There is a gift in being small, there is a gift in small things.

Thankful….

I’m thankful for clothes, and that I can wear them, even if I’ve worn some holes into them. I’m thankful that I can stay warm, and that I can wear something that I like, something that I feel good about wearing.

And right now, I noticed that I’m glad that I can see my feet, even if they are covered in boots. Sight is something that I never think about.

I’m thankful for wisdom, words, ways and wonder that point to what’s true.

I’m thankful for the gift of employees to share conversation over the burden of work that isn’t always pleasurable or fun to do. I’m thankful for the opportunities to turn menial or mundane times into quiet, intentional moments of stillness (like Brother Lawrence would do.)

I’m thankful for being able to give the opportunity to take color theory and mix colors.
Thankful that I’m single. That I’m not in a relationship mistakenly looking for joy there, being able to have the opportunity to see that a relationship isn’t something that I want to find joy in, but to bring joy in.

Thankful for the friends that I’ve made and the each new day that I get to a chance to see them better than the day before, to enjoy them, to understand, to learn from them and about them.

I’m thankful for every crisis of faith that I have ever had, for they have allowed me to find liberation in Grace, rather than my own answers.

There is a lot that I miss. I miss the stars. Only one is bright enough to show it’s face in the orange-black night sky of Philadelphia-land. But still, there is so much today.

There is a lot that is different. There are housemates who are different. So so different from me and my old friends. But they are challenging to me. They are good for me. And they have different ways of blessing me, whether they be with free haircuts/shaves, giving the best hugs and kisses, confronting me with the truth, or agreeing to go see Band of Horses with me. This isn’t art school, there aren’t dance-offs in dorms, music making or 2am trips to the beach… but different is good. I know that this time is right and good for me.

I’ve been struggling with depression/anxiety sense I’ve been in Philly. That’s why I’m a patient at Esperanza. I’ve found that being thankful helps to fight the intrusive sadness that wants to be there. It can be hard, because at times, every fiber of my being wants to create a million excuses to why I shouldn’t be thankful for this; I’ll try to convince myself that I’m hopeless or that things are awful, and they really aren’t. We are small, and yet we mean something. There’s so much goodness and grace in the world, and in my world. I just need to look for it.

Such goodness must be passed on…

How to be where you are (and the art of noticing).

This post was featured on my Mission Year blog. You can go to here to view it.

How to be where you are.
I honestly don't really know if I have yet to have mastered the art of being where I am. I am physically present in the southwest part of Philadelphia, located in neighborhood of rowhomes on a street named Reedland in a house with five other men and women that I had just met several weeks ago. I'm not sure if I know if I have mastered the art of being where I am, because I find myself occasionally wanting to be somewhere else.

 But, as I have been here in Philadelphia, I have been observing a technology fast, which will be going on for about 2 more weeks. With my technology fast, we are committing to abstain from the use of technology (for the exception of work and our Sabbath days) as a spiritual discipline that'll encourage us to reflect on how technology affects the relationship we have with ourselves, with G-d, and one another. And one thing that I have personally discovered for myself is how, having less access to technology, I find myself desiring to be somewhere else a lot less.

Without Facebook, I can think about the people that I love, and not feel like I'm torturing myself by not being where they are all the time. Instead, I can anticipate having them share with me what went on, instead of knowing every detail before they begin to tell me. Without my email, I'm not aware of all the "MUST-ATTEND!!!"-concerts that have passed my hometown. Instead, I can find myself interested in the show posters I pass on my Sabbath day on the college campuses. Without Google, I don't waste hours not knowing what I want to research from compulsively opening every tab and clicking on every possible link on the screen n front of me. Instead, I can concentrate better. 

Of course, when Sabbath rolls around, and I find my roommates speaking with their loved ones and family members at home, I am able to remember also the blessing that technology can be, especially in a culture where folks move so often for all types of different reasons and preferences. Technology gives me the ability to hear the voice of someone I love regularly, without the uncertainty of a letter that might disappear along the way or become "untrue" by the time it arrives. Technology is able to serve those who are disabled, who might need to contact a service in another part of town. And so, as I had mentioned before, there must be a balance with the things that we utilize, because then, we can begin to notice things we haven't noticed before and we can find time that we didn't know that we had. 

I think that our cellphones and tablets and our music devices and computers are things that we ought to use with great wisdom and mindfulness towards ourselves and others. There's nothing wrong with listening to music on your Ipod, but, if you always have it in your ear, someone may thing you are not listening to them, or are disinterested in connection. Our computers can distract us from being with the ones we live with. We can find ourselves at restaurants texting through the whole dinner date instead of engaging with our friends in front and beside us. We can end up instragramming our whole day to impress folks we'll never meet. And we can easily resort to  locking ourselves up in our bedrooms ranting to a schoolmate  instead of healthfully resolving a conflict with our roommate. In fact, I fear for when this technology fast ends that, I'll find myself back in a world where people don't listen to each other or enjoy the presence of others. I could find myself in a world where I can isolate myself in front of the computer and wish to be somewhere different -- unless I make a commitment. 

