Thoughts from small group

My disappointment that two friends didn't make it to the last small group (though I wasn't entirely surprised) was redeemed by sitting next to Andrew and Jason tonight. Curious, I asked Andrew if he had a faith background, which opened up the conversation that nope, he didn't. Went to church a couple times, has never read the Bible. And the last small group he went to was really confusing and he didn't know what was going on.

As we partnered off and talked throughout small group, I realized that this small group looks really different when you're looking in from the outside, when you have no idea what people are saying. Such as, holy smokes, our small group is filled with all sorts of Christianese lingo that's so natural for most of our students, so awkward if you've never been exposed.

______________________

I started this a week ago with full intention of fleshing out my thoughts on things that would be helpful for newcomers to small group (For example, my friend had no idea that Jesus is both God and God's son)...and never finished. Until next time, I guess.

Growing up

My dear friends,

At 23 years of age, I have applied and been approved for my first credit card.

For some reason I feel like it's a huge deal.

The creepier part is that there is a huge database of information, so using some of my basic info, a site I have never registered on can ask me security questions like county I live in or a previous street residence without me. And they know my loans and the fact that I don't have any other credit cards. Such is the mystical world of credit reports I suppose.

The logistical part of me wonders how I will factor this in on my budget excel spreadsheet. But we'll cross that bridge in another week or so.

Happy Monday!

My body's just a shelter for my soul

And I know, I know
That the world is temporary
And these shelters that I dwell in aren't my home
And I know, I know
That this truth is hard to carry
My body's just a shelter for my soul
I will go on
(Shelters, Village on Yarn)

New-found respect for my friend Nic and his band, Village on Yarn. Thank you for reminding me that this world is temporary, that there is a life beyond this that we are living for. After all, Paul presses on to something greater. I pray that I remember that the shelters--whether room, apartment, or body--I dwell in are not my home. That my soul would long for something deeper, that there is a life with my savior at the fullest and at completion, as opposed to what we have here. This world is not my home.

Bids me come and die and find that I may truly live

This year, Easter is arriving with Mark 2 still fresh on my mind. The last supper, denials, trial, beatings, crucifixion. What a Friday it must have been. What a dark Saturday with hope seemingly gone forever. And what joyous celebration when death is conquered.

But tomorrow may I meditate on the death that comes before life.

“When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die."-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship

In staff-lingo, some questions I ponder: In what ways have I died? Where am I unwilling to die, yet the thing I am holding onto is preventing from deeper life? What life have I gained by losing?

This passage was the tipping point for me as laid down on a rooftop in Kolkata the summer of 2010. Brokenness and despair in ways I have never seen, yet glimpses of redemption. Yes, glimpses of redemption, pockets of hope--those were my phrases for the summer. The overwhelming goodness and healing never swept in and still hasn't. And yet light persists. Hope persists. And Jesus is present--He dwelled among us. Lived, died, and lives now. So that we too may die to what is life-less and live for abundant life.

Even as I write this I struggle to find words, for one can be alive yet not live, but how does one describe dying to a life that isn't alive? Fortunately Jesus promises both.

Jesus strictly warned them not to tell this to anyone. And he said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”

Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for you to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit your very self? If any of you are ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of you when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.

 Luke 9:21-24

I started reading through some of my old blogs earlier this week. It made me wish I was still blogging as often as I did back then, as it serves as quite a history lesson, though rather embarrassing at times (Tangent: Circa early 2009, references to the now-bf begin showing up more frequently, paired with questions from a confused girl who likes spending time with said boy). Not that I ever wrote in the most polished or beautiful manner, but I also wonder if my writing has been stifled from numerous lab reports, concise papers, and neglect. But alas.

It makes you snicker a bit to read these entries from a wide-eyed me wondering what it's like to be 19, or 20, or to have my own apartment, or to pay my own bills. Written when I was just switching majors and debating leading a small group, so unaware that three years later I'd be...well, here. I guess the same will be the case in another three years later when I look at my current questions about leaving the Yellow House, what it'll be like with D out of class, or making a new home in Sacramento. Yes, Sacramento.

Speaking of, I am once again reminded how much I dislike limbo states. I ideally won't move to Sac till August, yet part of me wants to start packing things away in boxes. I must also remind myself how dangerous packing is for me: once I start, I don't like to stop and I end up finishing all the packing in two days. Uh, yeah, especially during finals week. 

Yesterday I woke up and didn't want to get out of bed, and by the time the night ended, I wondered why it wasn't Wednesday already. And today was slow-paced and I'm tired and don't want to do work. And my next two days are pretty dang booked. My crankiness and lack of motivation might be because I'm sleep deprived. Actually, there's a good chance it is, and I'm just haven't realized how important sleep is to my life. Something about sleep = rest = physical energy (I also recently relearnd that food = energy).

So maybe tonight, this time, I'll go to sleep and figure everything else out later.

(Crossing fingers that productivity kicks in tomorrow. Or Saturday at latest).

Today I read remarks written by a dear friend I respect. She's finishing law school this year, and she reminds me: Human rights means nothing if not that every single life is worth fighting for. Every single life – all 7 billion of us, from the world’s wealthiest man to my newborn nephew, we are all worth fighting for. Justice, mercy, truth – these are not empty ideas or futile dreams. No, as evidenced by the work and life of people like today’s honoree, these ideas are reality – and that reality is a choice. That reality is our choice. That reality is my choice.

Today I cleaned my room and consolidated some of my stuff into boxes. I'm going to leave this home of mine in several months, and it's hard to get off my mind. Boxes are collecting in the corner, and I'm starting to get rid of a few small things now because I'll have to do it eventually.

I found 8x10's I printed that fall after Kolkata 2010. 2010. Nearly two years ago. I fear that summer will fade into my memory, till all I remember is the serene lake and the beautiful sunsets. Yet there is the sardine-packed trains and the ignorance and the fact that our friend Sandip ended his life last summer, unable to withstand the loss of his girlfriend who thought death was better than the arranged marriage she was about to be forced into.



Today I hand-wrote letters to Stockton's 8th graders, telling them they can finish high school and college. I don't tell them the odds are against them and that other districts have more resources than they do.

This is a fragment of a thought I don't want to forget

Think honestly about one's motivations for civic engagement and the importance of a humble, meaningful approach