Houseless. foundhome.

I find it funny that I have been more myself this week than I feel like I have been for a while. I was houseless for the week. Sleeping outside in the cold (woke up with snow falling softly on my face the first night). Asking other people for food. (No one ever refused). Spending a lot of time huddled. Spent a lot of time in public space (Whitworth makes me happy). And I laughed a lot. The things people said were truly funny. (perhaps due to a lack of sleep). We had a beautiful community of about 30 people (and some dropped out halfway through). We met every night to talk about the day. The good stuff. the bad stuff. Stories. the Happies and the Crappies. We napped in public places. Stole food from fancy Whitworth events. Some people sustained themselves by eating off the trays that people had deposited in SAGA. Once again: Beautiful. Our most pressing concern was always sleep. The warm places. The cool places. The soft places. The dark places. The windy places. the sheltered places. Some freshmen girls from Tiki took it upon themselves to bring hot water and cocoa and cider around midnight every night to whoever they could find.

We cuddled at night. For warmth of course. But it surprised me how much I miss having a body nearby when I sleep. I sleep so much more soundly (that might be due to how tired i was). Kristen my new friend was a very good snuggler. The last night i spooned with someone I probably shouldn’t have, but he and I have covered our asses and hopefully that won’t be turned into something bigger than it was (ps. it was truly nothing)

And then I came back to reality. or real life. or whatever you want to call this carefree warm world of dorms and cafeteria food whenever you want. I have my laptop again, freeing me to continue working on this paper past midnight when all the buildings on campus are closed. I slept in my bed last night. Wasted six hours of my life watching movies last night. Listened to my insecure roommate try to reestablish the old relationship with her boyfriend Tyler (who also did the houseless challenge). I have stopped loving her, I think. And I think if I was more servile, it would bother me more than it does.

I wasn’t super close to Jesus in the traditional ways this past week. In fact, I’m still somewhat disillusioned with his followers since spring break. But, I lived in the trust and knowledge that I would be taken care of. I read the sermon of the mount on Wednesday, and I smilingly understood when I read the part about the lilies of the field. Whether it was from an unspoken inherent dependence on God, or a knowledge that the sphere of the world I was inhabiting was truly safe, I did not fear during the week. I was fed by others. I was encouraged by others. My community and I grew together. And somehow that picture of the Kingdom was more than enough to sustain me, even without the vocabulary attached.

I don’t really like it back in the easy life. I want K-Jo to see more to life. Or maybe just for her to see it like I do. big smile, I know I’m biased sometimes. I am alive. I am treasured. I can laugh freely in Christ’s Kingdom. I am not dependent on boys or male approval or any of those other things (Katie Petitt and I decided that my relational hopes should be looking forward to SA since they have eluded me so far on campus. lol. i’m hoping that there is some magic formula that some male will have inhaled so that I will find him mature, non-awkward, passionate and more. KP has her David here, so I think she might live vicariously through my dreams)

That night we slept fitfully in her car, Katie and I talked about dreams, and disappointments, and hope. How good we are at having high expectations and being upset when they aren’t fulfilled. We talked about many things. It was good to see an independent mirror of my heart.

The days went by painfully slow, but looking back, were so incredibly full (of blessing). I still had classes, still had homework. It was slightly more awkward to try to do hw, but at least, I could always leave to a more quiet place. I was unapologetic about that sort of thing, unlike if I was in my own room.

On days when I had water aerobics in the morning, I carried my swimsuit with me, waiting for it to dry so I could put it back in my backpack with the rest of the stuff I was carrying. I spread my bright pink towel over the fake trees upstairs in the HUB, with my speedo one-piece awkwardly hanging underneath.

I did most of my homework on one of the two computers upstairs in the HUB. Near a circle of couches upon which, generally, one or two of us were napping at a time. There were piles of baggage whenever two or more of us had gathered together. We were also unapologetic about that. (interesting metaphor that I might extricate further) We easily shared the food that had been donated to our cause, and at the end of every meal period, we usually had leftovers. Duvall had a prayer labyrinth one night, and donated their leftover communion bread and grape juice to us. We had delicious Jesus for breakfast for the next two days.