Unless I make a commitment to do the best I can to find out what it means to be where I am, in this moment with the people that I've been given to share this time and place with. In my journey of discovering what it means to love G-d, and to love my neighbor including myself, my greatest motivation for not hiding or losing myself in the distracted and impersonal world of excessive technology is the commitments that I make to myself and to others, the commitment to be present, intentional and aware. 

Although I haven't completely mastered the art of being where I am yet, I think that, these past few weeks have allowed me to look both inward in my heart and outward to what surrounds me regarding how technology affects all of this. I've notice how valuable it is to have less distractions and less things to worry about, and how precious the place that I am in really is. I find myself noticing, essentially. Noticing, noticing, noticing. I think that is the thing we need in order to appreciate where we are, perhaps the real art to be pursued: the art of noticing.

Why I (Wish To) Write

This is a post that I got published on a website called Lionhart. Lionhart is a community of women who is committed to empowering and encouraging young women to recognize their worth and spread that courage into their communities. I had the honor of having a little writing of mine featured on their website. You can check it out here!

There are a lot of nights that I ask myself, why do I write? And why do I have a desire to write? Can I write?

And there is a quote I found that stuck out to me that I want to share. And, I think DeSalvo nails to the wall exactly why it is that I want to write.

"Why, then, should we write? Because writing permits the construction of a cohesive, elaborate, thoughtful personal narrative in the way that simply speaking about our experiences doesn’t. Through writing, suffering can be transmuted into art. And writing permits us to use our writing as a form of public testimony in a way that the private act of therapy doesn’t." — Louise DeSalvo

To turn our suffering into an art. Something meaningful, beautiful.

To create some sort of public testimony. A story.

 I love stories. I love hearing them --in books, in music, film -- and I love sharing the ones I've collected from the lives of others. I want to share my own story, too, but, I find my story to be the most difficult to want to tell. I have struggled with this for many years, an instance in the past most note-ably being my year in spoken word club, penning the words, yet struggling to let them leave the pages held to my chest.

And, so it's been for most of my life sense then.

With the desire to tell my story, I find that most often, I am consumed by fear.

Fear of what?

Fear of being ridiculed, alone, rejected, not enough. Or maybe even the fear of being seen as "too much", the one that I, with my heart on my sleeve, personally struggle with.

Sometimes, I sit before the screen, maybe before my notebook, and I try to convince myself that if I can just write a little fancier, if I could just chop out all the vulnerable details or wrap whatever it is I want to share with some guaranteed-to-feel-good conclusion ... that I've done what I wanted. That I've done the work of writing for me.

But I don't want to speak the common voice, or the voice that everyone may want to hear. Truly, despite how I may attempt to convince myself, I don't want to speak in the voice that is deemed only "acceptable" by the masses. But, I want to share my dreams, my fears, my sorrow, my hopes... shamelessly. I don't want to hide anymore. That is why I want to write. I don't want to hide in my fear or my shame. I no longer want to beleive that all of that which I am ashamed of defines the worth of my stories, or the stories of others that I wish to share that may parallel my own heart.

 I want to write with the knowledge that my voice and my life is valuable, that it is connected to yours in a significant way. I want to know that value in the same way as I see it for those that I encounter, those who bless me with their honest lives, although they may appear as an unlikely hero to the themselves and to the world.

I want to write about the poor in spirit and share the stories of those who think, too, that their story is not worth telling, because it is in those that I see a glimpse of me. I find their stories significant. I hope to share mine within the humble realization of my own weakness, my own desire to be part of something greater, to belong, to have worth.

I want my writing to be a place where folks can come as they are, just as I wish to come as I am. I know that for me, sharing what I write, will be a journey, one that has been long meaning to happen. I will experience fear, but now, I want to choose the courage to leap above that fear. And I will have courage, because I want to believe that fearless honesty is all it takes for writing to be good and true.

“Good writ­ing is hon­est, alive. The more hon­est and alive our writ­ing, the more we show our­selves. The more we show our­selves, the greater dan­ger we’re in. The greater dan­ger we’re in, the more scared we are. Hence fear is a marker on the path toward good writ­ing.” -- Ralph Keyes // The Courage to Write

Friends throw you up in the air and help you soarrr!!!

The past year I’ve learned that humility is a quality that I really admire in a friend. Friendship is a wonderful opportunity. And, I’m also learning so much about how much I’ve been learning about what occurs in a friendship.

