Buenas Noches Mexico

So broken, so torn, so angry and confused.

These men are human, just like me and you, full of anguish from their pasts and hardened by fear and bitterness. Yet drawn together in unity. Searching for love and acceptance. For family. These men, even boys, are searching for love and they’ve found it in the gangs. And if that’s the only place they’ve found it, I cry harder. Where is the body of Christ that embodies love, that exemplifies acceptance, that showers a grace that leads to repentance. Where are their families? Their teachers? Their friends? Who inspires them to make the world a better place? Oh how different it would be if those were present, but the reality is that our world is broken, and much of what should be is absent. Jesus, my heart cries out. It breaks. It longs to give them a way out. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. The dozens of people killed, the gallons of innocent blood spilled. All in the name of the gang. The violence is overwhelming and I pray for their families, of both the victim and the killer. I pray for both the destroyed and the destroyer. For what’s truly at work is the Destroyer. Driving them to this madness. But do they know anything else? Do they even have the possibility to make it out alive? I don’t pretend to know, to understand, what drives people to gangs, how they work, or the frame of mind they operate in, but I do know this. It’s darkness. And under that blanket of darkness lies A deep and desperate child, defenceless and damned by everyone around.

Where is the ground? The firm foundation? The light that brings restoration? God I know you can. I know you are so powerful that you can even change the darkest heart of stone. Your grace has the power to flow and wash away the black dirt to reveal the frightened flesh beneath. You have the power to heal. To bring even the fiercest leader of a gang to his knees. And I pray for that. For your glory to be shown in that. That the worst of sinners drowns in your grace and love and acceptance and the radical change is inexplicable. Being lifted out of the hell he lives in and into your marvellous light. In Jesus name, I know it’s possible, so I pray that it becomes a reality.

The Power of a B

Maybe mom was right

Maybe I should have gotten a B

Maybe it would have better prepared me

Maybe mom was right

Maybe it wasn’t all a good thing that everything came fairly easy for me

Maybe I needed the exposure mentally

Maybe I should have gotten a B

I’ve had a life that’s been pretty easy, with things going quite smoothly,

Maybe I should have gotten a B

It’s a struggle, maybe a struggle that’s unnecessary, but I’m just gonna be blunt.

I’m not used to difficulty, for things to be a challenge for me.

I’m used to being at the top. At least academically. I’m used to at least being decent at whatever I try. And it’s my pride that hates not being the best. That needs affirmation of my abilities. It’s my pride that wants to be the best at everything I do and gets frustrated when I’m not.

Maybe mom was right.

Maybe it would have been better if I had been humbled earlier, if I would have experienced difficulty in the things that matter to me.

Maybe life would be different, easier even, if I had gotten a B

But that’s not how it went. So now I struggle. I struggle with the reality that I’m not good at everything and will never be. With the reality that other people are better than me. And that that’s okay. I need to come to terms with that or my hunger for affirmation and proving myself will kill me from the inside out. And that hunger blinds me to the things I’m actually gifted in, the abilities I should be humbly rejoicing in.

Mom, maybe you were right.

So good thing Paul is getting enough Bs for the both of us J

February 7, A New Year.

It’s almost unrecognizable. Almost un-identifiable. Almost unbelievable. Almost. When the new year comes, the people go. They go home. They go back to their hometowns. Back to where they were grown into the people they are today. They take a break, a rest, a respite from the intense pressure and pace of work to be. Be home. Be with friends. Be with family. Yes, it may seem strange to me that they just go home for a week and watch TV, but who am I to say there must be production involved in a festival. No one, that’s who. For in China, they go home to do what they do. Dumplings, fireworks, red. Red blessings, red envelopes, red everything. Red envelopes that are quite fun on wechat, and I’m sure even more fun in real life when the older folks give you one and that’s where the money’s at. Red to scare away the nian, the bad spirits after cleaning the house to sweep them out. Red blessings around the door. And noise. Loud noises to keep the bad out. Fireworks on all sides, a 360 degree enveloping of the booming sounds that rattle in your chest and the colors and streaks in the sky that don’t let anyone rest. No, not tonight. For tonight begins the year of the monkey. The year that we keep wishing for good fortune, success, luck. They year that we grow and live in expectation of what’s to come. What’s to meet them on this side. But they don’t come back to Beijing until it’s over. So the once insanely fast paced and crowded and busy city is now left a ghost town. Streets empty, stores closed and cleaned out, people gone. It’s almost unrecognizable. Almost un-identifiable. Almost unbelievable. Almost.

Fishbowl.

What would it be like to be on the outside looking in. Switching places with someone who hasn’t been immersed in this subculture all their life. What must they think as they watch us live. What are their thoughts on what we believe, what are their reactions to the lives we lead, the decisions we make, the paths we take. It’s easy to stay within the fishbowl when it’s all you’ve ever known, but true solidarity and growth comes when you can see past the glass into a world of differences or heaven forbid even shatter that bowl and live life as the water spreads out in all directions, permeating the outside. What must it be like.

Reality check.

That’s the sad reality.

That violence happens.

Domestic violence happens.

And people just walk by on the other side of the road.

It doesn’t affect them anymore. They don’t seem to be upset by this injustice. They simply gawk as they quickly walk by.

How many injuries- mental, emotional, physical-could be avoided if we stood up for human dignity. If we spoke out against the injustice that we see everyday. What would happen if we came to the aid of the widows and fatherless, the weak and forgotten, the exploited and abused? I pray that our hearts of stone would be shattered and we would be able to feel again. To be moved by what we are surrounded by. Moved to action. To live in solidarity and stand up for our fellow humans. Not walk right by in search of peace for myself, turning away from the preventable pain that’s right beside me.
That is what we are called to do after all.