It was easier for some to ask for food than others. Kyle Navis as of Thursday hadn’t asked for food once. Some people took up fasting, while others (myself included) ate more than we usually do in a week. I had two blatant requests for food. and one coffee begging. I asked this girl Caroline, who I vaguely know, to buy me a Luna bar for lunch one day, which she did, but was somewhat gracefully confused about. And I asked Josh to buy me a muffin (more to see if he would or not than for hunger reasons…. is that bad?) He bought the muffin reluctantly, and definitely took three bites out of it before he handed it over. Silly boy. Maybe I’m judging too harshly (I know, probably shouldn’t be judging at all), but that boy is selfish even in giving to hungry people he knows. And just to exonerate/sanctify myself further, I will add that I went back to our group huddled around the fireplace and shared that chocolate chip muffin with everyone there.

Another funny Josh story. On the first day I was sitting in Lied Square (the lobbyish area of the HUB), and Josh comes awkwardly out of SAGA (after passing me earlier without greeting) and asks if I’m doing the Houseless Challenge. I say that I am, and he thrusts a banana at me, then walks away quickly. I’m a little upset about this abrupt interaction, especially the lack of actual conversation, until I hear as he walks out the door “Hey! that’s my roommate!” Tyler had been completely snubbed and ignored, while I had only partially been. Apparently what I experienced was the perks of having dating the interesting character of Joshua Steven Jensen.

I think, if I wasn’t going to be in South Africa next year, I would try harder to be inconspicuous. I would try to see if I could get people to feed me without me telling them I was participating in the Houseless Challenge. I would come up with reasons for carrying my various articles with me, or I would bring less stuff, and just have a normal backpack. Or I would try the fast thing a little more.

I love Whitworth. I love that Communities in Crisis (the club that sponsored this event) exists. And that there are other people who are attracted to things like this, and that we can experience and attempt to understand together. It would be interesting to see how much further this could be taken. (While still understanding that homelessness is so much more than our one small vain attempt). With more time it would feel less like an adventure, less like a camping trip, and people would probably get tired of feeding us. we’d also probably figure out new shortcuts, get better at depending on each other, and grow even closer. We’d build more permanent structures. We’d smell even grosser. And I think it would be an even more breathtaking picture of how we’re supposed to live as Christians.

Race

White people suck man. like really.

I feel like this semester has primarily served to floor me with the great sins of my forefathers. Between The Autobiography of Malcolm X (by the way, really not that revolutionary. definitely played up substantially by the media. kinda like Rev Wright’s statements have been as of late), Native Son (by Richard White), and learning about the Black Atlantic world in Literature of the African Diaspora, I am truly ashamed to be white. I don’t think this is the intention of any of my teachers, nor the point of any classes. Lies My Teacher Told Me has also been instrumental in helping me see the ways I have been truly kept ignorant. We talk about racism a lot in my Multicultural American Lit class. It fits in quite well, with just about everything in life.

Even on campus, I’ve been much more aware of it.

And even if it isn’t blatant racism, theres still a lot of racism in the system, or else we wouldn’t look the way we do. My theory behind racism is that you should be interacting so personally with all the people around you, no races should be excluded, and you’ll know that you have truly succeeded when it takes a survey to tell you that there are no differences in the white and non-white experience wherever you are. that you wouldn’t know off the top of your head when someone asked you, you’d have to think about it, and then not be completely sure…

I don’t really have any other profound thoughts.

oh. to add to my first paragraph list:

in LAD, we’ve learned a bit about colonization of the African coast (and the religious colonization as well), the trans-atlantic slave trade, slavery in the states (including black slave-owners), the oppression that comes from the double conciousness of the black experience all over the Americas (not just US), and now we’re moving to South Africa to deal with Apartheid. Fucking white people. At least the apartheid is less divided along racial lines. Granted I doubt there were many pro-apartheid Black or Coloured protests, but at least there was white participation in the anti-apartheid movement.

And then the situations of the black ghettos… truly break my heart. well. maybe not truly. because even from reading from multiple perspectives, i doubt i even begin to grasp the correct concepts. or the complexities of it all. or the desperation that must ensue from hopelessness. shit man. shit. if i was less lazy i’d pull out some of the books i’m reading as to grab quotes.

i’m ready for some fighting. some protest. some Cause. Don’t know where I’m going. Don’t know where I’ll end up. Don’t know what will sweep me off my feet. Or if I’ll slowly fade into NormalLife, find NiceGuy, and settle down. i’m sure i’ll be loving people. probably working with kids. but is that settling?

next possible post: GENDER (and why i hate being female/being defined by ovaries/breasts)

i’m realizing this year, that i’m pretty crazy.

i know thats an unqualified statement that also qualifies as negative self-talk, but such things aside: I’m not very logical.

