In 4 Months I Graduate From College?

I have places where I go when I just need to be.  In every city I've lived in so far, I have unintentionally built landmark-alters of remembrance.  These are places I go to wrestle with life, have a good cry or just talk to God.  In Eau Claire it was a specific bridge downtown.  I would pace, or sit, or even lie down there during the messy times of life.  In Minneapolis it was Loring Park.  There is a little flower garden there with benches that seemed to invite me to fall apart.  I can't tell you, yet, where I go in Chicago except for that this season it has been a transformed place.  The first tears I cried there, this semester, were happy ones.

I write this to reflect on the fact that this is my final semester at Moody and in Chicago.  I write to admit that I never could have anticipated falling in love with this place like I have.  Experiences, circumstances and people here have changed me.  I sigh, knowing that I've begun to "grow up" in a place that has been both a safe battleground and a solid foundation.

I look ahead to this semester differently, with a new twinkle in my eyes and heart.  During my first trip to Chicago in November of 2009, I hurriedly scrambled for my camera when I saw the first "Chicago" exit sign and snapped this blurry picture:

I now look at it knowing it perfectly captured the essence of an unpredictable journey.  Not much has been in focus, but the excitement is evident again.  That same 'this is going to be good' feeling in my gut has returned.  If this is really the last year of the world, I guess I'm going out on a high!

there is no "me" in control

It was recently proposed to me that the idea of sleep, and it's necessity, should remind us that we're not God.  I need a near daily shut-down time; a physical break from reality.  God doesn't.

One of my professors pointed out that "people have a need to be in control of their own lives...and they have a need to know that God approves of that idea".

What a sticky thing to admit to.  Yet, guilty is my plea.

I like to think that I am in control, or have control, or at least have access to control.  This is detrimental from the ground, up.  I suddenly take on responsibility where I wasn't intended to.  I sacrifice self-control as a discipline and replace it with feigned control of my, and others', circumstances.

But God (one of my favorite biblically-used transitions) knows me.

It took but one sunrise (which is what these photos are from: one of the glorious fall Lake Michigan Sunrises I've experienced) to get my attention and challenge my perspective again.

You feel pretty small standing on the edge of the water, watching the sun climb up the sky and burst from the clouds.  I begin to take myself a little less seriously as I realize how deeply I have fooled myself into thinking I wanted control.

In spontaneous freedom I am reminded that I am not responsible for any one's happiness; my job is to glorify God (period).  I am not in control of his/her well-being.

Where that once made me feel uncomfortable, I now find curiosity in learning passive obedience.  I have begun to recognize my insecurities and reassess the places to which I have attached my worth.

I am back on my 'toes', eager to learn to live in hope instead of dreaming of control. 

I spin a lot of plates, and sometimes it seems that I am able to do it quite well.  But it's time for some better life-managing.

There is an innocent freedom found in simply waking up and realizing, once again, that I was sleeping (because I am not God).  I was never intended or wired to be in ultimate control.

As I move beyond recognition and into implication(s), I know there will be opposition.  So I place one foot in front of the other with sword in hand: "As for me, may I never boast about anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Because of that cross, because of Him, my interest in this world has been crucified, and the world's interest in me has also died" (Galatians 6:14).

And I promise to keep rambling on here as I go.

okay to not be okay

Pain. I keep coming back to this idea.  It's not an idea really, it's an emotion; well, not even an emotion -- a reality.  It's a state of being.  Though usually temporary, it is nearly always personified.  It is typically not sought out; rather, it happens to us, in us, around us.  I used to avoid it at all cost.  If it presented itself predictably, I ran, hid or flat-out denied its existence or affects.  Now?  I've grown quite fond of pain.

Even to my ears that sounds purely twisted.  Fond of pain?  Maybe it would be better stated that: I have grown to appreciate what it is and does in my life (and our world).  Pain keeps us aware of our humanity, morality and vitality.  It challenges us, usually pointedly acknowledging that somewhere within us we have an understanding that we lack a 'shalom' we were created for.  There is an uncomfortable sting that something is not what it is supposed to be -- that tension hurts.  It awakens us to our senses.  It changes us.

