This normally does not happen, but the staff allowed me to attend the book signing of one of the leading Middle Eastern analysts in the nation after I received an invitation from him, which is a huge honor for any person to receive. So I am currently here, typing in McDonald's at 30th Street Station in Philly. Being back in Philly is amazingly wonderful for me. Here, I'm surrounded by most things familiar: the people, the business, even the station itself. Additionally, I hold a greater appreciation for this place because I have just stay awake all night long trying to travel to Philly.
The trip required that I travel by bus from Ocean City to Atlantic City and then from Atlantic City to Egg Harbor. From there, it was a straight train ride right into the station. In between stops, I had a one hour layover for each one. While I am exhausted, I must say that this uneventful ride was covered with God all over it.
Getting from OC to AC was no problem. I lost my Harry Potter virginity and cruised straight through listening to the first book. I was so into the story, I nearly missed my stop. But the bus driver was nice enough to tell me where I needed to get off. I then waited in AC's bus terminal from 2:45 to 3:45, which believe me, is not fun. Everyone in there, it seemed, was coming back from some shady activity. Most were drunk and were trying to sleep off the alcohol. A few other characters were just plain creepy. I stuffed my face into the book, Many Colors, which we are reading right now for OCBP, and focused on culture and God.
Eventually, I got on the bus that was going to take me to the train station in Egg Harbor. As we were about to leave however, the bus driver stopped the bus for an elderly man who could not walk fast enough to catch the bus on time. He shuffled over to the bus as the traffic controller ran over with him wildly waving her flashing red night stick. Even though the driver had lowered the bus to almost ground level for the man, he was so weak, he could barely lift his leg onto the first step. "Miss, can you help me please?" he pleaded with the controller. "I can't get my leg up. Can you help me lift it?" She was hesitant, but eventually helped him on. As he struggled up the steps of the bus, I noticed three immediate things about the man: 1.) he was black, 2.) he was highly educated because of his manner of speech, and 3.) he had recently been hospitalized because a blue and white plastic band was around his wrist.
A sudden rush of emotion came over me as I watched him struggle to pay the bus driver. Since I was sitting right behind the driver, I hurried out of my seat and sat in the one behind the first one. The man looked at me with so much gratitude in his eyes, "Thank you, miss. Thank you very much." I could barely say "Your welcome." I just nodded and smiled at him. He then collapsed into the chair and passed out in front of me. He reeked not of alcohol, but of urine. He was unkempt and very dirty. Most of all, he seemed totally helpless. He reminded me of my own grandfather who recently died at 67 of malnutrition in a nursing home. I've learned to become more sensitive to the elderly, especially because I've realized that we don't have them forever as we'd like to hope.
I couldn't help but silently cry as I rode down to Egg Harbor; every whiff of the man's urine-stained clothes making the moment more and more intense for me. A thousand questions and rants filled my mind. Injustice was sitting right in front of me and it smelled like urine, because no one could provide for this man enough care to make sure he had his daily needs. Injustice looked like dirty and unshaven. It looked like helpless and alone. It looked like sick and ashamed. It looked like poverty and minority. Injustice looked like pitiful gratitude for even the smallest gesture.
And I ached because I knew that this fate could be the fate of anyone, including myself. Not necessarily because this man had done something to get him into this state, but mostly because no one cared. This morning, I both loved and hated the darkness on the bus. While the darkness hid my tears, it also hid the man. Only I, who sat behind him, could really see his wrinkled blue Phillies hat and small head bounce along as the bus sped down the road.
I got off the bus safely at Egg Harbor and made it onto the train. The ticket ended up costing me $9.50. I had paid ahead so I wouldn't get a surcharge on the train. When the conductor came to me, he looked down at my bulging backpack and Arcadia sweatpants. "Are you going to school?" he asked. "Yes. I go to school," I replied. The man took my ticket and told me that he would be right back. A few minutes later, he came back with a map of the train route. "Here you go," he said quickly and sped his way down the train.
I opened the map and saw my ticket in between the folds. By this point, I was too exhausted to really understand anything else anymore. I shook my head, listened to chapter 5 of Harry Potter and fell asleep. I awoke about 30 minutes later to the sound of "Cherry Hill station next stop". My stop at 30th would be next. As I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of my life, the conductor showed up again. He whispered to me, "I gave you back your ticket because this economy is crazy. It's not fair for students like you who just need to get to school and back to pay this much. You looked familiar and so I didn't want to charge you. Next time you're on this line, just look for me. K?" I nodded my head, a bit puzzled but most definitely grateful.