I also really need to remember that it’s absolutely okay to need encouragement, and that it’s okay to find yourself weak in certain enviroments. I find that I end up having meltdowns when I isolate myself and I tell myself that I am weak because I can’t remain strong by myself all the time. Truthfully, I have felt like a failure the past few weeks sense I’ve been back home because I find it hard for me to be encouraged and remain strong when I have no one who really encourages me in my day to day struggles here (I kind of feel the way I did before I left for college). I’m really sick of beating myself up, and so, I’m really thankful for friends that can recognize the fact that I’m beating myself up when I fail to see it in me, friends that despite the distance i can share with them what’s been going on in my brain and heart, friends who have the patience to allow me to externally process my thoughts.

I’m really thankful for those folks who will listen and speak with no judgement on their tongue because they know how it goes. They know what it’s like to be on the verge of a break down or to be weak, even if they don’t experience it in the same way, or as much as I do.

I think my favorite thing about friendship is that I often find myself, when with a really encouraging friend, saying to myself, “I want to be insert-friends-name-here when I grow up”, in other words, I find myself saying “I want to be able to lift another person up the way they encourage me”. The encouragement I receive from a whole-hearted person makes me feel like I can soar!

So now, looking back, I find it so strange: I think to myself, how could I have simple settled calling people who would just tear me down and be impatient with me and bail out quickly “my friend?” I had thought when I was younger that friendship was just about having someone who likes the same thing as you or someone to go to the mall with all the time. I know that a friend by no means is perfect and has weakness just like the other, but, I began to see a huge difference between fickle folks who spent time with me because they thought I was cool for liking certain things, and the people who, despite our differences and disagreements, would stick with me and encourage me.

It continues to blow my mind that there is such a beautiful thing as friendship in the world of human relationships!

And so, now that I’m starting to learn more about what friendship is like, I really just want to be a good friend as my friends are to me. I still have a lot to learn, but they inspire me so much to be a whole-hearted person and friend. I think maybe friends are supposed to inspire each other.

Also, twelve more days until I leave for Philadelphia! PHRWOAAARRRRRR!!!

A summer far from "yolo", far from "glamorous".

Right now, the sky looks like an orange creamsicle and a grape creamsicle melting into each other, the colors possibly diffusing in an unsual way because of the low placement of the clouds in the sky, now drifting away from today's false threat of rain...

(I've been trying to figure out why I have been so tired lately. And then I remember that I'm always surprised by the fact that I never remember what my PMS symptoms are like, which explains a lot of things.)

I'm blown away by the fact that it's already eight days into August: the last stretch of the summer. This second half of my summer has had me feeling like i have missed out on anything eventful and exciting during this period of time. It seems like most folks identify their summers with the constant best friends they spend time with and the endless numbers of adventures they pile into. My summers are no such summers, and at times, I wonder if the lack of resemblance between their vacation and my own implies that something is wrong with me. Why isn't my life a huge adventure during my time off?

I've come to ponder that maybe that's a problem with the media and Facebook: they provide an unrealistic expectation of what a summer vacation should be for young folks. You begin to think that every day and night should be spent with your besties, possibly meeting some stranger that you fall in love with while you stare off into the distance of some desert highway and plunge under the night sky into the waters of a hidden rock quarry only the locals of a small mid-western town know of -- complete with having no one above the age of twenty-four in sight!

My life isn't like that at all. Instead, I've been sassed by boys who automatically (and immaturely) friend-zone me when they get uncomfortable sharing breathtaking and intimate sights with a girl they're likely to never be interested in, assuming that all such moments should be spent with a love interest. Instead, I've been long ignored by high-school peers who wrote in my year book that we'd hang out all summer. My summers of long ago were days spent on my bed writing of fantastical journeys in and to other worlds when I wasn't soaked in tears of loneliness. And my summers now are car-less, jobless and driver-licensceness at nineteen with the addition of parental financial dependency and a 5-year old to babysit with while they're at work.

My life isn't at all like "they", the media and society, say it should be. You know: all the "you're still young!, you should be having fun"'s from clueless, older strangers that momentarily make me feel like I'm less of an accomplished young adult for not living up to their idea that every ninteen year old has to be partying it up "yolo"-style every night.

My life isn't like that at all. Not this summer. And probably not any summer. Surely, there must be something wrong with me, because society says so...

And yet, there are days where I'm sane enough to remember that there really isn't something wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me for experiencing seasons of monotony and waiting and discouragement and doubt.The one thing this makes me is normal. The other thing it makes me is human.

And the best part of remembering that there isn't anything wrong with me, is that then I can remember the beautiful highlights of this summer when I'm not constantly longing for an insatiable more. I can remember when a friend of mine surprised me with dinner, a sleepover and the beach for my ninteenth birthday. I can remember the delicious malt that I made and later devoured at my training session at Leopold's only to later get my first official sugar high. I can remember the heart to hearts and laughter shared with my temporary roommate in Savannah. I can remember the trip to the beach, playing in the sea with my mother and the nights she tells me how much she loves her childhood. I can remember the dancing and singing and awkward memories and beautiful reunions that occured at the second annual Wild Goose festival. And I can remember how this summer, i've thought more about writing: how I want writing to be part of my journey in being vulnerable and maintaining that vulnerability, as well as getting the practice to later write stories to share with folks around me. All those beautiful things are placed back into my memory when I no longer am fretting so much over how my summer "should be".