Today I heard the story of a 14yr old boy in a detention center in Chicago.  He's there for selling drugs.  His mom got laid off last fall and he has never known a dad.  He's got a baby sister and the three of them lived in an apartment on the west side.  His mom couldn't find work.  His sister cried herself to sleep hungry, and eviction was only a matter of weeks away.  He understood the need for money.  He held his crying sister, terrified of what life would look like on the cold streets, and did the only thing he thought he could: sell to survive.

Pain.  It settled in on me.  That this-isn't-how-it's-supposed-to-be feeling created an unmistakable twinge in my heart and mind.  With wet eyes, I began to smile; acknowledging the collision of Kingdom-ache and supernatural-joy.  Pain was changing me in that moment.  I am not the same because of one story, one circumstance that brought about the weight of a reality I can't ignore.  Pain alerts us to the fact that something isn't right; something is worth giving attention to.

Pain: I still may not seek it, but I welcome it.

reNEWal

YOU make me new


YOU are making me new


YOU make me new


YOU are making me new





You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us


all around / life is springing up from this old ground


out of chaos life is being found in YOU

Close To Home

Gunshots ring out in River North; officers wounded and suspect dead - Chicago Sun-Times



Recently, there was a fatal shooting on the southwest corner of our campus.



Something about being within ear-shot of flying bullets puts mortality in stark perspective. Moments of chaos like this one have been littered throughout the past seven months of my life.



Beyond my control I have watched and listened. I've spent days in the hospital with people I love; and wished I could've been there for others still. I have walked with peers; sharing many silent moments on the phone and untangling life over lunch tables.



I've sat with broken high school-ers as they try to learn to dream again, against all odds...Wrestled with inner-city schooling, at a Christian elementary, to the point of tears.



Sometimes the color fades to shades of gray and clarity gets lost in reality. The romanticized adult life wasn't supposed to have this shifting focus. Or was it?

A year of re-re-re-re-re-re-focus; keeping me on my knees, opening my heart to love. This is the good stuff.

she's seventeen.

She sits down, pretending to be apathetic - or at least that's what I have to believe. I'm viewed as an upper-class 'adult' figure; she's seventeen and with her peers, so I'm not offended in the least. There's an ACT-prep packet in front of her which serves mostly as a bed for her cellphone, because "it don't make sense anyway".

She pulls open her borrowed laptop and sighs. I hand her the slip with the college website on it. I'm asked to help her apply online. She types in "youtube" instead and begins to search her favorite music artists. I laugh it off and tell her she must've mis-typed something. Then she types in "facebook". I begin to feel frustrated, she knows what she's supposed to do... she's seventeen.

The application page is full of blanks which we can't fill neatly. Parent/Guardian: _____________, Miss Chante*?, A Step-Mom?, An Uncle?. Parent E-mail:______________, "ain't got one". Address: ____________, "we movin'".

Harder still. Volunteer involvement in the past four years: _______________, does taking care of your child count?, how about siblings?. She has a child; she's seventeen. My heart begins to break. "Let's skip this section for now", I say.

Essay. "aw, hell no", she laughs. "Oh c'mon, this is my favorite part" I say, eager to help her embellish her strengths on paper. I offer to leave her alone and come back and help her edit.



I take a breath and begin praying that I don't say anything stupid or naive. I find her staring at the screen minutes later.

Almost ashamedly, she pushes the screen to angle my way. My breaking heart sinks to my stomach. It's all starting to make sense. Her first sentences read something like: "Some people say you got to follow your dream. And I agree with them. You got to keep tryin. I want to follow my dreams to be a nurse and help people deliver babys. I have the career goals and leading..." She's seventeen. No one has cared enough to teach her how to structure a sentence. She's been passed from grade to grade with just enough to graduate. She doesn't understand a lot of words and reading is very difficult.