Suddenly, I thought of the man who sat in front of me on the bus to Egg Harbor. I gave up my seat for him and prayed God would help him, because it was the least that I could do for him. And then, in less than 2 hours, God showed me the same mercy by sending this kind conductor who had compassion on college kids who did not get student discounts for transportation between school and home. I smiled, and prayed blessings on this man too. The verse from Micah 6:8 became more real to me than ever before, "What more does the Lord ask of you than to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God?"
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Many Colors
You know, I've always struggled with the issue of race and identity. Throughout my life, I've constantly been stuck in the middle between the white world and the black world. White lifestyle, black family. White friends, black best friends. White education, black entertainment. The worst is when it comes to church. I love the white churches for their indepth teaching, but I have a deep connection that transcends time with black worship and expression. And in the middle of my search for identity, I find myself stuck. Almost not fitting in. Anywhere.
Today, Roger Woodworth, a pastor from Pittsburgh, came to the Project to talk about this issue. He challenged us to settle our differences, embrace them, and be intentional about including all races, backgrounds, and walks of life into the church and our fellowships. Jesus was not exclusive. Neither should we be. A lot of this stuck with me for the rest of the night as I sat with Vladmir, our Russian next door neighbor. He's a really cool guy that is fascinated with everything about our culture. He especially is fascinated with me because he rarely gets to interact with black people here in America. A few weeks ago, I begged him to tell me more about his culture because (as an International Studies major) I'm a world culture junkie. So he promised that he would tell me more about his if I showed him more of black culture. He was particularly fascinated with step, because he was just at an event where kids from Camden, NJ were stepping at a church event.
So I spent time explaining to Vlad the history of step culture in America. This led to questions about why the crime rates and the death rates were much higher among blacks than they were among whites. From there, I was able to tell Vlad the history of my people. In a greater sense, this has given me a greater appreciation for my culture and my past, because a lot of my confusion about my identity came from me not remembering the past of blacks in general, particularly around the civil rights time.
He eventually popped the question of why I was different from most black women and why I talked different and why I acted different. I was able to give my father's testimony on how my dad was one of the very slim 1-2% that actually left Camden, made something of his life, and did not let the system dictate to him his future. Because of his decision to sacrifice his status quo and be all that he could be, I and all my siblings are reaping the benefits of his decision.
My life story is a picture of the biggest lesson God has been teaching me throughout my life. Grace. There was nothing I did, nothing I said, nothing I accomplished that made my situation and upbringing in life any better than anyone else's. I was born like every other child: in pain, blood, sweat, tears, and nakedness, and yet, because of a guy that I did not know years before I entered this world, I was given more food, shelter, clothing, education, leisure, and love than most children in this world. What else have I to say for this? I did not earn any bit of my upbringing. But as a sinful child, I definitely believed that as a child, I was entitled to this upbringing. I was privileged enough to know that my daddy loves me and would walk barefoot from Alabama and back to show how much he loves me, despite whatever I do.
With a testimony like this-with the knowledge that I have been born into undeserving grace because of one man's decision to live not for himself, but for his posterity-I can finally understand the hard question of why some are born into riches and why some are born into poverty; why some have good parents and some have bad parents; why some are black, and some are white, and some are Latino, and some are Asian, and some are just a product of the American melting pot (like me). The reason why is because 1.) God is a creative God and He hates telling the same story twice, and 2.) He tries to fit in everyone's life some personal, tangible, creative way to show them His mercy and His grace, as well as our sinfulness and our brokenness. From there, after we accept His grace as sufficient for everything we need and are, we are to tell our stories to the world.
Talking to Vlad was a great reminder for me that, like the Israelites, I am not special. Just a girl who somehow landed in a very undeservingly favorable situation. However, as that girl who had landed in that undeservingly favorable situation, the mantle rests on me to spread this message of grace. As grace was shown to my father who was given the opportunity to escape the Camden of his heart and live successfully, who then gave me the grace to grow up in a beautiful and safe home without working for it, so I must extend this grace on to my posterity and the people around me. To continue to share to people like Vlad and you who are reading this, and to celebrate the diverse and various stories of grace that God creates through people like you and me.