Here I am at a Christian college university. I really do love Jesus, i promise. I really do want to follow him and imitate him as well as I can. But I’m so negative about Christians so incredibly often. Its like I despise Christendom, but am a living breathing very real aspect of it. Its dumb of me. I don’t really like it. aaaand other people aren’t too fond of it either, I’m assuming.

Its like, post-Stuart, I don’t really have anything to hide any more. I don’t have something/one back home tearing me away from here. I don’t have someone to talk to every night on the phone and IM even more. I am fully here now. and I guess this summer I started hoping/dreaming/realizing that I had an opportunity this year to try so much more. To actually grow into whoever the heck I’ve been called to be. To grow up into Christ.  All these aspirations. And I’m realizing how incredibly short I fall again and again, even when I’m actually trying.

and then i get so caught up in being good enough that i forget about the whole love part of God.

thank you Jesus for Vintage Faith.  otherwise. i really don’t know where i’d gonna be.

whalalalalalalalla!

i dunno God.

answers to yesterdays questions were found in today’s reading of some bonhoeffer.

Self-denial is never just a series of isolated acts of mortification or asceticism.  It is not suicide, for there is an element of self-will even in that.  To deny oneself is to be aware only of Christ and no more of self, to see only him who goes before and no more the road which is too hard for us.  Once more, all that self-denial can say is; ‘He leads the way, keep close to him.”

“…and take up the cross.” Jesus has graciously prepared the way for this word by speaking first of self-denial. Only when we have become completely oblivious if self ate we ready to bear the cross for his sake. If in the end we know only him, if we have ceased to notice the pain of our own cross, we are indeed looking only unto him.

.

The cross is laid on every Christian.  … It is that dying of the old man which is the result of his encounter with Christ … Thus it begins; the cross is not the terrible end to an otherwise god-fearing and happy life, but it meets us at the beginning of our communion with Christ.  When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.  It may be a death like that of the first disciples who had to leave home and work to follow him, or it may be a death like Luther’s, who had to leave the monastery and go out into the world.  But it is the same death every time-death in Jesus Christ, the death of the old man at his call.

.

oh, well in that case. i’ll jump right on board the jesus train. lol.

i really am enjoying bohoeffer a lot. (not that i’m reading it for enjoyment, i think i might be struck down with the hatred he has for cheap grace if i said that.)    he’s so so intense. and i love it, cuz at least he’s legit. like. he died at age 39 in a nazi concentration camp. for doing exactly what he writes about. he’s so intense though. i read like 8 pages at a time. i just finished chapter 4. and he kinda just says it how he sees it. and he makes sense logically. and progresses from idea to deeper idea to deeper idea until you see yourself nodding to agreement to something that blows your mind completely if you try to see it actually applied to the world today.

i’m so interested in Christ as of late. Vintage (Spokane-church) is doing a series through mark (its lasting from last easter to this easter. i love my church) and its so good and intriguing and legit to just hear people talk about Jesus. like. the jesus christ actually in the Bible. Bonhoeffer does it too. (as much as i’ve read) his entire book just looks at encounters that jesus has with people with emphasis on those he calls to discipleship.  hence the title. the cost of discipleship.

.

i hate it when i get distracted half way through a blog. cuz now its not really concluded. but i lost my train of thought completely. plus its like 1:30 and i really need to go to bed.  sorry.

Important Papers

my mother has recently decided to go through a few boxes of papers. Files of “Important Papers” that have been sitting in their designated stack next to however many other stacks of “important papers” are being sorted through, and for the most part, ceremoniously disposed of. “whats the point of keeping this if i never look in the right place to find it anyway?”

so now, we have a few bags full of shredded paper, a recycle bin full of other papers slightly less secure, and a quarter of our kitchen floor is a few pages deep in the really important stuff. the folder from when my parents bought their first house in bakersfield, with all the stuff from when they ordered furniture from my grandpa. a phone list from “the young marrieds group”, most of whom i recognized and we’re still friends with. A whole lot of curriculum for various things, because apparently, before the whole internet phenomenon, you had to keep a copy of anything you found that you would want to use again ever.

I also received my fair share of parenting tips, through a variety of handouts and photocopied clippings that my mom had picked up throughout the years. I think I’ll do alright as a parent, whenever that day may be (not any time soon, lol). Working in the kindergarten class, and then babysitting for a two-year-old and her 10 month old brother has kinda made me kid hungry as of late. or maybe just kid appreciating.

Aside from the various drawings and stampings that had my name attached, and other than the growth chart from when i was a baby (I was one big baby, topside of the curve for the first 18 months), the most personal “important papers” i’ve seen all day have been things that my grandmother has written.

