Juggling

Sometimes, life can feel like a big juggling act.
It's an act that no one seems to care about but everyone seems to judge.
YOU CANNOT DROP THE BALL
After each small success, the balls only increase and the tricks only get tougher.
YOU CANNOT DROP THE BALL
At first, I thought applause was only reserved for the selected few who managed to deliver a perfect show, but sooner or later, the ball's got to drop.
Who is the applause for?

Molding a lump of clay: The Riots in Kampala

Molding a lump of clay: The Riots in Kampala

Prayer

Exhiliration!

Movement
of
feet.
The air pours past my lungs into joyous gulps and one, two, three
I breathe.

Straining to see the sun
Bursting for the moon
Craning to catch a glimpse of Him,
on to mountaintops I run.

I burn!

I YEARN!

and on to mountaintops I run.

New Term

I haven't blogged in a while, but I've been feeling very ordinary lately.
It's not like I've felt extraordinary before, but may be it's a stable but a boring feeling of having finally settled here.

May be I already feel like it's time for a change...I miss traveling!

So here's what I've been up to. After three weeks of rest, a new term of classes has begun! Here are the classes I'm taking this semester.

1. Muslims in Europe: Between Integration and Radicalization
2. Introduction to Public International Law

Both classes are of highly interesting and controversial topics, and both have really quirky professors. The volume of readings is a lot less than the class I took during the summer, but the complicity of the topics and the historical background I'm ignorant towards are making me think til I think I may have words pouring our of my ears. I'm quickly becoming proficient in Turkish political groups since the 1960s..

I miss home.

Faith

The last two months have been a rude awakening.
I'm in one of the most secular cities in the United States, disrobed of all sorts of religious honors and responsibilities.
Stripped, my faith is now standing bare.

I do not recognize this unshod, unkempt and undernourished figure called my faith; she stares back impudently, her eyes glittering amidst her pock-marked face. There is no accusation in the boldness of her stare, just a calm dignity of truth and a deep excitement in being found. The shame is all mine.

As we stare at each other as strangers - familiar in our long-lost sisterhood - I begin to remember. The cut on her left hand - it came from the time I felt a prayer hasn't been answered and decided to stick her with the knife of blame. The clouds of bruises covered her since I've started to wield a stick called doubt in the name of reason. Disease and poverty has befallen her in my neglect; she's been imprisoned in my narrow-mindedness.

Yet I also remember the good times. The days when we sat together, Jesus, her and I, our eyes glittering as we discussed the future that speaks of peace and justice. She has comforted me through long, tearful nights and protected me from twin monsters of depression and hopelessness. She is there whenever I am with Jesus, holding both of our hands tightly. She never smiles as broadly as she does during those times.

We are on a path of reconciliation. I prepare her a feast of unerring belief in God's love, and clothe her in rich robes of hope in God's power. For a while, God's been asking me if I am willing to be a fool for Him - I give up my right to understand and watch her wounds fade away.

Her and I both know my failures. There will be times of feasting and times of neglect. It will be a long time until all her wounds heal, and longer still until the scars mend. But it's just not my hand she's holding - God's hand holds hers, His warmth radiates of love and His glance speaks of infinity. We are both safe in His grasp.

Tired of words

I realized today that it's been a really long time since I've written anything for the blog. But do you ever get sick of words? Even as I am writing this breezy little piece, the assembly of letters and punctuations is causing me a bit of nausea..

I started to write an explanation, then realized that I don't really want to.

BlahBLAWHblah.BLahblah.

Sometimes, the minimal is more than enough.

I love love

Ah weddings!

One of my best friends just got married last weekend. Yes, the weekend of 4th of July. I sadly didn't get to see fireworks, but did get to see two of my friends enter into a holy covenant that bound them together as one with mutual commitment, respect and, yes, love.

It is strange. I know that the stereotype is that unmarried women (especially older unmarried women..HA I am turning 27 this year) get depressed, discouraged and even a bit bitter as their friends get married one by one, but the series of weddings I've been to have been nothing but encouraging.

After each one, I believe a little deeper in true love between a man and a woman. May be it's because every wedding is like a mini chick flick, but BETTER. It's actually the real thing. That is cinderella and prince charming up there. Everytime.

May be it's my mood these days. My desire to have a boyfriend has hit an all time low. I've been wondering if it's something unhealthy but it feels good, like when you've wanted to lose weight, and then unintentionally lost your appetite. There are definitely times when I'm worried that after I reach a certain stage of contentment with singledom that I could just cut off a limb and reproduce into a new person, but that's pretty far from reality. Unless I'm a tapeworm.