Today, Roger Woodworth, a pastor from Pittsburgh, came to the Project to talk about this issue. He challenged us to settle our differences, embrace them, and be intentional about including all races, backgrounds, and walks of life into the church and our fellowships. Jesus was not exclusive. Neither should we be. A lot of this stuck with me for the rest of the night as I sat with Vladmir, our Russian next door neighbor. He's a really cool guy that is fascinated with everything about our culture. He especially is fascinated with me because he rarely gets to interact with black people here in America. A few weeks ago, I begged him to tell me more about his culture because (as an International Studies major) I'm a world culture junkie. So he promised that he would tell me more about his if I showed him more of black culture. He was particularly fascinated with step, because he was just at an event where kids from Camden, NJ were stepping at a church event.
So I spent time explaining to Vlad the history of step culture in America. This led to questions about why the crime rates and the death rates were much higher among blacks than they were among whites. From there, I was able to tell Vlad the history of my people. In a greater sense, this has given me a greater appreciation for my culture and my past, because a lot of my confusion about my identity came from me not remembering the past of blacks in general, particularly around the civil rights time.
He eventually popped the question of why I was different from most black women and why I talked different and why I acted different. I was able to give my father's testimony on how my dad was one of the very slim 1-2% that actually left Camden, made something of his life, and did not let the system dictate to him his future. Because of his decision to sacrifice his status quo and be all that he could be, I and all my siblings are reaping the benefits of his decision.
My life story is a picture of the biggest lesson God has been teaching me throughout my life. Grace. There was nothing I did, nothing I said, nothing I accomplished that made my situation and upbringing in life any better than anyone else's. I was born like every other child: in pain, blood, sweat, tears, and nakedness, and yet, because of a guy that I did not know years before I entered this world, I was given more food, shelter, clothing, education, leisure, and love than most children in this world. What else have I to say for this? I did not earn any bit of my upbringing. But as a sinful child, I definitely believed that as a child, I was entitled to this upbringing. I was privileged enough to know that my daddy loves me and would walk barefoot from Alabama and back to show how much he loves me, despite whatever I do.
With a testimony like this-with the knowledge that I have been born into undeserving grace because of one man's decision to live not for himself, but for his posterity-I can finally understand the hard question of why some are born into riches and why some are born into poverty; why some have good parents and some have bad parents; why some are black, and some are white, and some are Latino, and some are Asian, and some are just a product of the American melting pot (like me). The reason why is because 1.) God is a creative God and He hates telling the same story twice, and 2.) He tries to fit in everyone's life some personal, tangible, creative way to show them His mercy and His grace, as well as our sinfulness and our brokenness. From there, after we accept His grace as sufficient for everything we need and are, we are to tell our stories to the world.
Talking to Vlad was a great reminder for me that, like the Israelites, I am not special. Just a girl who somehow landed in a very undeservingly favorable situation. However, as that girl who had landed in that undeservingly favorable situation, the mantle rests on me to spread this message of grace. As grace was shown to my father who was given the opportunity to escape the Camden of his heart and live successfully, who then gave me the grace to grow up in a beautiful and safe home without working for it, so I must extend this grace on to my posterity and the people around me. To continue to share to people like Vlad and you who are reading this, and to celebrate the diverse and various stories of grace that God creates through people like you and me.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Amazing Adventures with Abby
So about once a week or so, Abby and I hang out. Abby is Greg and Ashley Sovereign's 6-year-old daughter who's spending the entire summer (along with her brothers Caedmon and Cole) with me here at the beach project. I have had so many adventures so far with Abby. I actually look forward to spending a day with her particularly because all of the things we find together are always so amazing and, especially for me, so moving. I want to share with you two amazing adventures I had so far with Abby.
Amazing Adventure #1: Seashells
About 2 weeks ago, Abby and I decided we were going to have a girl moment and go to the beach to collect seashells. If you ever come to Ocean City, one thing you will particularly notice about its beach is that it is particularly "shelly", which makes it prime ground for seashell hunters like Abby and I. We got to the boardwalk and, as I promised her, I first stopped and bought her a pink shovel and pail (as well as a few tools for myself). We then walked onto the beach and combed it for seashells. We opted for the wet sand because the shells were fresher and less broken there. As we walked, however, we found it so hard to find whole shells. "Abby," I started, "there are no whole shells here."
"That's okay," she said as she bent down and picked up a broken piece. "Ooo! This one's pretty!" She handed me a tiny, grayish piece of a shell. It had so many grooves and contours, but I couldn't see the beauty immediately in the piece. She then took it back and turned it over and showed me the shiny side of the shell. "See! It will make a pretty necklace." I couldn't help but smile. I guess it will... Only the eyes of a child could see that... I thought to myself, shaking my head.
