Why College?

Deborah Rodriguez was a beautician living in Michigan. Dissatisfied with her life, she joined an aid team going to Afghanistan.

The rest of her team - Doctors, dentists, and nurses - had obvious parts to play.  But what could a hair dresser possibly do?

As her book, Kabul Beauty School tells, she could do a whole lot. Sharing her skills, she taught classes of women how to do hair, nails, and make up. With these skills, the women provided for their families and earned positions of respect in their households and communities.

With the technical skills of a hair dresser she turned around the lives of hundreds of women.

When I was in Haiti, I met an American woman who went to Haiti to pour concrete.  While she was there, the Haitians asked her if she could teach some kids.

And when I met her, she had been teaching for the last two years with no plans to quit. A high school diploma plus construction experience, and she was doing important work in a place that needed her.

I went to High School Camp a few weeks back, and a speaker came who had traveled the world with YWAM.  22 countries, 6 years, and who knows how many lives changed for Jesus?  He just graduated High School and started going.

So - what the heck am I going to college for?

I really just want to help people, but is college making me over qualified?  I mean, what good is a communications and sociology degree to people who need to learn to make a living?

Or maybe the opposite is true: maybe I'm under qualified.  I don't know anything useful to anyone.

I've been wandering the whirlwind of options for life after graduation: Haiti, , Fulbright, Peace Corps, Masters Degree, Kenya, Masters Degree and Peace Corps, Fiji, Teach for America, DTS, Starbucks Barista...and I can't help but wonder why all of this "education" is going to matter.  

If I wasn't so certain God wanted me in college, I'd be out of here in a heartbeat. But God's got a better plan. I'll try hard to be patient and wait.

Remembering Haiti (with Jack Kerouac)

Photo by Maureen Patricia: View from Girls' Balcony

So in Haiti when the rain comes down and I sit on the worn white-tiled balcony watching the bright, bright lightening over the church and glimpse all the lush land that drinks in the sudden torrent across Hispaniola, and all that dirt drowning, all the people immune to the immensity of it and in shacks I know by now the children must be sleeping in this land where they celebrate beds, and tonight the thunder will roll, and don’t you know that God is Kilroy?  the affluent world must be donating and throwing their money covers the country, which is just a way of hiding the total struggle that ravishes the land, drenching the dust, wrapping the tents and the cardboard shacks, and everybody, everybody knows nothing’s going to happen to anybody besides the tattered tarp of temporary home, I think of Flore, I even think of orphaned Flore, the girl I couldn’t leave, I think of Flore.

Written to imitate the following passage from On the Road by Jack Kerouac:

"So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let children cry, and tonight the stars’ll be out, and don’t you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty."

I did this for a class, but Haiti has been on my mind so much I felt inclined to share.  Maybe this will make you think of Haiti too, and you pray for the beautiful people there.

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?

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.