Filling my lungs I lean away, honestly just wanting to apologize. I can't help but continuously think, 'she's seventeen'.

Instead I realize how beautiful this moment is; for no reason it seems... well, or every reason. She wants what I want. She deserves it just as much as I do. I thought we were so different. No. We're so the same.

For once I don't have answers or an apology. I find myself smiling, nodding, and saying "good, keep going" before I walk away to pull myself together.

bugs, butts, and bathrooms

Young boys are funny things.

Ivan, for instance, has a bug phobia. His mind has tricked him into thinking that anything small and black is an ant, and anything small and white is a "mosk" - by which I assume he means moth. I guess he could mean mosque; but judging by the things he shrieks at, it would have to be (as Derek Zoolander put it) "AT LEAST THREE TIMES THE SIZE" for people to fit in!

Ethan is convinced the word "butt" is an obscenity. He is also convinced that screaming, writing, or casually slipping the word into every sentence will make him look cool or something. I'm just not the right person to correct this type of behavior. Call me childish, but try not to crack a smile when you overhear " I do like Magic School Butt, especially the one about Mrs. Frizzle-Butt in the body... Hey Ryan, pass me the butt - I mean red marker". I kid you not ladies and gentlemen!!

and then there's Myles. I haven't quite figured out yet if he's obsessed with the bathroom or with paper-towel. Either way he constantly asks if he can go wipe his hands. Now that I think of it, maybe he just has unusually sweaty hands? Sometimes I humor him and say yes, but I might have to start bringing a towel or planting trees.

Twenty One

I recently celebrated my 21st birthday :)! Enjoy a photo-roll from January 17th; visually accompanied with lyrics from Jonny Diaz's song More Beautiful You.



So turn around, you're not too far
To back away, be who you are


To change your path, go another way
It's not too late, you can be saved


If you feel depressed, with past regrets,
the shameful nights, hope to forget;
Can disappear, they can all be washed away


By the ONE who's strong, can right your wrongs;
Can rid your fears, dry all your tears


And change the way you look at this big world


HE will take your dark, distorted view,
and with HIS light HE will show you truth


And again you'll see, through the eyes of a little girl


There could never be a more beautiful you.
Don't buy the lies, disguises, hoops they make you jump through.

You were made to fill a purpose, that only you could do;
There could never be, a more beautiful you.

(dis)comfort, (dis)placement

This semester I took a class titled "Race, Poverty, and Social Justice". It's been an extremely good experience. Through books, discussions, and interactions I have come nose to nose with challenging thoughts and beliefs of mine and others - both consciously and unconsciously. I could've communicated before this class that race and class issues existed, but never have I come into contact with the depth and extent of the perpetual levels of mess involved.

Throughout the class we were assigned to make "excursions" to different parts of Chicago, displacing ourselves into another culture. We spent time, in groups, in Chinatown, Little Village (majority Mexican), the South side (majority African American), and near Devon (majority Middle-Eastern). The pictures in this blog are from those trips.

Yet even beyond the trips, I was challenged to analyze my every cross-cultural interaction. It was fascinating to seemingly unlock pieces of my heart as I sought awareness. As time has gone on, even within the semester, I have become eager to cross boundaries of class and race. I've pursued the uncomfortable as the value in risk has unfolded. It's as if I caught this unshakable bug that won't rest without people knowing they have worth; especially people whom the rest of the world has written off. I crave to touch the "untouchable".

And honestly I don't really know how to go about it all yet. I don't know the right or best way of appropriately loving strangers (more or less), but I'm chasing answers. I'm carefully prayerful about it as I'm convinced it's God's heart to see and love people right where they're at. I'm learning to be still in the midst of new contexts and exchanges, knowing discernment takes time. And finally I've concluded that as long as I'm at school in the city, I won't be satisfied unless I'm smothering it on me - and me on it!