We combed about 15 feet of the shoreline looking for such shell pieces. We filled our two buckets with broken shells. About 4 or 5 of all the shells were whole. Oddly enough they weren't nearly as interesting or pretty as some of the broken ones we found. When we were done searching, we took our shells and washed them off and sorted them. Big shells in one bucket. Little shells in the other. We then took our shells home and washed them off again with the hose. After that, we took the shells into the house and admired them some more.
As we were admiring the shells, Hope, a Philippina college student here in the project, came over and told us that she could make our shells into jewelry. Abby eagerly gave her some shells and Hope shaped the shells and chiseled holes into them. She then polished them and handed the finished pieces back to me. I then threaded string into the holes and handed the finished necklaces to some of the students here at the project.
The whole project was so moving to me. Throughout the entire process God was telling me this: "I like broken pieces over whole pieces. I like them because I can do more with them. I can shape them however I want. I can make them into any piece of jewelry I want. And even though you cannot see the potential in each broken piece, I do. And every piece, I guarantee you will be pretty. You just have to see things like Abby and see the potential in the broken pieces."
In this, I was able to see myself: broken and unwanted; getting stepped on over and over by people who could care less, burying myself in the sand to hide my pain and keep myself from getting stepped on again, being dug up, scrutinized, thrown in a bucket of water, sorted, washed again, taken home, washed again, chosen, chiseled, shaped, drilled into, polished, threaded with string, and proudly worn across someone's neck. God showed me that I am his jewelry: perfected through brokenness and love.
Amazing Adventure #2: Waves
Today, I spent another adventurous day with Abby! We spent our day celebrating our accomplishments and learning new things. This morning, Abby delighted in showing me the "heart part" of the song Heart and Soul. I taught her how to play this about 2 weeks ago as well and she still remembered! As a proud teacher, I must say, she is a brilliant girl. We then spent our afternoon with lunch, painting Texas Dave's nails (Texas Dave is a student here at the Ark. He goes by TD most of the time), and finishing up our adventure with a day at the beach! The sun was blazing hot today, but Abby, who suffered from major sunburn from the day before, insisted we visit the beach. She had something to show me.
The beach was teeming with people today. When we got to the beach, I reminded Abby that we only had 15 minutes to spend at the beach because Abby's mom was about to come home soon and I promised that she would be back by 3pm. She understood and we rushed to the water. The waves were larger than normal today and I was none too eager to get my face wet. I hate the taste of sea water in my mouth and getting sand out of my hair. Unfortunately for me, that's all Abby wanted to do.
We worked our way deeper into the frigid water. Just as the water was around Abby's chest, she turned around and waited for the wave. When a wave was large enough, she bent down and let the wave take her close to shore. She jumped out of the water laughing and telling me to do it too.
"But I don't know how to, Abby!"
"It's easy!" she yelled over the waves. "Wait for a big one, jump, and crouch on your hands and knees! Like this!" She repeated the process again and drifted closer to shore this time.
I, party-pooper that I am, was not about to get my head wet. "But Abby! I'm afraid!" Even though she tried to coax me into it over and over, I wouldn't do it. Finally she gave up and waited for the next wave. This time, instead of allowing the wave to push her to shore, she stood tall and fell backward as the wave came toward her. The rushing wave pushed her up and she bounced forward laughing. "C'mon, Brittany! You can do this!" She explained the process of how to do it as the next wave came toward her. "Like this, Brittany! Just...lean...back!" She fell backwards and then bounced forward. "See! Now you do it!"
I hesitated. I've been halfway cross the world and back, been in real dangerous situations, repelled down waterfalls and climbed up mountains, yet I, a 20-year-old could not muster up the courage to lean back and get my head wet with sea water, something a 6-year-old doesn't take a second thought about. I shook my head and made my mind. "Ready?" she screamed,"One! Two! Three!"
I leaned back and slowly let myself fall. Just as I thought I would fall on the ground, a wave crashed into my back and forcefully pushed me forward. I ran with the wave and saw that even though the back of my hair was wet, I neither tasted sea water, nor got the entirety of my hair wet. I felt like Abby and I bonded at that moment much more. She carefree and I faltering, but both of us decided to trust the vast and wide ocean to lift us up as we fell.
