Drumbeats

The Rotted Rug

2005-04-12T15:49:00.000-07:00

I am overwhelmed today and yesterday and perhaps tomorrow. The city of Angeles overwhelms me. I do not always understand how or why it does. I am in my thirteenth week of L.A. Term, with only two and a half weeks left. In some ways I have made friends with the city and wish now the semester would start again. It took so long to find my footing that only now do I understand better how I fit and where God is on these dirty, gum covered streets. The hardest part is figuring out what being a follower of Christ looks like in this place. Who is my neighbor here on these streets... The lawyer in the gospel of Luke wanted to know who his neighbor was and Jesus told him the story of the good Samaritan. Who was the neighbor? The lawyer was forced to answer "The one who showed mercy toward him." And Jesus said to him, "Go and do the same". There are so many here who are broken, troubled, hopless, addicted, ragged, and lost. They are in need of mercy and compassion but I cannot give mercy to all and yet I hardly have opportunity to show mercy and love to any. In a way, it is easy to think of needy people in romantic terms. The two man drunk on the corner are happily singing songs in slurred voices and seem to be focused on finding happiness in their current state. Some just want change or sandwhich to get through the day and nothing more. They no longer look for a way out.

Still there are others. The poor and immigrant is my neighbor. They live in the apartments and buildings, holes and rooms that I would never dream of staying in. They geninuely appreciate any offer of help that would help them and their families live and eat that week. I threw away a faded dirty rug that had been sitting outside on the pourch for at least two weeks. It was rotted and dirty on one side and I finally delicately picked it up and threw it away in my garbage can. Three hours later I went to thow the kitchen garbage out and the rug was gone... It is one thing to think of your neighbor as a theoretical needy individual that you may run into someday. It is quite another to realize that someone nearby is eeking by and surviving day by day, week by week. Someone that would notice that either was watching what I threw away and scampered to claim it for themeselves or someone that made a regular stop to sift through my garbage can for items that they could use. All I know is that someone nearby is probably handwashing the dried faded green, dirty, partially-rotted rug to put on their floor. My neighbor needed my rotted rug...

Random Thoughts...

2005-03-15T12:35:00.000-08:00

I am reminded of the wise Hindu insight into the human mind. Seeking to meditate (or in my case just focus) the Hindu says the mind is like a monkey in a cage. No like a drunken monkey in a cage. Even more the mind is like a drunken monkey madly dancing and screeching in a cage. Oh so true. My mind jumps from one thing, then the next, then the next back to the beginning and leaps off again. So John wants a stream of consciousness…That’s assuming there is a stream or continuity of some kind. Nope there is no continuity here.

Carrying Dorthy and Wendy in My Heart

2005-03-15T12:33:00.000-08:00

Last week I found out that candles can carry more than light. O.K. so candles are used by the Catholics, the Buddhists, the New Age movement and more. Candles lend themselves to something deeper under the surface. For me the flickering candle commemorated my grief. The flame stood solemnly in a space, seeming to somehow mark a place and time and capture my grief. I was in a meeting and we had to move on eventually and speak of other things. Yet, a part of me stayed at the candle sitting beside it with head bowed. The candle commemorated and marked my loss, it testified somehow to the grief and the loss of my two friends. I was able to function and be engaged in other things without the grief raging beneath the surface threatening to break through. When you lose someone, it feels like life should standstill for just an hour or maybe less. Life in America demands that you continue on and fulfill your obligations when all you want to do inside is fall to your knees and wail until you have no more voice left. The candle somehow stands in solemn memory and stops time. A part of me sits at the candle and can grieve while the rest of me is able to fulfill my dorky obligations and write a paper on the latest religion. Normally, I would be interested in these things but in the face of death none of it seems to matter much. The candle will burn for now.

Snapshots in the Journey

2005-02-27T22:00:00.000-08:00

A little later but better than never. I think with this post I may be back on schedule with my blogging.
There are so many experiences, thoughts, feelings, impressions, meditations and experiences in the process of one week it is always a challenge to choose which ones best represent my experiences here.