More Coffee Shop Ramblings

While in Chicago I've gotten the chance to continue serving coffee at a busy downtown Cafe. Though the line is usually as long as those at popular amusement parks, there is one gentleman who comes every Tuesday and Thursday for a small coffee and for more reason than one he has become a favorite of mine. I recently learned his name and a bit of his story, and he has since learned mine as well. Earlier this week however, he unintentionally challenged me in a way that only a friendly acquaintance could.

I was surprised but blessed when he sat across from me, after respectfully receiving permission, while I was enjoying a bagel and tea on my break. He had a genuine yet un-intrusive interest in sharing life with people as he'd just moved to the city. In his hands he held a bible, so I deemed "Where do you go to church?" as appropriate small talk. I was curious when he responded with "Moody Church" and continued to question. He then asked me to share about some of the churches I'd visited in Chicago and where I go now. I first asked if he's heard of "New Life Church" as there are about 12 throughout Chicago. He responded with a no. We exchanged for a bit about Spanish-speaking services and then I began to share my Soul City experience. I was joyfully diving into how unique it is to be part of a church plant when he interrupted to say "I'm sorry, I should've prefaced this conversation by saying I've only been Christian for about 7 months"; he paused to chuckle and went on saying, "So I'm not sure what New Life Church is, or what a church plant or launch is".

Whoa.

So (smiling, and wanting to eek that we'd been blessed to connect) I sincerely apologized and explained; clearing things as much as I could and pausing to answer any question.

But Whoa...

I couldn't help but stare into the mirror he'd metaphorically held up in front of my nose. How do I come off? What do I assume? How do my assumptions change the way I treat and talk to people? Have I gotten so used to the Christian bubble that I've become a snob? Had he exposed pride? Is my history transparent enough to be welcoming? Have I so quickly forgotten where I came from?

It was an honest mistake, but I don't believe my words are ultimately excusable. I don't wish for the things I say or the way I say them to make someone feel inferior. I'm forced to reassess whether I am sharing things in a way that suggests I'd like a pat on the back, or merely because my heart is bursting with urgency to invite others to join me. I know the words I speak come from the heart (Matthew 15:18) and so I'd be a fool to not address factors beyond the surface.

I'm to follow the example of Christ. I better get off my high horse and find a donkey!

Algunas Fotos

You must be sick of reading so much, and I don't have much time, so here's a scrapbook entry of some fun things I've been up to!



Volleyball is still such a treat. We sing as a team for the National Anthem at home games, (pretty awesome, I know).


Visiting "the (notorious) Bean" with some new Bro/Sis: Nate, Me, Sarah, Rachel & Ben :).


We accidentally stumbled upon one of the city's hidden treasures; a beautiful park outside the Art Institute.


Add this^ to the list of reasons I love going to school in Chicago: Museum FREE Days!


Inside the Chicago Field Museum, the dinosaur is named "Sue". My initial thought: really? haha!


Currently, the museum has an entire exhibit on Africa :), and I thoroughly enjoyed it.


...after some ice cream and an adventurous day with friends, I hate to admit that the darn city is growing on me.

That's all folks!

Pounding the Pavement

I've been "running" pretty regularly now since June. I started out as downright horrible, and now I'd like to argue that I'm only fairly terrible! Honestly, I am not great at pushing myself physically. I have to play mental games with myself continuously. Now beyond my personal pride issues, there will likely never be a pressing reason that I'll need to be able to run 14 miles... but it's a life goal of mine none the less.

The city poses as quite the obstacle when it comes to distance running. The busy sidewalks, the noise that competes with my motivational music, and the potential stop-light every block or so really creates for an interesting atmosphere. Therefore, I've made it a habit to run to, and then along, Lake Michigan. Lately it's been a place of extremely high traffic as many (much more conditioned) runners are training for the Chicago Marathon on 10/10/10. I recently found myself in the middle of a group of runners with numbered tags, huffing along with them until there was a grassy clearing in which a woman was collecting cups that runners had tossed aside. I took this as my out, and began to help her throw the cups away. She kindly informed me that this was the "20 Miler", a marathon preparation run. Holy cow! Maybe someday I'll be that legit? Okay, probably not... hahaha!