This lesson from the ocean particularly spoke to me, especially because all this week, I have been struggling with trusting God to fix me and overcome the sinner in me. For the past few days, I literally would go through periods of silence because I was afraid that the "monster within" would overcome me and that I, like most people I know, would be a failure and most likely the least in the kingdom of heaven. After my discipler pointed out yesterday that I understood the concept that God loves unconditionally, but I love myself conditionally (that is, if I do everything right and nothing wrong), I battled the rest of the day with tough criticisms of myself and my actions, my thoughts and my entire life. As I thought about my sins, I realized that I might as well be doing my sins, because I was both repulsed by and desired to participate in them.
Today, I was not much better, but then I felt like God was screaming at me through the roar of the waves and the laughter of a child, "Fall backwards!" It was as if God was saying, It's okay. If you fall backwards, I will catch you. If you fall forwards, I will bring you closer to shore. You cannot fight the waves of the ocean. You cannot fight me. Just believe that even though I am big, I will not destroy you. Have fun. Relax. I'm in control.
Amazing Adventure #1: Seashells
About 2 weeks ago, Abby and I decided we were going to have a girl moment and go to the beach to collect seashells. If you ever come to Ocean City, one thing you will particularly notice about its beach is that it is particularly "shelly", which makes it prime ground for seashell hunters like Abby and I. We got to the boardwalk and, as I promised her, I first stopped and bought her a pink shovel and pail (as well as a few tools for myself). We then walked onto the beach and combed it for seashells. We opted for the wet sand because the shells were fresher and less broken there. As we walked, however, we found it so hard to find whole shells. "Abby," I started, "there are no whole shells here."
"That's okay," she said as she bent down and picked up a broken piece. "Ooo! This one's pretty!" She handed me a tiny, grayish piece of a shell. It had so many grooves and contours, but I couldn't see the beauty immediately in the piece. She then took it back and turned it over and showed me the shiny side of the shell. "See! It will make a pretty necklace." I couldn't help but smile. I guess it will... Only the eyes of a child could see that... I thought to myself, shaking my head.
We combed about 15 feet of the shoreline looking for such shell pieces. We filled our two buckets with broken shells. About 4 or 5 of all the shells were whole. Oddly enough they weren't nearly as interesting or pretty as some of the broken ones we found. When we were done searching, we took our shells and washed them off and sorted them. Big shells in one bucket. Little shells in the other. We then took our shells home and washed them off again with the hose. After that, we took the shells into the house and admired them some more.
As we were admiring the shells, Hope, a Philippina college student here in the project, came over and told us that she could make our shells into jewelry. Abby eagerly gave her some shells and Hope shaped the shells and chiseled holes into them. She then polished them and handed the finished pieces back to me. I then threaded string into the holes and handed the finished necklaces to some of the students here at the project.
The whole project was so moving to me. Throughout the entire process God was telling me this: "I like broken pieces over whole pieces. I like them because I can do more with them. I can shape them however I want. I can make them into any piece of jewelry I want. And even though you cannot see the potential in each broken piece, I do. And every piece, I guarantee you will be pretty. You just have to see things like Abby and see the potential in the broken pieces."
In this, I was able to see myself: broken and unwanted; getting stepped on over and over by people who could care less, burying myself in the sand to hide my pain and keep myself from getting stepped on again, being dug up, scrutinized, thrown in a bucket of water, sorted, washed again, taken home, washed again, chosen, chiseled, shaped, drilled into, polished, threaded with string, and proudly worn across someone's neck. God showed me that I am his jewelry: perfected through brokenness and love.
Amazing Adventure #2: Waves
Today, I spent another adventurous day with Abby! We spent our day celebrating our accomplishments and learning new things. This morning, Abby delighted in showing me the "heart part" of the song Heart and Soul. I taught her how to play this about 2 weeks ago as well and she still remembered! As a proud teacher, I must say, she is a brilliant girl. We then spent our afternoon with lunch, painting Texas Dave's nails (Texas Dave is a student here at the Ark. He goes by TD most of the time), and finishing up our adventure with a day at the beach! The sun was blazing hot today, but Abby, who suffered from major sunburn from the day before, insisted we visit the beach. She had something to show me.
The beach was teeming with people today. When we got to the beach, I reminded Abby that we only had 15 minutes to spend at the beach because Abby's mom was about to come home soon and I promised that she would be back by 3pm. She understood and we rushed to the water. The waves were larger than normal today and I was none too eager to get my face wet. I hate the taste of sea water in my mouth and getting sand out of my hair. Unfortunately for me, that's all Abby wanted to do.
We worked our way deeper into the frigid water. Just as the water was around Abby's chest, she turned around and waited for the wave. When a wave was large enough, she bent down and let the wave take her close to shore. She jumped out of the water laughing and telling me to do it too.