My desire to fall in love, however, is at an all time high. Heck, it exists! I know that some say that women who watch chick flicks all the time (I don't, btw) and have high expectations (I do) have a harder time getting married, but seriously, why settle? I've seen better-than-chick-flick love happen all around me over and over again and don't see any reason why it shouldn't be also for me someday. Something fiery and organic, perhaps.

Letting off some steam

I AM NOT A SPOILED BRAT.
I AM NOT AN IDIOT.
NO, I DON'T WANT TO BE SOCIAL.
AND HECK I DON'T WANT A BEER. REALLY.

Social pressures. They sometimes get to me.

Wherever I go, there seem to be expectations. Something you do or have to belong. To be normal. To be polite. Believe me, being raised in an Asian home, I could write a book on "polite". I have been extensively instructed since childhood in the joys of being just like everyone else. Not sticking out, therefore never offending people. Never endangering the group. Boundaries, boundaries, boundaries.

But I am different. And it's not that I have offended someone here in Boston. No one's offended me either except for the dirty men with dirty comments and dirty eyes. Why do they do that anyway? It decreases their chances of getting any girl by 100 percent.

I am writing all this because I am a lone wolf. I like being the lone wolf. I am not normal, and don't have a desire to be normal, but feel the pressure to have the desire. Let me explain.

I sometimes feel like I am a lone wolf amidst a society of unicorns. These unicorns are sparkly, chipper and balanced. They adapt to community living easily. These are good unicorns. I see that being a unicorn is beneficial for myself and the society. It makes other unicorns feel safe.
But I am a wolf! I try to muster sparkles, but they fall short and look more like darts. I am not balanced - I am OBSESSIVE. I'm not negative, but notice and mention the shadows. As for the community thing, I never wanted to fit in.

Ah, that felt good. Let me say it again. I NEVER WANTED TO FIT IN. Well, maybe except during puberty years.

But the thing is, I've always felt like the absence of a desire to fit in and be one with the group was 1.prideful, 2.unhealty and 3.a denial. It must be. Who doesn't want to fit in?

I love the people in my life. And in order for me to be a good friend, daughter, sister, whatever to the people I care about, I have to make sacrifices, hone my maturity and build up character. But I should never have to change who I essentially am. I would rather spend a saturday night reading a good book than going to a big party. I am loud!! and always will be. I don't like sunday services. I don't need to be on a diet and you don't need to be on one either. I actually wear heels purely for myself and never for any sort of attention. I watch battlestar galactica and read ridiculous japanese comics. I mean, some of these, I could change - I do goto sunday service (really enjoyed the last one, actually) and wear flats occasionally - but deep relationships only come when I am honest with who I am, and am willing to accept others as who they are. Shallow relationships drain me (hence my insistence on more "personal" forms of communication).

Anyway, I feel like all this came from a long build up from my time here. Back in Salem, I never had to think about "groups". May be there were cliques or whatever but I never really cared. Everyone was somewhat on the same page - we all loved God, did similar work and had the "ywam dna". It was, for such a culturally and ethnically diverse community, a very uniform group of people and I never felt like I had to be someone different. Yes, I could even be liberal (which I don't think I am, but it's really comparative). I didn't have to be korean, american or whatever. In the "outside world," I had forgotten that you are a set of labels. People group off together. When I hang out with Americans, I know that I am being labeled a "twinkie" by many koreans/asians who walk by and when I hang out with koreans, I know that I am being labeled a FOB or as one of those asians who hang out with only asians. It bothers me, and it bothers me even more that it bothers me. And I have to be honest here - I have no idea how to have good times with non-christians. It's okay on a one-on-one basis - but most non-christian group interactions, I am reminded, involves heavy drinking, lots of small talk and interjections of profanity. Oh and casual sex. I don't do or enjoy any of those things.

Anyhow, I guess the conclusion is that I miss ywam. I really do. I have never felt so much at ease being a nomad and a third-culture kid. I was encouraged to not cram myself into a box. People loved, or learned to love that I was different.

I have made the resolve to do the same here. Whether the environment is hostile or not, I really don't want to care. I may feel lonely or uncomfortable at times, but I would feel even more lonely and uncomfortable once I'd started to compromise and lost myself in the process.

