when I think of heaven

years of walking in poor shoes
have left her feet twisted, crippled.
she walks slowly, with limp;
too much walking, standing, renders great pain.
gnarled and twisted, calloused and corned.

when i think of heaven, i think of grandma's feet-
the master tenderly washing them.
and as the years wash away,
grandma dancing, leaping, running;
lame feet, no more.
all things made new.

born storyteller, years of learning and life experience,
struggles to recall the most simple of words.
his frustration is evident, but his memory will not cooperate:
memories, details, yesterday, gone.
the brilliant man, fantastic storyteller, frustrated.

when i think of heaven, i think of grandpa's memory-
the master smiles and says, "Walter, do you recall the time..."
and grandpa grins with ease and begins to recount the tale:
the two, laughing with delight;
mute tongue, no more.
all things made new.

years of pain, washed away.
frustration, angst, doubt, gone.
brokenness made whole.
loved ones, reunited; families, restored.
injustice damned and sent away.
love, made complete.
the scales fall away, things seen as they truly are.
disease, pain, mourning, death, no more.
all things made new.

"Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Then will the lame leap like deer and the mute tongue shout for joy. Water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert." [isaiah 35-5-6]

"He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" [revelation 21:5]

Individual Rights

“If it’s true that only individual rights matter, then our descendants really don’t matter because they’re not individuals yet. This is what the West just has not been able to deal with. This is why the West pushes off to the future: environmental pollution, global warming, government deficits, the energy crisis, the global food shortage, the global water crisis, and so on. It’s taxation without representation across time. The truth is: we have not inherited this earth from our parents; we are borrowing it from our children. And we are leaving nothing left for them. The idea of individual rights is likely to be the fatal flaw of the West.” - M. Nagasawa (partial credits, P. Singer)

Thoughts?

Child-like prayer...

This past Sunday, I sat down in church next a mother and her son. The son was roughly 25, but you could tell after a few moments that he had the mental capacity of roughly an 8-10 year old. No filter and very overt in his actions (and attentions). He was the type of pew-neighbor that [if I'm really honest] I often try to avoid:

• Claps too long, even after everyone else has stopped;
• Laughs loudly in awkward places in the service;
• Continually scoots closer to me on the pew;
  
• Hurdles himself back down into the pew with the energy of an 8-year-old boy but the pound-age of a 25-year-old man leading to large pew vibrations;
• Loudly whispers to me throughout the service;
• Sings off-key very enthusiastically.

And there was a very large part of me that wanted to pull the pew-scoot out of there. Not proud of that, but just being honest.

But here's what struck me. The pastor finished the sermon, and began to pray. In the middle of his prayer, he stopped and gave the congregation room to pray silently for those in need of God's healing touch. And from my right side, I heard this 25-year-old kid unabashedly pray:

"Oh God, please heal me."

And I, in my righteous social appropriateness, had to take pause for a moment to consider those few small words.

"Oh God, please heal me."

Can I (do I) pray in that way? Or when the pastor tells us to pray for those who are in need of God's healing touch, do I always exclude myself from that need? See, for all of his social inappropriateness and awkwardness, this guy understood something that I often times don't. He prayed as a man in need of healing, without fancy words or protocol, without shame in his need or conditions to his request. Child-like expectation.

So here's my thought: maybe, just maybe, some of those "social proprieties" need to get chucked from our prayer lives. We pray nice prayers. We pray pretty prayers with good rhetoric and even keel. And we pray for God's healing in others, in the world, assuming that we can take care of our own issues. Or, worse, presuming that we are not ourselves in need.

Wrong.

I think the invitation to us, friends, is remove the filter; to pray with honesty and rawness, not the sanitized prayers we often pray; to actually talk, using real words, to the God who made us and loves us, unabashedly, in certainty of his love for us; to pray with child-like expectation for adult-sized issues; to relinquish control and place ourselves fully in God's hands.

Maybe Jesus knew what he was talking about when he said:

"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:3-4)

likes me... likes me not...

Last night, a few friends and I were hanging out at a pub near my house... we were catching up, reflecting back on college years, and laughing about some of the random antics that we had performed "when we were younger." At one point, we were talking about a particular friend, who shall remain nameless... Good friend, really great guy (well-beloved), but classically "scientist" with all the implications therein. For example:

... at one point, he crystallized pure caffeine from coffee just for fun.