Snapshot One:
Is me standing on the steps of the Hindu temple looking at the white building and manicured grounds with mixed feelings of interest, expectancy and dread. Last week I learned that I was above all a kinesthetic learner. This explains why I felt a sense of expectancy because I value greatly the opportunity to see the temple and dialogue face to face with Hindu believers. To me it is a one in a life time experience to climb the steps of a Hindu temple with a Hindu believer and take time to hear their opinions and understand their journey. On the other hand I am so often troubled and grieved by witnessing deeply sincere and religious people chase after a state being that will not materialize as advertised. We walked into the Hindu sanctuary and I was very interested to see how it was laid out but my interest turned to alarm. When I stepped into the room I smelled the incense and turned to take a seat in one of the chairs and I suddenly felt as though something was sitting on me and could not draw a deep breath. I tried to tell myself that it was in my head but as I continued to try and draw oxygen I had to breath in quick shallow breaths as the weight would not lift. Looking around no one else seemed bothered but I had a difficult time concentrating on the presentation.

Snapshot Two:
J. Is sitting across from me with a colorful mixture of white and red on the corner of his mouth from the sloppy hamburger he is eating. I took my friend J. To the library on Tuesday and as a reward I took him out for a burger. Inadvertently, I have my friend trained, he has come to understand that I carry my debit card and rarely cash. If we need to buy something like a burger, bus pass, or umbrella he will shoot into the store ahead of me and ask if they take VISA. I enjoy the perplexed look on the clerks faces as they take look down at the little kid. A funny and fun friendship is forming and I think he is starting to believe that I am here to support and encourage him. In homework, typing and computer work he still has trouble staying on task for more than two minutes but now will submit to my encouragement to refocus. I hope he will stick the typing program out because it has lost some of its glamour and he sees how much work it will take. One of J's biggest issues is his lack of patience. I know that is typical for kids his age but I feel it perhaps is the most important far reaching issues I can work with him on (wash-on, wash-off Danielson). He has to learn to be patient with himself.

Snapshot Three:
I am clutching my extra tall cup of coffee with at least a quarter cup of low carb flavored creamer (yeah babe!) while sitting on the floor with my friend Jis. We finally started our official Bible study of sorts and it went absolutely splendid. I felt disorganized, flustered, unprepared, and irritated with life in general but once I got there it seemed to click that this was part of Jesus sovereign plan and the peace of the Lord settled. The meeting was only supposed to last strictly 1 hour because of homework and other things but we ended up talking for 2 and a half hours. We just read out of Beth Moore's book Breaking Free From Spiritual Strongholds and talked about what we thought and were convicted by. It was such a normal and easy going time. I already am mourning the fact that our time is short. Arrgg. My prayer is that the time will be stuffed full of God and his purposes for us and the time will seem to stretch out.

My final thought is lingering from a wonderful speaker that came to class Friday. He brought a timely word, but left us with one thought. "God is speaking...what is he saying?"