I have a nagging suspicion that many people feel the way I feel and that 90% of the unicorns are actually something else. I say, let unicorns be unicorns and wolves be wolves.

Broad Brush Strokes

I've always been one of those people that had no problem with hearing God's voice. From that day during DTS when we learned that God does, indeed, speak with us as He did with the people in the Bible, I've always taken it for granted that He would tell me what He would like me to do in all of the big and small decisions in my life.

He's not as opinionated anymore.

I mean, He still shares what He thinks I should do if I remember to ask (like right now, I think He would like for me to study and do my reading for Monday - and He's right) but remains infuriatingly silent on some of the main decisions in my life.

I've been praying quite intensely for a while about getting a job. Before heading out to Boston, I figured that it would look something like this: God- "Minju, get blahblahblah job", Me- "okay God, I will apply!", Recruiter- "we want you! come on board!". This scenario never really happened.

The other thing I've prayed about is scheduling classes. Yes, you can call me a baby, but this is how I've lived my life in the past 4 years. Come on, if God told me to do it, it must be foolproof! The little perfectionist in me capers with joy. But this time, He tells me I can do whatever I want.

At first, I wondered if there was something wrong with me. May be it's because I've come away from such a "spiritually saturated" environment. May be I have sin in my life. May be I never really heard Him and am actually crazy. May be my opinions are secretly very strong and therefore I'm deaf to Him. Ridiculous stuff. But here is what I've finally figured out.

Let's say that my life is like a very large canvas. Everyday I paint a little more. Any mistakes that I make can be re-shaped into something beautiful, but cannot be erased. Each brush stroke is permanent. Before DTS, I've made some terrible mistakes in my life - some that burgeoned into giant blots beyond my control. These distortions seemed too ugly to ever be redeemed, and they sure couldn't be erased. This is where God came in and showed me, step by step, how to fix the whole mess. He conferred with me on the tiniest little dot. He guided my hand through the faintest stroke of the brush. He taught me how to live my life again.

Now, I think my life is back on track. Reparations are over, and the blotches have transformed into a tapestry of images that speak of life, beauty and rebirth. Now, it's time to move forward with broad, bold brush strokes. The little details are left up to me. I've been taught how to fill in the blanks.

Classes start monday!

In a flurry of movement, I have decided to take my very first step towards earning my masters - starting this coming monday!

Since I am working and taking courses at the same time, I've decided to not risk my grades and to retain my sanity and space out my classes a bit (which the academic advisors told me vehemently to do). So I will be taking one this summer and two in the fall instead of the planned enrollment in three fall courses.

My harvard ID card will be issued tomorrow morning (I feel dorky and pretentious to be excited about it, but I am excited) and I will have access to not just wireless, but all the library systems, music practice rooms (free!) and, get this, FREE PRINTING. It just reminds me that yet again that the folks at Cornell were greedy poopfaces. I'm sure that we'd been charged for everything, including breathing.

Anyway, the course I am taking is a proseminar of 15 students, and is required for my degree. It's a course devoted to the history and effects of European colonization in Africa, so of course I am SUPER excited. I've always wondered if the aftermaths of the colonization times were like a ripple effect, and the problems in Africa that I've seen and heard of in recent times were only the outer edge of the deeper historical cause.

In preparation for next week's classes, I'm reading "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad and a book on this bastard called King Leopold II who apparently decimated 8-10 million people in the Congo territory. That's just about the number of people who live in Los Angeles County, twice the population of Norway and almost twice the number of Jews killed in the holocaust. What do you do to stitch up the wounds from a decimation of such a sickening magnitude?

May be the answer is widespread recognition of the tragedy and then an eventual restitution of apologies and forgiveness. But why don't students learn about this in world history class?

Well, that's enough ranting. Hopefully, I will learn more in-depth material and come up with the solution for world peace. Oh and end hunger on the side. If I have any spare time, I will figure out how to make cute, cheap and comfortable high heels.

Boston: Pros and Cons

Many things have happened in the past two weeks that I've been in Boston, and it's overwheming if not impossible to narrate what's been happening. So I've decided to put together a list of pros and cons of my Bostonian life as of yet.