"But I don't know how to, Abby!"
"It's easy!" she yelled over the waves. "Wait for a big one, jump, and crouch on your hands and knees! Like this!" She repeated the process again and drifted closer to shore this time.
I, party-pooper that I am, was not about to get my head wet. "But Abby! I'm afraid!" Even though she tried to coax me into it over and over, I wouldn't do it. Finally she gave up and waited for the next wave. This time, instead of allowing the wave to push her to shore, she stood tall and fell backward as the wave came toward her. The rushing wave pushed her up and she bounced forward laughing. "C'mon, Brittany! You can do this!" She explained the process of how to do it as the next wave came toward her. "Like this, Brittany! Just...lean...back!" She fell backwards and then bounced forward. "See! Now you do it!"
I hesitated. I've been halfway cross the world and back, been in real dangerous situations, repelled down waterfalls and climbed up mountains, yet I, a 20-year-old could not muster up the courage to lean back and get my head wet with sea water, something a 6-year-old doesn't take a second thought about. I shook my head and made my mind. "Ready?" she screamed,"One! Two! Three!"
I leaned back and slowly let myself fall. Just as I thought I would fall on the ground, a wave crashed into my back and forcefully pushed me forward. I ran with the wave and saw that even though the back of my hair was wet, I neither tasted sea water, nor got the entirety of my hair wet. I felt like Abby and I bonded at that moment much more. She carefree and I faltering, but both of us decided to trust the vast and wide ocean to lift us up as we fell.
This lesson from the ocean particularly spoke to me, especially because all this week, I have been struggling with trusting God to fix me and overcome the sinner in me. For the past few days, I literally would go through periods of silence because I was afraid that the "monster within" would overcome me and that I, like most people I know, would be a failure and most likely the least in the kingdom of heaven. After my discipler pointed out yesterday that I understood the concept that God loves unconditionally, but I love myself conditionally (that is, if I do everything right and nothing wrong), I battled the rest of the day with tough criticisms of myself and my actions, my thoughts and my entire life. As I thought about my sins, I realized that I might as well be doing my sins, because I was both repulsed by and desired to participate in them.
Today, I was not much better, but then I felt like God was screaming at me through the roar of the waves and the laughter of a child, "Fall backwards!" It was as if God was saying, It's okay. If you fall backwards, I will catch you. If you fall forwards, I will bring you closer to shore. You cannot fight the waves of the ocean. You cannot fight me. Just believe that even though I am big, I will not destroy you. Have fun. Relax. I'm in control.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
OCBP:Week 1 into 2
I am currently sitting on the sofa in the living room downstairs. The entire house of about 45 people or so are asleep. No one knows I'm downstairs. As I contemplate the silence and the random outbursts of laughter from my tipsy Russian next door neighbors, I feel like I'm like neck deep into the project. Now that almost weeks or so have gone by, I can really explain to you what the project's about. There are many aspects of the project but the most important part is what I would describe as finding God through community.
To be completely honest, I've never been with so many people at one time that I vibed so well with. Even those that are completely different with me...I can just about say that I've bonded with them. There are 31 of us, including myself, all crammed together in a big/little (it really depends on perspective) white house (called "the Ark") four blocks away from the ocean. We are all college students ranging from sophomores to seniors and we all are involved with our Christian fellowships in some way, shape, or form back at school. We all have our own quirks, hobbies, and interests. One thing we all have in common however is our love and passion for Christ. We are all seeking God and the thing that I love the most about this project, is that we are all seeking God humbly. I will explain more of this later.
In order to"find God through community", we have a specific group of things we do together each week:
To be completely honest, I've never been with so many people at one time that I vibed so well with. Even those that are completely different with me...I can just about say that I've bonded with them. There are 31 of us, including myself, all crammed together in a big/little (it really depends on perspective) white house (called "the Ark") four blocks away from the ocean. We are all college students ranging from sophomores to seniors and we all are involved with our Christian fellowships in some way, shape, or form back at school. We all have our own quirks, hobbies, and interests. One thing we all have in common however is our love and passion for Christ. We are all seeking God and the thing that I love the most about this project, is that we are all seeking God humbly. I will explain more of this later.
In order to"find God through community", we have a specific group of things we do together each week:
- We serve our outer community (ie: people outside the Ark) through work (through employment just being salt and light).
- We serve the local church through weekly prayer partner meetings, helping in praise and worship, participating in the hymnal choir, and overall being available for many people in the church.