On a different occasion I was running through an intersection and stopped stunned in my tracks as I saw Vince Vaughn approaching. I kid you not. Now as I said, I was running; so I didn't have a camera, my phone, or even a pen and so you'll just have to take my word. It wasn't until about ten paces after he'd passed that I found myself wishing I would've at least said good morning. Hopefully I'll get another chance to interact with someone of that status. After all, I live in Chicago (which is pretty stinkin' cool).

I had a another crazy running experience this past Sunday. I ran into, (don't worry , not literally), a man from the new church I've been attending/helping-to-plant (details on this to come soon, I promise). His name is "JeDay", and he's from Niger. It was a special treat to meet him that morning as he was 6 miles from his home and I was 3 from mine. The city can seem overwhelmingly big sometimes, but moments like this balance my perspective. All this to say that running has been such an awesome way to interact with the place I live; I may need to periodically consult my legs on this one, but I think I'll press on :)

culture, culture, culture

I love to eat with my hands. I'm not going to lie. Even when I use a utensil, I sometimes find myself pushing the food onto it using my hands. I'm going to go ahead and assume a handful of you are trying to hold in a "gross!". I know, I know... I'll try to act "civil" if you eat a meal with me. However, add this to the list of reasons I so appreciate other cultures - most are unashamed to eat with their hands.

Language is also fascinating to me, (of which I'll include accents as well). I've studied a limited amount of Spanish, but I hope to someday have the time and resources to really explore some languages. The variety and creativity is as beautiful as music; playfully incorporating tones, rhythms, and all things linguistical. In fact, I wouldn't mind listening to an Australian read my class syllabi or a Nigerian reading the nutritional labels on cereal boxes - I don't need anyone to tell me that I'm not hard to please, haha.

Not only am I interested in learning what it means to talk the talk cross-culturally, but also how people walk the walk - as defined internationally. Social interactions is something I have little knowledge about in cultures other than my own. This morning I had breakfast with a friend from Southeast England. I asked him what he missed most about home. He explained that here he usually feels as though he's fighting being perceived as rude. Though we, as Americans, may be welcoming; we also hold to a certain social status in which everyone actively participates in conversation and events. It's an enjoyable emphasis, but undoubtedly overwhelming (even for me, a born-and-raised, occasionally).

I also learned of how uniquely competitive America is. Admittedly I've wrestled with this at times. I'm all about having a good time. I enjoy pushing myself and competing, but usually if what I'm participating in has lost the primarily goal of enjoyment - I'm out. My England friend was reminiscing about playing soccer back home after asking me about volleyball. He was saying they would practice one day a week for a little over and hour, and then play a game each week as well. He couldn't believe that it was status-quo for athletes here to practice multiple hours each day, year round; and train outside of their scheduled times as well. In this he shared that the game of soccer, overseas, has a sort of creativity woven into it. Players explore new things and the game stays fresh and interesting to viewers. America so emphasizes the training/conditioning/fundamental aspect of it that it seems creativity is limited by the player's fear of making a mistake.

What's better or worse? It's all debatable. The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don't know and haven't experienced. Is my love for studying international relations increasing? Absolutely! Am I humbled as my school and city challenge my world view to grow? Continually. What do I do with these passions and interests? I haven't a clue :). So I'll be satisfied in living as a learner; content in enjoying the complexity of human nature.

So Much Time, So Little To Do... Oh Wait...

As of today, the 14th, I have but one month left in this semester. Yes, that's right... my parents are picking me up on the 14th of May. I have a feeling that it's going to fly by too. Between heavier loads of school work, working in the cafe, volleyball practice, pcm, and hanging out with friends; my days are partly to mostly full. I don't really even have time for much of an update right now, but I thought I'd post a couple photos:








Some girls from my floor and I took a walk to a nearby Indian restaurant hoping to enjoy the fresh mango shakes they usually serve. Though we were disappointed to find out they didn't have any that night, we settled to share some garlic naan!

That's all I've got for now. Don't worry about me, I'm in good hands.