On top of that there probably won't be another time like this time. In what other day probably next year will I be trying to write while distracted with the relentless rambling and pursuit for attention from my baby sister? Right now, I may be desiring to devise some sort of escape plan, but, it's strange to think that maybe someday I'll look back on this and laugh at it all, just like my twin and I laughed today over some silly stories and drawings we found in an old Yu-Gi-Oh! notebook we filled during a long summer in Panama years ago. We were possibly dead bored then, and yet I miss those days. Maybe I will miss this, too.

So my summers are far from our current youth culture's "yolo" ideals and far from glamorous. Still, if I only live once, I'd like to think that without the mundane and sadness, we eventually would become dulled to each experience that surrounds us. If I only live once, I'd think it wise to embrace every moment in my life as apposed to only those that would be deemed likeable on Facebook.

I'd like to think even that every dull day could be redeemed with a willing heart, that maybe seasons of slowness such as this can be redeemed when you have the courage to admit that you yearn for something memorable and energizing on this day.

The monotony may continue, but to your surprise, you may even then look up and out to notice the beauty of an orange and grape creamsicle puddle expanding and contracting in the sky above.

Strength and weaknesses.

I found that it is easier to love my mom when I don’t expect her to care about the way I feel.

No, this isn’t about me being negative. But, it’s about perspective, and it’s about understanding and it’s about not being upset or angry anymore. It’s about forgiveness.

Yesterday, my mom found me sitting with my face in my hands and so she asked me what was wrong. I told her all my feelings, which resulted in her basically telling me to suck it up. The she walked out on me, like she usually does. If I was sick, she would do something, but, if it’s my crazy heart on my sleeve-ness, it’s highly likely that she won’t. I took a deep breath when she left and planted my face in my hands again. Even though I knew that I didn’t feel better, I knew that I could handle it. I knew that it wasn’t my fault. I finally was able to remember that it isn’t because I’m too much, it’s just… my mom isn’t a emotionally vulnerable person, and that’s okay. She’s not the type of person who wants to know how to make me feel better when I’m about to have an anxiety attack. She’s not the type that is willing to be vulnerable as naturally as I can be. It’s not okay, but at the same time, it is okay, because we’ve all been through different things, and we all know different things. We all have different strengths and weakness. And, that is also okay, because there is a love that covers her weaknesses, a love that covers all of our shortcomings. So, I stopped holding against her an expectation to be strong where she has always shown herself to be weak.

My mom has supported me in many ways, and I am thankful for how she has cared for me all these years. When I was a baby, she would change my diaper as soon as it got poopified. She didn’t wait or procrastinate. She made sure I was clean. My mother makes sure that I am safe (despite my impulse to want to take risks), that I am healthy, and that I have the things I need to succeed. We get snow cones together sometimes and we laugh together about things us Panamanians comment on. She let me try out an expensive art school which she took out a portion of her retirement fund to help me attend. And even though she isn’t thrilled about me going to Mission Year, she’s allowing me to go. I have learned the valuable lesson to not place on her what she doesn’t have and what she doesn’t know how to give because in being able to stop that habit, my eyes have been opened in a way that has allowed me to see and be thankful for all the ways that she has given me life and loved me in the ways that she knows how.

I also found that it is easier for me to love my dad when I don’t expect him to care about my emotional or spiritual journey as well. I know that I have a real Father who will care for my every need and knows my most intimate longings, and I am beginning to be open again in continuing to live shamelessly, with the knowledge that there are people in the world that have gifts that will encourage me and help me grow to be myself. I know that there are women I can go to who are willing to listen to my doubts and root me on with my crazy dreams. I am thankful for those men and women in my life who have those gifts to encourage me in those ways, and it is okay if my mother doesn’t have the gifts that they have, because she has her own that are just as important.

Things have really changed in my heart and in the way I see my mother ever sense I have come home. I am so thankful, if anything else, among the crazy house-hopping I had endured in Savannah, that I had met a woman, who, instead of straight-out judging or gossiping about my hardship, she took the time to understand. She let me rant, cried out her solidarity cry of “me, too!”…. and then she shared her wisdom with me. She understood, because she went through it herself. She told me her story, and she ended upon sharing with me that several years later, there are still things that she can’t run to her mother for, but she is able now to appreciate her mom for who she is now, flaws and all. Even more so, she and her mother have started to see ways that they can celebrate each other, by allowing themselves to see each other, to take little steps to care about the things that don’t come as naturally to them, allowing them to grow together.

It was a fault of mine to expect a parent to be able to have it all: to be perfect, just as it was a fault of my mother to expect me to be perfectly like her. My mom isn’t a superwoman; none of us are. We are just human.