Pros

1. God wants me here
2. I'll be instructed in a great program by incredible professors
3. Awesome public transportation
4. I have a long-term goal
5. My apartment is cheap and beautiful
6. My housemates are unbelievably nice and very uncreepy
7. Shopping galore!
8. It's something new and different
9. I'm close to my brother
10. I'm close to my friends from college
11. I own furniture for the first time in my life

Cons

1. I'm not with YWAM anymore
2. I miss my friends!
3. So far, I'm unemployed
4. I can count the people I personally know in this city with just one hand
5. My long-term goal is so big that my soul hyperventilates
6. Everything costs me twice as much as I'd planned
7. The 5 housemates I have so far in this 3-floor complex are all male
8. Firetrucks, police cars and ambulances all seem to love wailing their sirens in front of my house
9. Walking everywhere has made me want birkenstocks for the first time in my life

I have hope for my list of cons. Right outside my window, there is a fire escape - ugly in form and unsecure in nature - that I've hated since moving into the apartment. It was definitely one of the top things on my list of cons. But last night, in a flash of genius, the fire escape became my personal little patio and shoved itself onto my list of pros. It would obviously not work during the winter, but I'll get plenty of sun and planetarium time on that fire escape well before the first flake of snow.
So I have hope. Hopefully I will soon be employed, make deep friendships, get a really nice, clean and female housemate, gain some confidence as God proves to me that I can do this and even have a life-long relationship with Birkenstocks.

Lastly, here's a song that I've been listening to when times get tough.

Acres of Hope
Shane & Shane

He will allure her
He will pursue her
And call her out
To wilderness with flowers in His hand
She is responding
Beat up and hurting
Deserving death
But offerings of life are found instead

She will sing
She will sing
Oh, to You
She will sing as in the days of youth
As You lead her away
To valleys low
To acres of hope
Acres of hope

Here in the valley
Walk close beside me
Don’t look back
For love is growing vineyards up ahead
You have called me master
And though you’re in the dark here
Call me friend
And call me lover and marry me for good

She will sing
She will sing
Oh, to You
She will sing as in the days of youth
As You lead her away
To valleys low
To acres of hope
Acres of hope

How the story ends is
Love and tenderness in Him
Not safe, but worth it
So the valley’s up ahead
Or the ones we live
We’ll sing together
We’ll sing together

We will sing
We will sing
Oh, to You
We will sing as in the days of youth
As You lead us away
To valleys low
To acres of hope
Acres of hope

“Lord, sustain me in the valley. Give me ears to hear Your sweet tender voice and lead me in to acres of hope in this dry and weary land.”
"Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt. ‘In that day,’ declares the LORD,’you will call me 'my husband'; you will no longer call me 'my master. (Hosea 2:14-16)
[ Acres Of Hope Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

Last Day in Salem

If my body could reflect my heart,
I would be crying from a thousand places.

If I wore my heart on my sleeve,
Perhaps people would see that I care.

If this were a perfect world,
Everyone on this base would move to Boston.

If I knew a better way to do justice to how much people here mean to me,
I would not be writing this stupid poem.

If we were not so self-absorbed nor possess the gift of forgetfulness,
Saying goodbyes would mean heartbreak until the next hello.

If I had never met the people here,
I would be nowhere near where I am today.

If my heart could say words,
It would say "thank you".

"I love you".

What are our priorities?

Some things to fire me up:

Global priorities in spending in US $(Consumerism, Volunteer Now! 1998)
Military spending - 780 million
Basic education for all - 6 million
Water and sanitation for all - 9 million
Reproductive health for all women - 12 million
Basic health and nutrition - 13 million

Less than one per cent of what the world spent every year on weapons was needed to put every child into school by the year 2000 and yet it didn’t happen. (State of the World, Issue 287 - Feb 1997, New Internationalist)

I know these stats are more than 10 years old, but wonder if things have changed very much since then...

God freaking knows everything

I'm currently putting together a manual for anyone who wants to take outreach teams to North/South Sudan and Uganda. It's funny - I'm not really a diary person who writes down details about everyday life - but I do write down important prayer times and actually log things religiously when I'm on outreach. I honestly think it largely has to do with the fact that there is no electricity and I have nothing better to do, but I am left with several precious volumes of details from some of the most dramatic times in my life.

So, back to the story - in the process of writing the manual, I've been taking a trip down memory lane and have been thumbing through these dirt-crusted, palm-sized journals - and found this entry from waaaay back in 2005 during my DTS. It was written a couple of days before I left for Sudan. I'll write it down verbatim.