- We serve each other through our cook/clean groups, late-night conversations, bible studies and support.
- We serve ourselves through meditating on daily devotions, studying about 5 or 6 hardcore spiritual literature, attending lectures taught by pastors and CCO staff, weekly meetings with our disciplers (mentors) who help to guide us and challenge us to expand our faith in Christ, and participating in our Gospel-Centered Life groups (which I would say are the most intense "check yourself before you wreck yourself" sessions I've ever experienced).
- We serve God through open worship (we are known in the neighborhood for our music and open profession of faith) and denial of ourselves so we may rely on Him more.
I have seen God seriously at work here these past few weeks. He not only answered my heart-wrenching prayer to just enjoy many long conversations with someone, but he gave me 30 other people to enjoy them with! One thing I do not suggest you ever do is to pray for God to humble you if you don't really mean it. With full intention, I have prayed it for the past month, and God's answering that prayer too. Many of you may have seen my facebook statuses mentioning that I have gotten job offers. I have gotten over 4 job offers and several other rejections. Unfortunately, as of now, the jobs are no longer hiring and the offers were more like "We'll keep you on file until further notice". It seems like no place in Ocean City, NJ is willing to hire; particularly those who can only work Mon-Sat mornings and no other times.
I was able to secure a job on Saturday morning cleaning out condos that vacationers rent out for the week. It pays $10 an hour for 4 hours, which isn't bad, but it gives me just enough to survive financially for the week. Talk about relying on God there. In the meantime, I have been praying and asking God to show me the job He wants me to take. I know He'll come through, but for me especially, I struggle with not working. I can really feel God chipping away at my idle called "Work". Today especially, God has been teaching me that my security lies in Him, not a job. And so, as I (and the rest of the Ark) wait patiently for me to get a job (the people here are amazing at prayer...they haven't stopped praying for me and encouraging me since I got here), God has been faithful and has been providing way more than just money. He has been providing true treasures that I can forever store in heaven!
I was able to secure a job on Saturday morning cleaning out condos that vacationers rent out for the week. It pays $10 an hour for 4 hours, which isn't bad, but it gives me just enough to survive financially for the week. Talk about relying on God there. In the meantime, I have been praying and asking God to show me the job He wants me to take. I know He'll come through, but for me especially, I struggle with not working. I can really feel God chipping away at my idle called "Work". Today especially, God has been teaching me that my security lies in Him, not a job. And so, as I (and the rest of the Ark) wait patiently for me to get a job (the people here are amazing at prayer...they haven't stopped praying for me and encouraging me since I got here), God has been faithful and has been providing way more than just money. He has been providing true treasures that I can forever store in heaven!
Today, I had an amazing day with my Gospel-Centered Life group. We talked about the idea of performing for God and pretending to God. It's kind of like a continuation of what we learned last week about minimizing God's glory to maximize ourselves. What we found out today is that as Christians today in our culture, we suffer a lot from an ongoing identity crisis: who are we? We often think that we are either too amazing to really need God or too horrible to be able to receive Him. But the fact is even though we are broken messes that seem impossible to fix, God still loves us. He more than loves us. In fact, I learned today that God is "overjoyed" with us. Really? "Overjoyed"?
I don't know quite how to take that even as I write this. However, as I wrestled with this, God gave me a beautiful picture in my head to understand his mindset. A toddler who is learning how to walk. When he falls, I have never witnessed a parent yelling at him because he fell. Instead, the parent usually applauds the child or rushes to his side to pick him up, brush him off, kiss his boo-boos and tell him to try again. This is how God is with me. Patient and always applauding me when I fall. Go figure. Sounds awful and wonderful at the same time, because as God's image, all I want to do is be good and get back up again. But the fact is, that without God, I am nothing but a kid stuck on the ground. Really humbling? Right?
I don't know quite how to take that even as I write this. However, as I wrestled with this, God gave me a beautiful picture in my head to understand his mindset. A toddler who is learning how to walk. When he falls, I have never witnessed a parent yelling at him because he fell. Instead, the parent usually applauds the child or rushes to his side to pick him up, brush him off, kiss his boo-boos and tell him to try again. This is how God is with me. Patient and always applauding me when I fall. Go figure. Sounds awful and wonderful at the same time, because as God's image, all I want to do is be good and get back up again. But the fact is, that without God, I am nothing but a kid stuck on the ground. Really humbling? Right?