I don’t want my future children, or even my baby-sister, to have to harbor a sense of opposition and neglect towards me for failing to understand the necessity of grace and forgiveness. Even if we have been hurt, we are not victims, because we are whole human beings, we are deeply loved by One more gracious than we’ll ever be. Even if I can’t be best friends with my mother, like my mother is with my grandmother, I can finally be her friend, because I’ll take her as she is, knowing that I have a Friend who takes me as I am.

And this is one of the many revelations I have been bombarded and blessed with sense finishing my freshman (and maybe my only?) year of college! Woop woop for growing! :)

Maybe friendship is underrated... Is it?

Now that I have survived the perilous ups and downs of social anxiety over the past few days, trying to decide whether the thoughts in my head are truths and lies, warring in my head what thoughts to destroy about myself and which to embrace, and calling and talking with some mature women that I trust, I have come to terms that a lot of what I have been thinking about has a lot to do with questions regarding friendship. It's kind of like being drunk for a whole year, and then having a headache from being hungover. Today, I think I've woken up and realized what had happened this past year.

I think that friendship is something that we don't value as much in our culture as we could. Yes, good friends are hard to find, but, I don't think people are so sure what it means to be a good friend a lot of times. And I'm one of them. I doubt myself, regardless of what folks tell me. I think about the give and take that it entails, and I've reflected on the sacrifices (and lack of) that I've witnessed or experienced and I sometimes wonder if we often go looking for friends, but seldom seek to ask the question, "am I a good friend?" I think that instead, we seek to have someone be our friend before we seek to be a friend. But where would that lead us then? If One had not initiated love first, then, how could love possibly have begun? I think we learn how to be a friend by trying to be a friend, and also by being loved by a friend, constantly asking ourselves the question: "what does it mean to be a friend?"

I think questions about friendship are important to ask, especially in a society in which the vast majority of people would describe themselves to feel lonely a lot of the times regardless of their possession of 600 of them on Facebook. A lot of us feel like we have no one to turn to in times of need. Although we will all struggle with loneliness on occasion, or for a season, I do not think that loneliness is something that needs to be accepted or dealt with. There is a difference between solitude and being alone. Besides, being alone was one of the first things deemed to be considered "not good" in the world.

I think that a culture that constantly considers singleness to be a curse, and marriage as the solution to this curse, needs to begin to ask ourselves why this is the case. I say this in connection to the topic of friendship, because I have only found that most honest woman would confess that marriage did not fix her problems, but the problems that she had before marriage are still there. The only thing that she would confess that she has gained from entering a healthy marriage was a best friend that promised to be there and encourage her to be the best version of herself she can possibly be.

I don't know about you guys, but, I don't think it's fair to have to wait until marriage to find a good friend or be a good friend. I have both witnessed and have experienced the redeeming and life-giving qualities of a solid friend. Maybe we need to start to ask questions more about friendship. From the looks of it, we're tossing the word around a lot, but losing sight of what it means and what it looks like. We've got 563 friends on Facebook, but some of us feel like we hardly experience true connection with those around us. So what does it really mean to be a real friend? Ask yourself: are you a real friend? And who can we look to as an example of a true friend?

I really want there to be more discussions about friendships, especially as younger folks. Obviously, I don't have the answers. But maybe all of us can begin asking the right questions and put a spotlight on this thing. May this be the beginning. With your thoughts, questions, concerns, fire away.

I don't even know what happened.

I don't even know what happened. Sometimes having a tendency to be kind or honest can be hard to accept, because it can feel REALLY awkward especially the way other people react. I am often called naive or seen as naive. I don’t know if I am. I just really don’t know. I was even called “dumb” a million times today. It can be hard. It makes me feel sometimes like there is something wrong with me.

While I was still in Savannah, I was downtown with a friend from fellowship who had graciously allowed me to stay at her house for several days during my time of need. We went downtown because she wanted to see some friends who were going to go to a store opening. I didn’t have anything better to do really, so, I agreed and decided to go with her. As we walked downtown, I noticed that a lot of people were drinking, and there was one man, who was probably just a few years older than me wearing a cap backwards, lying on the ground with his pants low. I was really worried and wondering why he was lying in the middle of the ground, and I was about to approach him, but another couple had already approached him, so I let the three of them be and we continued on to the store opening.

When we decided to leave the store opening (it was really loud and not very interesting and people were just trying to act cool), so, we decided to head out, and we passed the guy again and he was unattended this time. Curiousity go the best of me, and I just decided to approach him this time and wake him up.