Putting together politics & missions.
Conflict ridden areas.
Peace & conflict resolution.
How to get YWAM/missionaries more involved in that?
Linking this w/taking Islam by its roots.
Grassroots movements?
But how is that done?
So...and where in the middle east?
Am I going to the middle east?
Which conflict ridden nation?
Is it going to be one nation or multiple?
God where do you wish to take me?
Where am I to give the most glory to You?

Needless to say, I had goosebumps after reading this entry. After outreach, I had gotten caught up with moving to Sudan (and honestly, a little part of me still wants to work for unreached war-torn people in the bush somewhere and bury my bones there) and then got caught up again in other things and don't remember at all having written or even thinking all this.
But God remembered. When the timing was right, He spoke to me about all this again, and not only told me His heart, but lead me on a journey that brought me to choose to do all this. He put together choice with obedience.
Sometimes, thiking about how smart God is overwhelms my puny little brain. Thank goodness He is here to help me.

Saying Goodbye

I just booked my ticket for going home in May.

It's my ticket out of YWAM.

On May 20th, I would no longer be "Minju Kim, YWAM Salem staff," but just plain "Minju Kim, unemployed/prospective student".
I could no longer be able to tell people that I am a missionary - which I sometimes do want to proudly shout out from the top of the world - I will just whisper it to myself, and of course to the army of friends who understand and support my calling. I am very thankful of these friends.
And no matter what labels I might have on the outside, I know who I am.
I am His baby and missionary extraordinaire.

I feel like leaving a home of four years should not have been so easy. 10 minutes online and a few clicks, and it was done. My decision set on a e-ticket. Years of struggle, tears and sweat summarized (currently) in virtual world. A little piece of paper that I wouldn't see until the day of departure became the final stamp on the four most insanely life-changing years of my life.
I am thankful of every single minute of those four years.

It is 28 days and counting until my day of departure.

War Child - Emmanuel Jal

Emmanuel Jal has won worldwide acclaim for his unique style of hip hop with its message of peace and reconciliation born out of his experiences as a child soldier in Sudan. His music can be heard alongside Coldplay, Gorillaz, and Radiohead on the fundraising ‘Warchild - Help a Day in the Life’ album, as well as in three ER episodes, the National Geographic documentary God Grew Tired of Us, and more recently in the feature film Blood Diamond starring Leonardo DiCaprio. He also featured on John Lennons ‘Instant Karma: The Amnesty International Campaign to Save Darfur’ amongst the likes of U2, REM and Lenny Kravitz.

Emmanuel Jal was born in war-torn Sudan, and while he doesn’t know exactly when, he believes it was in the early 1980s. He was taken from his family home in 1987 when he was six or seven years old, and sent to fight with the rebel army in Sudan’s bloody civil war. For nearly five years, he was a “child warrior,” put into battle carrying an AK-47 that was taller than he was.

By the time he was 13, he was a veteran of two civil wars and had seen hundreds of his fellow child soldiers reduced to taking unspeakable measures as they struggled to survive on the killing fields of Southern Sudan. After a series of harrowing events, he was rescued by a British aid worker (Emma McCune) who smuggled him into Nairobi to raise him as her own. To help ease the pain of what he had experienced, Emmanuel started singing.

In 2005, he released his first album, Gua (”peace” in his native Nuer tongue), with the title track broadcast across Africa over the BBC and becoming a number one hit in Kenya. Gua also earned him a spot on Bob Geldof’s “Live 8″ concert in the UK. Jal performed at Nelson Mandela’s 90th birthday celebrations in Hyde Park, London, June 08, he shared a stage with Alicia Keys, Annie Lennox, Damien Marley and Stephen Marley at the Black Ball in London in July 08 and also addressed delegates at the UN in New York in the same month. Jal has also performed with Razorlight, Supergrass, and Faithless in Europe. Last October Emmanuel toured the United States as part of the National Geographic All Roads Film Festival, in which he performed in New York, Washington D.C., Los Angeles and New Orleans. Jal also performed with Moby and Five for Fighting in the 2007 live concert film, The Concert To End Slavery (www.concerttoendslavery.com/trailer).

Jal has a full-length documentary on his life and times which has been touring the film festival circuit. It premiered at the Berlinale festival this year, and won the Cadillac audience choice award at the Tribeca film festival. His autobiography has been sold to St. Martin’s Press with anticipated release of spring 2009. His new album ‘Warchild’ was released on 12th May 2008 on the Sonic360 label (distribution by ADA Global) with additional production and mix by Neal Pogue, (Outkast, Talib Kweli, Pharohae Monch).

http://www.emmanueljal.org/bio Copyright © 2009 Emmanuel Jal

Fear - the tale of riding a bicycle

Fear opens forgotten wounds.
Fear makes the possible seem impossible.
Fear paralyses, opening the depths of my soul
to a scalding flood of lies.
My ears are frozen shut
and truth is no longer mine.