... another time (or should I say, multiple times), he lit random objects on fire (or blew them up) through a series of chemical reactions. Often times, in the dorm room.

... at another point in time, his RA was concerned that he was growing illegal substances in his room, because he had a water garden under his bed, typically only used in a college setting to grow one thing. He, however, was growing herbs and plants for botany experiments.

... and the list can go on and on, but I'll stop there. Bottom line, my friend is unashamedly exactly who he is, and that does not change based on people's opinions, favor, or approval. And I love that about him!

As we were giggling over these stories and others, I was struck again by the idea that:

"It is far better to be disliked for who you truly are than it is to be loved for something that you aren't."

Confession? I am a repenting people pleaser, at core. And for many years, I would play the game of trying to be exactly who people wanted me to be in a given situation. Intrinsic in that was the fear "If they really knew me, they wouldn't like me..." As a result, I wound up playing a lot of different roles, wearing a lot of different hats, and in the process, lost a sense of who I really was. Not healthy, because ultimately it places a lot of authority in the hands of those whose favor we (I) seek. When, in reality, the only one who has real authority has already said of us:

"I created your inmost being; I knit you together in your mother's womb. Praise ME! because you are fearfully and wonderfully made; my works are wonderful!" (paraphrase Ps. 139:14)

He didn't make me to be like Micah or Billy-Bob or Susie or LuAnna or Melchizedek. He made me to be Kristen. And he said that that was good. All the time, not just when it's convenient or popular.

Don't get me wrong, there are places in which adaptation can be good and holy. Certainly, there are situations in which we need to soften certain characteristics in order to care well for those around us. And there are definitely places for repentance and change in our identities and, often times, good friends are the ones to call those out for us. But that is entirely different from shape-shifting, or trying to make people like us by transmogrification of ourselves... ultimately, role playing should be left on the stage.

"It is far better to be disliked for who you truly are than it is to be loved for something that you aren't."

[I'm still workin' on it.]

IM::Porn

So I've never been a particularly large fan of instant messenger, gchat, tweeting (side note, who decided to call it "tweeting"? Really friends? Really?), yahoo chat, facebook poking etc. If you've ever talked to me online, you probably know this about me. Don't get me wrong, I love the convenience. But at the same time, I think there are some dangers inherent to depending on them too much. And yesterday, it dawned on me, some of those dangers, are actually remarkably similar to those of pornography. How's that for a tag line?

Oh you want me to explain... just what I was hoping for!

Side note, going to take a guess that my hit counter will jump about 100 fold because I used the word porn in the title. That's kind of sad.

Anyhow. Here're some of the dangers of online chat:

1. It can create a false sense of the other/self. Any time editing/airbrushing is allowed or possible, it creates something that's not entirely true. Those blemishes, imperfections, and inhibitions which we have in real-time, real-life, are way less present in online chats (and porn). The real thing has no backspace or edit button...
2. It can create a false sense of intimacy. Because inhibitions are lower (because you're not face-to-face and don't have to deal with the social awkwardness in the real), it's far easier to share deep personal things than it is when you're actually around another real person who will respond verbally, physically, emotionally/expressively, and sometimes inappropriately.
3. Because it's non-verbal, you get (to a certain degree) to determine what the other person is thinking or feeling (although emoticons help out a little bit). For example, person A and person B are chatting. Person A is sharing something deeply personal and troubling. Person B takes forever to respond, so person A assumes that they are weeping alongside them, praying for them, and scouring the Internet for words of comfort from some dead poet. Reality is, person B has just noticed that LOST has come on, and they've gotten so sucked into the plot that they have missed everything that person A has just said in the process of trying to figure out whether Juliet lives or dies. Person A is getting their emotional fix, person B is absent. You get to create the response and read the emotion into it.