I didn’t realize that he was drunk at all. I thought it was just the heat or something. I was trying to get his attention and wake him up and ask him if he was okay. And he was like “WOAH.” I asked him if he was okay again, wondering if he had lost his friends, because I didn’t know what else to do, and he was like “woah woah woah” over and over again, his eyes creased and unfocused. Then, as he decided to stand up, I found a bottle of water that I wanted to offer him, I asked him if it was his, but he wasn’t paying attention and he just stumbled away. I kept calling after him, because I was so confused and wanted to give him some water, but my friend was calling me, too, to come over; that it was okay.

I told her about the water, and how I was concerned and just wanted to see if he was okay. I fumbled on because I was embarrassed that she and her friends were watching me and that awkward scene play out the whole time. That was when she confirmed to me that he was indeed drunk, and that she was calling me because she was concerned for my safety.

I later confessed to her that I had never been around a drunk person before or seen a person lying on the ground because they were so drunk, so I had never thought that I should be concerned for my safety. In fact, the only time I have seen someone lying in the street before was a poor blind man in South Korea. I was a lot younger, and I was told to ignore him. So I didn’t want to ignore a man on the street this time. She told me that she called me because people tend to be unpredictable when they are drunk. And, I guess she is right. I just didn’t really think of it because I was thinking of other things.

It’s an awkward life experience. I think, that even sharing this story might be awkward in itself. I am 19 and I have just never seen a person wasted like that before, and for my age, it is to be expected. I am not ignorant but at the same time I AM oblivious to the idea that people who are under 21 drink despite the law. Several of my friends are older than me, and so they drink, and I’ve been around friends and family while they drink, but, I have just never seen a person passed out on the ground like that before. And so, I assumed that the only thing you can do is offer them help. My only experience before is that I’ve HEARD people talking up a storm while they were drunk or crying and babbling about how drunk they are. But, I’ve never encountered a drunk person who was that vulnerable before.

I think it is awkward for me, because, I just don’t really think of alcohol at all. When people intend to drink, they never invite me, and that is probably why I forget that people get wasted all the time. I don’t have a taste for alcohol either, which is probably why I forget it exists. The only place where I felt like a belonged despite being a non-drinker was Wild Goose festival. There was a beer and hymns tent where people sang and drank beer together, both drinkers and non-drinkers. I was offered wine at the campfire by someone who was underage, and I sipped some, and she made me feel comfortable in my own skin despite the fact that I didn’t really like it or want it. She didn’t rant endlessly about all the drinks she has. She was present, and she saw the both of us, here in that moment. She didn’t make me feel like an outsider for being a non-drinker. She didn’t make me feel like I was missing out on something. That’s how I felt when I was at the tent with the beer and hymns, too. We were present.

Despite how awkward what ever I did there was, whether it was being curious/caring/kind whatever… I think being kind and caring enough to stop is a higher calling, even if people call you naive or treat you like you are dumb. I don’t think that people understand that when I’m am doing things out of kindness, that I am not doing it because I’m “childish” or “naive” or dumb or ignorant, even if it looks that way and even if it is. I am aware that people hurt people. I am aware that the world can be a tough place to be. But that wasn’t even the first thing that came to mind for me when I saw this guy. In fact, the first thing I thought about when I approached this person, even though I did feel nervous, it wasn’t so much the thought that he would be dangerous, but whether he would think I’m weird for approaching them. I ALWAYS feel weird when approaching people, or trying to care. But, I want to care because most of the time, I do.

I don’t really know what to make of that experience, and I don’t even know why it was so significant for me. Maybe it is because I find it hard sometimes to go back to being cynical or unaffected. It feels a lot like lying. Or maybe it is because it makes me think of fifth grade: a time when I felt like everyone knew something I didn’t. I was in fifth grade again. Right now, as I type this, I feel like a little alien again who doesn’t know how to think, be, or act. I don’t know.

I just really needed to vent this story. What are your thoughts?