What I love about the project so far is that it's like everyone here knows that they're screwed up. No one's trying to hide anything. A lot of times (especially today) we just sit around and just cry. But the cool thing is...we're crying together. When we laugh, we laugh together. When we play games, we play games together. When we get sick (as I am right now), we get sick together. We eat together, sleep together, sing and dance together and work together. As you see, everything's together. We have a covenant that's based on Romans 12. It seems like all of us know each other's business (the good and the bad) but we're okay with that. We can see passed the trials and see the treasure in each one of us. Already, I'm getting sad about the end of this project. I wish it would last forever. Maybe it can... I know I want my campus, home and entire life to be this way. Open. Vulnerable. Humble. Together.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Leaving
I am a few minutes from stepping into the van, sitting for two hours staring at two large packets of Biblical information, and arriving at the place where I will both play and pray for the next 60 days or so. How do I feel right now? Not like much. I feel calm, normal, and in between a diva and a bum. (Diva because I just washed and braided my hair last night and took out the braids this morning. My hair looks FABULOUS!!! Bum because it's hot and it's summer and I'm still at home.) This happens to me every time I'm about to embark on something big. I feel normal and usually don't realize what's going on until 3/4 of the way into whatever I'm doing. (Totally happened to me when I studied abroad in Ireland. It was like 2 weeks before I was about to head back home when I was sitting on the bus and my eyes lighted up. I almost blurted out to the entire busload of Irish-accented people: "Ohmigosh guys! I'm totally in Ireland right now! Isn't this awesome???" Yeah. It was a good thing I didn't do that.) I might repeat that episode again. Hopefully, I'll blurt this out sooner: "I'M IN OCEAN CITY GUYS!"
Well, anyway. I'll get there when I get there. Right now, my brain is convinced that living in Ocean City for a summer is nice dream and life here as a bum in my house is reality. Well, I guess that's how most things go. They don't become real until you do them.
What will I find this summer? My mom asked me why I was doing this program. For everything else in my life (ie: homeschooling, Arcadia, Ireland, Jordan, etc.) my answer has always been, "Because I want to..." Oddly enough, this is the first time ever that I don't have an answer. Do I want to go? Sure. But is that the sole reason why I'm doing this? No. As I soul search and talk to Jesus, I am reminded that there's a reason for everything. Even the most random occurrences. And as I search my heart, I can hear a little voice whisper to me: "Because you need to...". Need to what? That's what I guess I'll find out. Without a plan or a destination in mind, I'm freefalling into something I don't know, but can sense. As the musician I am, I know how to follow the notes written on the pages of thin air even though I don't know how it will turn out. Like a driver cruising country roads at midnight, I can only see 10 feet in front of me and the yellow line on the pavement. I know how to follow the yellow line. I have a vague sense of my destination. But I don't know what it looks like or what the next step is. I do know how to follow the GPS though and the yellow line on the pavement. That's what I'm doing now. I know this sounds crazy, but that's all I can say.
As of right now, however, I am still here, sitting on the couch, staring at a screen on my lap, and listening to the occasional complaints from my mother to "Hurry up! We've gotta go before it's too late!"
Well, anyway. I'll get there when I get there. Right now, my brain is convinced that living in Ocean City for a summer is nice dream and life here as a bum in my house is reality. Well, I guess that's how most things go. They don't become real until you do them.
What will I find this summer? My mom asked me why I was doing this program. For everything else in my life (ie: homeschooling, Arcadia, Ireland, Jordan, etc.) my answer has always been, "Because I want to..." Oddly enough, this is the first time ever that I don't have an answer. Do I want to go? Sure. But is that the sole reason why I'm doing this? No. As I soul search and talk to Jesus, I am reminded that there's a reason for everything. Even the most random occurrences. And as I search my heart, I can hear a little voice whisper to me: "Because you need to...". Need to what? That's what I guess I'll find out. Without a plan or a destination in mind, I'm freefalling into something I don't know, but can sense. As the musician I am, I know how to follow the notes written on the pages of thin air even though I don't know how it will turn out. Like a driver cruising country roads at midnight, I can only see 10 feet in front of me and the yellow line on the pavement. I know how to follow the yellow line. I have a vague sense of my destination. But I don't know what it looks like or what the next step is. I do know how to follow the GPS though and the yellow line on the pavement. That's what I'm doing now. I know this sounds crazy, but that's all I can say.
As of right now, however, I am still here, sitting on the couch, staring at a screen on my lap, and listening to the occasional complaints from my mother to "Hurry up! We've gotta go before it's too late!"
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