow, just enough road, just enough direction, so I can keep stepping forward. Help my plan oriented self be satisfied with that.

I love you,

Amen.

Paintings and Plastic Castles

Here I am, looking for God's plan for my life.  I ask yet again, what should I do?  What skills should I focus on and where should I apply them?  In which position will I most benefit the Lord?  

What relationships should I have?  Who should I really invest in?  How can I love people better?  When am I going to fall in love?  

How can I engage the world around me in a way that increases the divine mission on this earth?  

I feel somewhat like a chess piece.  An object waiting to be directed by the only one who can see the whole board. It sounds ideal, but who wants to be a piece of plastic, stuck moving in predefined patterns until we are put back on the shelf in the linen closet, or chewed up by the puppy who found us laying in the living room behind the couch.

Today, God showed me a new perspective.

We, the people in the world, are not little plastic pieces on a grid.

We are canvases of color specifically arranged in the grandest museum of all.

I am a spectacular canvas specifically created to be just as it is.  The Artist has used a masterful hand to create me.  Sometimes I grab my own paint brush and splatter on the canvas.  My unskilled self dabs and dots, scribbles and smears and makes a horribly botched mess of the whole thing.  Then, when I notice the storm clouds I have painted on Starry Night, I drop the brush and hang my head in shame.  

God, with loving, gentle hands, picks up the brush and fixes it.  My mistakes are still there, but he covers it with his grace and makes me beautiful once more.  He never mentions them again.

I hang in the grand museum of heaven, featuring billions of canvases specifically placed on certain walls in ideal proximity of each other.  Currently, I rest on the wall of my college years, surrounded by college friends, as well as my family.  In a few weeks, I'll be moved to the Haiti wall, participating in a missions trip down there.   This summer, I shall decorate a France wall, surrounded by people somewhat like me who also want to study abroad.  Each time I am moved, it is done with great care and consideration, always in a way to exemplify my own beauty, as well as the beauty of the museum.

Someday, perhaps in the not so distant future, my canvas will be permanently affixed to another canvas with God glue.  Together, the two canvases will become one, and God will move us around the museum as is best suited for who we are and what we can do.  

Yes, the Artist, the Museum Curator, he decides who we are and what we do.  But like any artist with their work, it is done with the greatest care imaginable. 

Dear Jesus,

Thank you so much.  I so very prefer to be a piece of art than a plastic castle.  Holy Spirit help me remember what a treasure I am, and how thoughtfully my place in this world has been and will be decided.  I look forward to seeing where you move me next, my loving Daddy-God.

I love you,

Amen.