Not Just Nice

It's nice to be called "nice", but I don't want to be known for or just settle for being just "nice". When I think of the word "nice", I often think of the word that is synonymous with "pleasing" or "bearable". A word that I would prefer to hear about me is "kind". Sometimes, I mix up the words "nice" with "kind". I forget that they are not so much the same thing and sometimes, I mean to describe those that have been exceptionally good and kind and benevolent on my behalf as just "nice". I think "nice" is quite an understatement really and it is not close to describing how brave people have been on my behalf to be good to me. I decided to look up the word. Here is a definition that I found on the word "nice." Nice adjective, nic·er, nic·est. 1. pleasing; agreeable; delightful: a nice visit. 2. amiably pleasant; kind: They are always nice to strangers. 3. characterized by, showing, or requiring great accuracy, precision, skill, tact, care, or delicacy: nice workmanship; a nice shot; a nice handling of a crisis. 4. showing or indicating very small differences; minutely accurate, as instruments: a job that requires nice measurements. 5. minute, fine, or subtle: a nice distinction. Although "kind" is thrown in there, I don't think kindness is reduced to just pleasantness or being agreeable. We are not called to settle for being just "nice"; our being good to others isn't restricted to being only pleasant. I have struggled a lot with wanting to be pleasant and bearable all the time, to the point that I would bottle in true words and feelings or I would refuse to share insights that could heal just so everyone could stay comfortable. I didn't allow myself to be messy and real. When we decide that we care more about pleasing people, sometimes, we can make the mistake of not being honest about who we are; we can omit mentioning the type of help we need or we can leave out what we believe our lives are about just for the sake of being "pleasant" or "nice". People pleasing resulted in my become wishy washy and divided, and I found it to be a hard time standing up for what I believe because I wanted to be "agreeable" or "pleasing" to others. I have made this mistake lots of times in the past year and I realize that, by just telling people what I thought they wanted to hear, that I was being good to them. I would avoid confrontation of most sorts, which would cause a lot of unrest in me, and division between me and another and my wanting to be "pleasant" instead of real and truthful to others also led to people not having an opportunity to show me kindness on my behalf. It meant that I didn't allow people to be challenged. I was complacent. I learned that the best thing I can do is to aim to be kind and caring as opposed to just being "pleasant". There is a difference in being someone who really loves a person and someone who just wants to be on their good or "nice" side. Truly kind and loving people live with a desire to see others become the best person they can be, and often times, that means that we will have to disagree or come off as annoying. It means that things might get gritty at times, and that is okay. It is better to be truthful and gritty than to be untrue and "have it all together". I really think that grit is what refines us. It's like sandpaper. The people who have loved me the most in the past year have not been only "nice" to me,although they are very nice and pleasant to be around. I have been yelled at (OH GOSH) a few times, and I have not been allowed to do things that I thought were beneficial, like hiding, later to find out that they were wiser and were trying to challenge me. They didn't try to please me, but rather, they tried to encourage me and build me up to the best person I can be. The reasons that they would get upset with me would be because of instances when I went too far in acting or speaking in such a way that was irrational and against what is true and I wouldn't stop. Other times, they would reveal ugly truths about their pasts in hopes to form solidarity with me. Sometimes, I want to believe lies, sometimes I want to say or do terrible things to myself or to others based on my hurt, instead of seeing the truth. Sometimes, I want to hide under a blanket all day. And so sometimes, I need someone to be gritty with me. I need someone to challenge me with what I want to do and show me a better way, even if they get on my nerves or hurt me. I have had people be patient with me, but at some point, the way that I would treat myself would be in such a way that I would be destroying myself, and they would see the need to get me out of my comfort zone, because not only does living a certain way for so long hurt me, it hurt them to see me hurt myself. Their sense of compassion allows them to be dissatisfied with evil forces, to have anger towards what is unjust, to be upset about the hurting others are going through, and it also gives them the courage to reveal the ugly parts of their past in order to show that we aren't alone. Sometimes, the most unpleasant, scary and annoying things my friends have done or said have been the most kind, like pleading with me on something I didn't want to do, telling me something that I didn't really want to hear, or literally dragging me out of bad situations that I've sat in for too long They have acted courageously and have taken the risk in appearing unpleasant in order to give love to me. I'm arguing that rather than settling for "nice", if anything, we are to go further and be extremists for love; we are to be people who take risks and go great lenghths to give to others, to build them up, to seek out their shalom and to seek out their freedom. We are not meant to be passive but active. We are to challenge those that we care for to be the best they can be. Being passive, apathetic and complacent can get you known for being "nice" and "pleasant", but sometimes, just settling for mediocrity can result in violence, and if we are to be lovers, we are gonna love the poop out of people. Jesus was offensive because he loved the poop out of everyone and it challenged folks and made folks uncomfortable. He took the risk of being unpleasant, of being offensive because he truly cared about everyone. He extended mercy and grace and love to those that others would not extend mercy to, and the religious leaders would get mad at him when he told the truth. He didn't people please, and the reason he didn't get a reputation for being "nice" was because he truly cared and wanted the best for everyone; he wants everyone to live an abundant and free life, so he tried to correct them. Likewise, I know that my friends care for me and that they want me to be free to love and free to live and be myself, because they will challenge me, be honest with me and take risks for me, even if it means they might have to unintentionally be unpleasant or offensive. This is the most loving and kind thing they can do for me. To be truthful and brave. Here is the definition for kindness and you can click the word to see all it's synonyms, too: Kind adjective, kind·er, kind·est. 1. of a good or benevolent nature or disposition, as a person: a kind and loving person. 2. having, showing, or proceeding from benevolence: kind words. 3. indulgent, considerate, or helpful; humane (often followed by to ): to be kind to animals. 4. mild; gentle; clement: kind weather. 5. British Dialect . loving; affectionate. Being truly kind and caring these days can get people to call your naive or dumb and you can end up looking like a fool, but it is the best way. We must take the risk in being seen as unworthy or unpleasant. We need courage. I need courage. Love without courage is just sentimentality.

Contemplation on Suffering and Compassion (and why art school is important).