First I read an article she wrote about our good friend Marsha, who, although blind, can apparently play softball quite well, and also learned to folk dance from my grandmother, who the article goes on to explain, learned a great deal on articulating exact directions for Marsha. My grandma Lola’s writing style is so warming to read. She’s very exact and often puts notes in parentheses to better explain exactly what it was she meant (or explain extenuating circumstances). She also had a huge vocabulary.

The best thing I read today though, was written single spaced on orange paper and was about 4 pages long. It was my grandma Lola telling the life story of her beloved eduardo (my poppa ed). Their life together (mostly before they had kids) was one huge adventure over another. She was best friends with his sister Lucille, and they spent their early adulthood going from college to college teaching PE together, and apparently working at donut stores. Ed Owensby was in the army during World War II as a radio technician, staying in the states going from airfield to airfield. He would come visit his sister when he could, and started dating my grandma too.

Its so funny to read about them necking in hollywood bowl during Brahms. actually quite hillarious.

They dated for a really long time, whenever they could. After WWII ended, my grandpa took advantage of the GI Bill and was an academic loafer, studying in New Mexico, and then Mexico City. It was in Mexico City that they eventually got married, but even after that, my grandma came back to the states to teach and migrate with Lucille. It was like 2 years before they could figure out a way to live in the same city at the same time. Then they spent a few years in Europe together. Paris for the longest part, but they took trips all over together.

Throughout my gramma’s narrative, she inserts little excerpts from his letters to her. My mom says that one of the things that my grandma did after papa ed died was that she spent months transcribing all the letters that he had sent her. I’m kind of curious now, and I really want to read them.

I really kinda wish I hadn’t spent my whole life petrified by my grandma Lola. I know living a vagabond gypsy life has a tendency to be very fickle, and I know they had money shortages when older, but i want to know that “pepper” that my papa ed (whom i only vaguely remember in his pre-dementia stages, but according to my mother didn’t talk too much about the past any way) wrote so highly of.

Its funny, I think I really am a huge product of my four grandparents, even more than I am a product of my parents. Maybe a whole bunch of characteristics skipped a generation, but its more likely that my parents were like that too when they were younger, and have since gotten older and therefore more parental in my eyes.

I want a story like my grandmas. I want to adventure and do crazy things and travel and write letters and hope and dream. I want my boy to be a man and i want us to thrive in anything and everything, together and apart.

Might vs. Right

I just finished reading The Once and Future King, one thing i can positively attribute to the break-up is that i have a whole lot more free time, and can read lots and lots of books.

I cannot choose to hate. I cannot choose to play the bitch. I have to choose the highest road. I have to love.

Theres something about nobility, and theres something about goodness, and theres something about what is True, that has to win out in the end. And we’re all looking for it. As long as we’re brave enough to, I guess. I really wish Unitarianism didn’t feel so anti-Christian to me, because I feel like theres a lot of nobility and honesty in their aims.

And in the midst of all my dreams and hopes and attempts at Love, still life goes on, and still America goes on. That Seventies Show just came on, “we’re all alright, we’re all alright”, so much culture, so much numbness. So many opportunities not to care. I do it all the time.

I think one of my biggest self-lessons is that I’m just as bad as anyone else. I don’t really care about the environment, because I’d still much prefer driving adventures to sitting at home not killing the air. I’d much prefer buying mindless crap for peoples birthdays because I love them, even if Target has horrible working conditions. I’m all for greater governmental powers imposing limits, and changing laws, but when it comes down to individual choices, I don’t really care all that much. I do the easy stuff. Doesn’t everyone?

I’m a jealous bitch. Just the same as basically every girl on the planet, i’m pretty sure. I don’t have the patience. I’m full on envy and pride and i boasted every chance I got about how wonderful i thought my boy was. I’m not pure. My love isn’t pure. This is love towards anyone, not just a someone. I’m scared of being hurt, I put up walls, I don’t generally tell the whole truth, and I always change my story based on who I’m speaking to. and i think everyone does too. I’m scared and I’m jealous. Mostly, I’m scared of being left alone.

something about TH White though, he seems to believe, that if you work hard enough, and try long enough, if you lead the way, by intentionally trying, in Goodness, it will come. and Life will be better. But in the end Arthur is sacrificed. Chivelry is sacrificed. The Round Table destroyed by baseless humanity. Humanity thats just so damn scared of being hurt again that it takes everything it can down with it.