With my greatest dreams come my biggest fears.
Dare I dream?
Dare I dig deep, unearthing the tiny seed of hope
the flicker of a spark
shadow of a dawn.
Dare I move?
Dare I dream of a tomorrow,
high hopes
riding into high noon
The tiny flicker
burgeoning into a conflagration of ifs
maybes
and hopefuls.

..................
I rode a bicycle for the first time yesterday. Yes, for the first time in 26 years of living in this world that's brimming over with billions of bikes. A friend of mine offered to teach me, and under her patient coaching, I've managed to hop on the bike and ride, as shaky as it all were, all by myself.
Now, it may not seem like much, but anyone who knows me would agree that God did not choose to bless me in the area of physical coordination when he created me in my mama's womb. What I did on that bike today was a tremendous feat.

Truth be told, I've been struggling with major bouts of fear lately. I've been planning to move to Boston for a while now to pursue multiple degrees in the most prestigious academic institution in the world - and as the days slowly dissipate, the little tides of fear barely licking at my toes have been growing into a tsunami big enough to make me pee my pants. My nights have been rather sleepless and painful.

One of my favorite fears is that I would try my best but produce no results - the fear of discovering that I suck too much to be redeemed by effort.
But yesterday, I did it. I sucked, but climbed back on over and over again in dogged perseverance, and after about thirty-something tries and a sore bum, I began to catch on. Now, I'm even starting to have fun.

Needless to say, this was all God's idea. The night before my friend offered to teach me, I sent out a desperate prayer for God to provide me with a chance to work at and accomplish something, so that I could prove to myself that I could do it if I tried.
My prayer was answered, and my fear stopped being loud and obnoxious.

The Girl Effect

Back home

What makes a person hold on?

This is the question I ask myself this morning, still tired from the trip back home and terrified of losing my way.

I just came out of a place of intense investment. I was going to use the analogy of an incubator, but that does not even come close. May be a boot camp would suffice. Or I don't know, disciples walking with Jesus before crucifixion. It was that good.

Now, it's crucifixion time. The real test.

One of the new friends I've made there - someone I respect very much - said that when her husband had asked her who she thinks is the one person from the workshop that will change the world, she said my name. I was incredibly flattered, thanked her and took the compliment on the outside, but was absolutely terrified inside. I was afraid that she was seeing something that wasn't there. Or may be she was seeing the results of the workshop - soon to be determined whether they are permanent or temporary. It is easy to be a good person when you are invested into and encouraged everyday.

I'm not afraid of "falling away from God" or "His path". The wide brushstrokes are easy to follow so long as I am committed. And I understand commitment.

What I am afraid of are the details. The pauses of the brushstrokes, the minute details of the painting. These details are what speak of character and build the foundations for the brushstrokes to take the most effect.

Will I be loving and wise with my parents? Will I be a servant? Will I use my time wisely? Will I choose to see myself as God sees me?

These are daily things. And I really believe that unless I can do the daily things - the minute details - there's no way that I could change the world. Impact society. Disciple the nations.

The conclusion I came to and something I keep telling myself is that I will be in a good place as long as I follow God. Surrender and obey. Surrender and obey. Repeat. Have grace for myself. Repeat.

Robot Camel Jockeys

A robot jockey is commonly used on camels in camel racing as a replacement for human jockeys. Developed beginning in 2004, the robotic jockeys are slowly phasing out the use of human jockeys, which, in the case of camel racing in Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, United Arab Emirates, and Qatar, often employs small children who reportedly suffer repeated systemic human rights abuses. In response to international condemnation of such abuses, the nation of Qatar and UAE has banned the use of human jockeys in favor of robots. Wikipedia®

Hahahaha

Notes from Justice Has a Face Workshop

This is an assignment for the Justice Has a Face Workshop that I'm attending right now in Burtigny, Switzerland. It's an attempt at summarizing my beliefs...enjoy!