So, that I don't sound entirely cynical, bitter, and hypocritical for ever signing onto any form of instant messenger, allow me to qualify my critiques, speaking exclusively about chat (no more parallelism). I do not think online communication/chat is inherently bad. I will probably be online again very soon. I think there are a lot of good things that can come from it, such as:

• staying in touch with a lot of folks that I wouldn't otherwise be able to (out of state-ers, out of country-ers, folks travelling on the international space station, etc.)
• a non-awkward way to get to know cool strangers better
  
• touching base quickly about something; as such, it's very convenient
• telling someone you care about them, instantaneously, while they're doing other things
  
• allowing real communication for folks or in areas where inhibitions are otherwise high

But, here's my point: Online communication should never be a substitute for the real. It can add to, build, and bless deep friendships, as an accessory to real, but it cannot sustain them. Real people are far more interesting that pixilated ones, because they actually have flaws. And the flaws and quirks are ultimately part of what makes that person real [we are not perfected yet]. So, no need to sign off, disconnect, unplug, etc (although it could be a good thing)... but do set good boundaries. Recognize the pitfalls and limitations. Use in a way that is healthy.

And bring it into the real. It's messier, but it's far more rewarding.

I'm done preaching now.

Other people's trash...

Today is recycling day. Even as I speak, I can hear the recycling truck with its annoying yet constant beeping to warn me of its presence. Cans are rattling and bottles are breaking as they are heaved into the large truck by a huge man with burly arms and many colorful tattoos.

But this is not the first time I've heard those cans and bottles rattling today.

In the wee hours of the morning on Wednesdays, around 3am, the homeless men make the rounds of my street, going from recycle bin to recycle bin, pulling out old beer and coke bottles and cans, sometimes sipping the final dregs of a not quite empty bottle. But really, they're not after the beverage. They want the bottles themselves. That will be their income for the day...

At five to ten cents a bottle (return for cash at the supermarket), it takes a lot of bottles to make enough for a meal. Cash from other people's trash. Sustenance for the day.

I wonder what other "trash" I have that could be someone else's livelihood.

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday, John Calvin. Finally hitting the big 5-0-0. Today is a big day.

I called my mom this morning, after missing like 4 phone calls in a row from her. She began the conversation by wishing me a happy birthday.

::Uhh, Mom, today's not my birthday... about 5 months off yo... and I feel like you should know that, considering that you were the one most intimately present on that day. When push comes to shove comes to squeeze, it was you do the pushing and squeezing::

Being my tactful self, however, I merely responded, "huh? what?"

She reminded me that today was the day that I made my initial decision to follow Jesus, fourteen years ago. Happy re-birth-day, in her words. And so it was, and is.

::Guess that makes me an teenage, prepubescent Christian these days.::

::that could explain so many things::

Go team. It's been a good journey. Here's to expecting another good year...

meeting flipper

I think I'm having a regional identity crisis. There. I said it.

::whew:: ::wipes forehead::

Glad that's off my chest.

Hanging out in Madison has been fantastic beyond my wildest expectations, including the one where I hoped that I might meet Flipper while here. No no, much better. But at the same time, it has raised a certain number of unexpected thoughts and questions, most specifically, where do I really belong? And it's not so much a question of not belonging anywhere, but conversely, belonging in part to too many places.

::cause I'm the wanderer, yeah the wanderer, I roam around around around::

Bonus points if you can name the song.

And while there are certainly advantages to having lived and served in a number of different places, "belonging" in a number of different places, there are also moments when I wish that I knew for sure where home was... maybe that's one of those "not yet" moments.

Or maybe I should just hold out hope for meeting Flipper.

masterpiece in microcosm

* written as personal reflection, after prayer ministry class 2009, kG 7/2/09

masterpiece in microcosm
seeing the very big, in the very small.
the finger of God
touching the fragility of mankind-
the master craftsman
reshaping his creation.
author, illustrator, maker, Lord,
gently touching.

we see but in part:
then we shall see fully.
he allows us to see just a piece
of his healing,
his heart,
his power.

and audacity of all audacity,
invites us to participate
as instruments in his hands:
the potter's wheel;
the sculptor's knife;
the scientist's equipment;
the artist's brush:
useless, even dangerous,
outside of the master's hand.
no authority or artistry
outside of the master's hand.

would you rain down, Holy Spirit,
ye even reign down in us.
we the microcosm long for your touch-
dry bones, without your breathe-
smelly grave-clothes, without your call forth-
one day's worth of oil, without your blessing.
we long for
the finger of God
touching the fragility of mankind.

come Holy Spirit.