Today I wrote, in as many places as possible, “boys are dumb, then they leave” i chanted it in my head over and over again. and part of me is so so so convinced that its true. that no matter what happens, I’ll never be enough. or i’ll be just enough for sometimes. That Jesse, my dad, Logan, and Stu will be continually coming close enough to raise my hope, and then theyll leave again. So i won’t ever be able to let go, just continue a list, and cry when they hurt me again. this whole paragraph was unfair. I want to keep writing, so i’m just going to leave it, and hope that it doesn’t kill my thought process.

I hope, someday, that we get it. That we stop have multiple intentions, that we stop using each other, that we come truly into our own, and that we shine in it. That we would find ourselves. That humanity would realize itself, and its potential. That it would stop having boundaries, that it wouldn’t want what wasn’t its own (i know thats a contradiction, but like think about it in context of theres more than enough to go around. You don’t have to share whats your own if theres enough for everyone to have their own)

Sometimes, I’m really good at being full of love. and full of grace, and still speaking Truth. Sometimes I’m really good at seeing it, holding it, knowing things for what they are, the good and the bad, and still being ok with them.

Sometimes though, those wounds get to me. And I hurt so bad. And sometimes I deal with them the more right way, but most of the time, I just lash out. and I try to make people understand how bad this hurts, in the context of me, in the context of the world, even in the context of what is Right, and what Should be done. Sometimes I don’t use words though. Sometimes I just talk to their friends, and share my side of the story. Sometimes I just do cruel things, just to make them hurt half as much as I hurt inside.

Because somewhere along the way, no matter how hard I tried, my heart didn’t harden. And somewhere along the way, I was chosen, and my heart was redeemed, and I’m not nearly as bitter as I want to be. Maybe everyone does this, but I hope not, because if they have, and the world is this screwed up, theres really no hope.

People are human, and they screw up, and they hurt each other.

i think it finally hit home today.

he’s gone.

our talk won’t ever come.

we’ll drift and drift.

and someday, so much sooner than id like, we’ll meet, and smile, and laugh, and he’ll introduce his new girlfriend. and she’ll be sweet and nice, and i’ll probably be truly be happy for him. and i’ll be one of his many exgirlfriends. a good one though. not a crazy one. some odd form of consolation that he gave me, before i realized that i would need.

i hope she grows him up. i hope he becomes her man and lives out what he could be. and i hope he treasures her for everything shes worth. i hope he becomes more whole, and more alive. that he would find Life, and live it. i hope she matters to him as much as he tells her that she does.  and that if he promises, he thinks about it first.
and me? i hope i never do this again. i’ll live my own life, as i always secretly knew (or have been afraid?) that i would. and i will live on my own, and maybe do the single mom thing, adopt or gasp have my own. maybe i’ll heal enough to get married. that thought scares me so incredibly much right now, you have no idea.

and who knows, maybe i’ll find another adventure buddy. maybe i’ll find a dreamer. maybe i’ll find an artist. maybe i’ll find a worthy people-caring politician or diplomat. maybe i’ll find a radical jesus lover who’ll lead me in that way.  maybe.

but even if i do, i don’t know what would stop me from living the exact same life as my mother. i don’t comprehend how people stay together, for the rest of their lives. i don’t know how they don’t get bored. how they are still wanted after however many years. how you can be sure that that someone that you say yes to, will still want you after all those years, that you’ll be enough for one another.  how is anyone ever that sure?

i know this is a depressed/crying entry. i’m sure i’ll heal more soon. or eventually. i know its not really as bad as it feels right now.

that knowledge really isn’t helping though.

i really hate crying.

I am not white.

Today, we had the area director for northern spokane come to our Young Life class, his name is James Jones, and he came to talk about multicultural ministry. He’s also this 240 pound black man. He talked about a lot of things, and one of the activities he had us do, was he had a list of 40 “indicators for success”, the more things on the list that you have, the more likely you are to succeed in life. They were also things that would typicially happen in a middle-upper class family. (my interpretation). Just to reiterate, I go to Whitworth College, a private school in Spokane WA thats pretty homogenously white upper class.

james started reading off the list, and for every thing he said that you identified with, you would take a step forward. everyone went pretty far across the floor. one guy had 39/40.

i didn’t. it kind of made me laugh though, because for a while, i’ve just been wanting to proclaim to the world “look at Me. I am different. see Me, who I am” and then tonight, I didn’t take as many steps as basically everyone else in the room. I went to a high school where the majority of people spoke a different language than i speak in my home, the majority of the teachers were a different color than me. my grocery store (by my house) doesn’t sell my favorite kinds of food (all things hispanic). and all these things.