I believe in absolute truth.
I believe in one God.
I believe that the one God is the absolute truth.
He created the universe and He created me.
He is bigger than His creation. Infinitely bigger. Bigger than me.
But sometimes I think I am bigger than He is.
This one God – the absolute truth, the creator of the universe, infinite and wise –
He loves me.
And His love is unconditional. It knows no boundaries.
He is love.

He also loves His creation.
We are all made in the image of God.
No matter who we are, each of us reflects something of God that is our own.
No one that ever existed is the same.
Each person is finite, but infinitely valuable.
I believe that
when I recognize
and fight for the recognition of God-given value in me and others,
I worship God.

He is also the Word.
The Word lives.
It breathes life! The words dance on the page with exuberance and brilliance!
Speaking His love
And containing His infinite mystery.
I first met God through the words.
It was love at first sight.
It is His written Word that brings me to see.
It is His written Word that teaches me to listen.
It is His written Word that commands me to speak.
Through His Words, God moves.
And So do I.



I don’t always live by absolute truth.
When I think I am bigger than Him, other voices become louder than His -
Including mine.
I become the judge.
I judge myself,
I judge others
and I judge God.
And man, do I suck at judging.

Growing up with God is tricky.
Sometimes, I think I would be perfectly content sucking on milk bottles all my life.
I say, “God, please take care of my crap”.
It all seems to depend on perspective.
The short-term me – all self and no wisdom-
Loves the world’s kingdom.
Show me the money!
I am holier than thou!
I am like a dog wolfing down chicken bones – focused on the meager flesh
And running towards death.
But my eyes open when I focus on God.
That is the long-term me.
And she loves God’s kingdom.
In this kingdom,
the most valuable thing, the hidden treasure in the field,
is God.
And milk bottles are no longer enough.

Living as a full grown bride of Christ
is not just candlelit dinners.
Yes, we do chew on steak sometimes
Drink some wine
Put on a tiara
Dance in a ballgown that seems too heavy to even walk in.
But if that is all there is to intimacy with God,
I would soon be too fat to fit through the pearly gates.
To me, Jesus is more like Rambo.
We fight together
Back to back
Armed to the teeth with servanthood and sacrifice.
Blood is spilt.

So what is His kingdom?
What are Jesus and I fighting for?
The kingdom of God belongs to the little ones.
The weak, the powerless, the poor, the orphans, the widows, the downtrodden,
The forgotten.
We fight for their value.
We fight for God’s glory.
And with each stroke of servanthood and each slash of sacrifice
For each tear that is spilt
I worship God.
He deserves it.

I believe in the power of discipline,
Of human choice.
I am not perfect, and thankfully, I am not God. I obviously make mistakes.
But there is one thing that holds me still -
Jesus loves me.
Because of this, I know I can always turn back.
I can face the consequences of my mistakes.
I can disregard any judgments from others or myself that do not align with God’s word
I have the armor of God.
His justice protects me
And His mercy gives me the freedom to choose
with hope
that I can someday truly believe with
All my heart,
Soul,
Strength,
And mind
That He is who He is.
Today, once again, I move forward.

breaking the silence

I am a perfectionist.

There are good things about being a perfectionist: 1. I always win. If I am not good at something, I'll simply not do it, unless my life depended on it. 2. Most of the time, I can live under the sweet illusion that I have everything under control. Just the thought of it actually sends tingles down my back. 3. Confidence. I can carry myself with a strange sort of self-assurance when I know that I have been dealing with parts of my life in perfect precision.
Then there is the flip side: 1. Insomnia. I am obviously human and therefore obviously make mistakes. A lot. And when I do, a good night's sleep becomes a luxury. 2. I avoid things. When a part of my life spins out of control, I pretend it's not happening and stick my head in the ground. Or shut myself away from society. Incredibly healthy. 3. I am an internal flagellant. I constantly whip myself to be better than the day before. Who set the standard anyway?

So why am I talking about this? I suppose I could start a Perfectionist Anonymous club, but it really wouldn't fly because everyone would strive to perfectly escape being a perfectionist. Imagine: a whole group of people trying so hard to live the hippie lifestyle. Oh it kills me.
But I had realized something about myself. It's actually been perfectionism that kept me from posting things on the blog. If something isn't well written, it sure ain't going on the blog. If I'm struggling with something I do not wish to reveal about myself, I'm not blogging. Image means a lot to a perfectionist, I've learned. Privacy is a perfectionist's haven.

I've decided to break through my perfectionism. God's been slowly teaching me that He is God and I am not. And I am learning to be okay with it - not just in theory, but in life.