Life is beautiful and tragic in the sense that it doesn't make sense. Reality doesn't make sense. Maybe it doesn't because our perception is so little. We cannot see in front and behind us both at the same time. We see so little. The more I learn, the more, I begin to not believe. And yet, the more I learn, the more I begin to believe. The more my bones shake, the more I'm confronted with Love... presented with a force of agression that points toward it... I am then comforted by Love. I begin to notice what is important. Because, we live in a universe where people everywhere, and not just people, but other sentient beings too are suffering all the time. Whether we are suffering from physical suffering: an illness, hunger, tiredness; an emotional suffering such as deep sorrow; maybe a mental illness... or perhaps the inability to escape the troubles of the mind, or the despair of being unable to make sense of or take comfort in the current state of the universe. Whatever it is that may be taking us... we are all suffering. I came out of class today, puzzled by the laws, physics, sciences behind our own earthly, close-to-dirt perception of the universe... and how the inability to make sense of it, despite gaining more and more knowledge everyday... creates sorrow. Maybe that is what Solomon spoke of... the vanity and pain of more and more awareness and information. I hurt for those who suffer in that way... because, I do suffer from that, too, from time to time, which brings me here on my floor, writing these words. However, I find a comfort in knowing that I'm not alone. And even more so, that a lot of what seems to remain true in a universe that is always shifting and uncertain, is that, despite their abstraction, there seems to be a Truth that lies beyond our eye, and beyond our perception. I do not know much, but what I think is true at least, is that there is a necessity for compassion. Even if compassion cannot change the world... if all that you believe in is balance... compassion still proves important... because without it, there is only cruelty and rejection towards suffering. You can flaunt your intellectual muscles and fathom all the mysteries of the universe, and still have no compassion. I honestly believe that the opposite of love is nothingness. You can either use your intelligence for compassion that is born out of love, or you can use it honor the nothingness. Yet, how can we? Although we seem to know nothing, there seems to be something still. There seems to be a lot of things, things we don't understand. There is everything else. I believe that those who have no compassion among their suffering, suffer more than those who suffer yet excerise compassion. And perhaps, that is why Jesus Christ makes acts of compassion and love the center of his ministry. He blesses the broken-hearted, gives sight to the blind, restores hope to the broken, pities and has compassion on those who do evil, and when he teaches, he teaches about a lightness.... He doesn't tell us that the key to true Life is acquiring all knowledge of the Universe, or aquring it's things or doing nothing. Remember that the universe is moving and fleeting. Rather, He says we've got to know Him. What is bizarre is that this is the guy who claims to be the Father of the Universe... Even the G-d of the Universe bore himself into a tiny little human, a man of sorrows, crying many tears for the little specks of dust that he loves, and laughing with joy at any spark of Light, any bit of Himself that He may pass unto and maybe even ignite in someone else... The Greeks thought that the poor, hopeless and suffering were the ambassadors of Heaven... Maybe if more people knew what it is like to suffer deeply, we would realize the need for compassion. Compassion doesn't just heal others, but it seems to saves us. I just wonder, what type of world could this earth be... if we just had the humility and compassion and courage and vulnerability to say "I don't know, either.... I am hurting, too, brother." Maybe if we remembered, especially myself, that we are all suffering, maybe we would be a little bit kinder, a little more humble, a little more gentle, patient, long-suffering, faithful, and good towards each other and ourselves.

Cynics are beautiful and encouraging.

Zizek: Living in a cynical era - inversion of cynicism from FreedomLab on Vimeo.

I find what this man is saying to be really relevant to my life, and about people i love. Lately, i have found “cynics” to be really beautiful to me. Their cynacism, although troublesome, dishonest and confusing to themselves and others, are an iconoclast, an arrow pointing to something greater. When we have our hearts hardened, our cynacism tends to be the end all. But when we see that we are cynics and why we are cynics…. something good can happen.

It makes me think about how, as soon as G-d gave the curses to Adam and Eve, he had in some sense decided to saved them (so much grace)! Their very disappointments and shame that would result from the curse would be the very things that reveal what is most important to them.

Even in my own life, when i suffer from nihilistic thinking and breathing… i am always in despair to have such feelings! There is a comfort in knowing that in my heart of hearts, and that in the heart of hearts of others, that my disappointment reveals the truest part of who I am and what i believe is deeply truly real: that we are creatures of Infinity, looking for Infinity, made to love and be loved. We don’t want to live in a world without meaning. We don’t want to die. We don’t want the world to be a cold and terrible place. And, i think maybe because of these, although, everything is not okay, at the same time, it is. All things CAN be beautiful. Even the gritty and not so pretty. But we must choose the Right Thing to affirm it, lest we continue to be disappointed (and rescued).


"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." -- Ephesians 6:12

Also, this man’s accent is beautiful.

Peace be with you, always,

Rachel Virginia