And afterwards, it hit me. I am ME. I am who I have chosen to be, and I am beautiful in Christ. But I got to make those choices, I got to choose to live the way that I did in High School, and I loved it. But at the same time, with the society the way it is, that social mobility doesn’t exist for all social classes. its so ridiculous how many stereotypes and thoughts that you don’t even think exist, but they do.

James gave us a list of scripture, and one stuck out at me. Galatians 3:28 “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus”

And thus, starting today, I am not white any more. I refuse to let a stupid thing that i have no control over control what people think of me. I will not think of all Whitworth people as stupid upper class ignorant fools because they are white. (yes, i was getting to that point in my head). I will hang out with people who have a global perspective in life, because I like to find out more things in the world. I will drink wine with the international students, relaxing listening to reggae, not because i think i have to to fit in (i don’t. at all) but because thats what I want to do. because I think that is a part of the future Me.

I will stop wishing I was Hispanic. I will stop wishing I was African, I will stop wishing I had dated Josh so I would appear more multicultural. I will stop trying to reclassify what “white” means in the context of myself.

I will be Me. and I don’t even know who that is yet. but sometimes I have a vague inkling. And I will be Loved and Accepted by the people who matter. And I will love irregardless. I will love extravagently. I will love radically. but most importantly, I will love.

For now at least, I know.

I know that I have written this many times before. And I know that I will write this many times again. But I guess, my hope is, that in me writing it down this time, I will remember just a little longer, than I remembered the time before.

I want to go to Africa. I want to address inequalities.

Although I enjoy debates in my International Organizations class, and I am incensed by the racial inequalities in the country where I live now, nothing makes me cry like Africa.

I am very justice oriented. I do not think it is fair that I was born in an upper-middle class family and am now attending a private Christian college. I did nothing to deserve that. I am who I am, partly from my own striving to become who I want to be, but also partly because that is who society has shaped me to be, and partly because that’s who God needs me to be.

My best friend Gillian gave me a placard for Christmas this year that reads “She believed she could, so she did”. My aunt Tracy gave me a card when I left for school with a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson “Be not the slave of your own past- plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience, that shall explain and overlook the old.”

On and off, I’ve been enchanted with the idea of abandoning everything. Of joining a community in an impoverished part of a town, and just living there, loving people. It still sounds wonderful, but as much as certain policies piss me off in America, people don’t die by the thousands of preventable diseases daily here. Even in my proposed living area, I would not be surrounded by that drastic reality.

Shaine Claiborne is very convincing, and I still might follow his footsteps for a few years. Maybe a few months, just so that I will know.

But I do not think that my heart will let me live my life without also looking at Jena Lee. Without seeing Bono. Without reading Jeffrey Sachs. Sustainable development in third-world countries. Drinkable water for God’s sake. For God’s sake. That is really what its about. How Can I Not?

I don’t understand it. I don’t like it. It breaks my heart.

And this is how I know, for now at least, without any qualms or doubts. That I have to be a part of the solution.

In the meantime I will continue trying to save electricity, ride the city bus, recycle, and turn my printer off when its not in use. But I do that because its easy and theres no good reason not to. I do kinda want a world around in 20 years for me to continue saving. J

But until then, I will keep praying. And I will keep hoping. And I will keep loving. Because that is really all we can do without something bigger to hop onto.

Shaine Claiborne

Tonight, I left my Leadership Development in Ministry class early, well, we did as a large group, and we went to the packed multipurpose room in the HUB, to hear Shaine Claiborne speak. He was this amazing speaker. it just made you smile, listening to him. I love hearing passionate people speak, you can just hear it in their voices.

I almost wish i had taken notes, because sitting here, i’m at a loss at where to begin. or even exactly what he said. he talked about his time in Iraq. He went with a team of doctors, nurses, and other people, to tell Iraqis, that not all Americans support their lives being bombed. That some Americans believe in love, above “patriotism” and “freedom”. that love wins. They were in Baghdad, and the US would bomb every night. They would go to the sites the next morning, and just try to help out, and to love on people.

Wow. I really do want to go out and change the world even more now. I kinda also want to live in  a ghetto even more now. Just for a little. Or maybe the rest of my life.

I left this post half written, and i kinda lost my train of thought and inspiration…

so hopefully i will restart writing on this more.

i kinda just stopped there for a while.