Streams of Consciousness

2005-02-21T21:46:00.000-08:00

Well it has been quite some time since my last post. Things have been a little busy and complicated and sometimes I don't feel like writing since I am often writing. I write papers, I write journals and I write in another journal and then I blog. Hey sometimes I'm just tapped out folks! So from today's post forward I will occasionally post completely random thoughts and experiences that are funny, sad and sometimes delving deeper in reflection, just to break things up bit. Enough said.
The Mocha That Wasn't...
I am what is known as an LA Term student. Which means that I am one in a group of Azusa Pacific students cavorting around Los Angeles, absorbing problems, researching solutions and generally sticking out. This last week we (as in the group of us) decided it would be fun to have a book club or poetry reading or something that would allow us to hang out and chat about something other than school. After much deliberation we decided to meet on Saturday at the coffee shop on Lavera street (sp?) and bring our favorite poems and books to read to each other. I headed out at 5:00 to meet at 5:30. O.K. a little aside here. Public transportation is so not conducive for scheduling and generally trying to have a life... Anyway I arrived at the coffee shop a little worse for wear, four miles and an hour later. I climbed the steps to the little shop and found my dear friends Laura and Alisha as the only occupants. The little coffee shop is really quite fabulous as a hangout. Being on Lavera street it has an appropriately Hispanic/ranch motif. Spanish blankets are used as tablecloths and the furniture is of a rustic wood design. Latin music plays underneath the unmistakable sound of milk being heated for an espresso drink. It was wonderful. After chatting briefly with my friends I decided that a double shot mocha would be perfect to ward away the chill and complement the whole poetry reading experience. Poetry, coffee and chocolate are a no-brainier divine combination. I scooted back and went to order the drink from the man at the coffee counter. Looking at the little card menu I spotted a listing for a "banana mocha". I have never had a banana mocha but always wanted to try one. I smiled at the man and asked for a banana mocha made with soy milk. He smiled back and said they were out of bananas... I blinked. Usually flavored mochas are made with syrup, but OK. Maybe real banana is better? He said their shop used organic and natural ingredients and I was like, "great". I said a regular mocha would be fine (I just want a coffee!). He responded by offering to put some fresh strawberries in it instead. Hmmm. I shrugged and said that sounded good. He set to work and told me he would bring it when it was ready. Then he got out a blender pitcher. I stopped and asked "it's a coffee in it right?" "Yes" he said. Feeling a little confused and uneasy I went back to my table. Several minutes later he shouted over and asked if I wanted ice cream since I had soy... I had a sinking feeling. I told him that no, I wouldn't like ice cream in it and thanked him for asking. I raised my voice and asked "It has coffee right?" He nodded another yes. At this point I'm pretty sure he has missed my request for a hot mocha and is making a blended mocha, though I'm do not know how this has happened. I'm also pretty sure I don't care anymore and a subconscious part of my mind is trying to hit the escape or alt+F4 part of this interaction. He continues puttering and a few more minutes pass. No mocha iced, steamed or blended appears. About six to ten minutes later he yells and asks if I want whip cream. I see a pink mixture in a glass on top of the counter. In my mind I tell myself that it looks dark enough to contain coffee. I indicate no and he slaps a top on the glass and brings it over. He tells me that he has never made this kind of mixture before and has poured some for himself to make sure it tasted good. I blink again (what am I supposed to say to that!?). After he turns his back I sip delicately on the beverage. Wait for it...Yup that's right! I am drinking blended soy milk with strawberry. I moan. It contains no coffee. I should have backed the truck up at the question of adding fresh strawberries. Oh well. The drink was good but I still do not get how I ordered a mocha and ten minutes later ended up with strawberries and milk. I look on the experience with great fondness. I have named the encouter "The Mocha that wasn't". Now I just have an intense desire to go back and try and order a mocha again to see what will happen!

The Door to the Kingdom

2005-02-08T08:44:00.000-08:00

Prayer is sometimes like stepping off a subway into the stillness found in the concrete platform late at night. The subway takes off again but you remain standing there, life is the subway car. Or perhaps prayer is like the stillness Lucy found in the chronicles of Narnia when pushing through the heavy wood door of the coat closet, she found herself in another world. The snow is falling gently and a soft light is cast from the lone street lamp. Not to say that prayer is always peaceful, beautiful or gentle but there is a part of my being that knows it has entered the kingdom of God and Aslan is near. Alisha and I finally managed to find a time and last Thursday morning we sat down to pray. It felt awkward at first a bit but then as we sang a few songs the Holy Spirit showed up and rested with us. We poured out our hearts and took turns expressing our sorrows and grief and people that we had begun to carry in our hearts. At some point it felt to me that we had passed through the coat closet door and were being carried along in his hands. Along with feeling wonder and God's consistent graciousness I always feel a bit silly. Here I think that prayer is my idea or that lifting up our cares to him is my responsibility. Instead I find once again that it was really God's idea. He gives us the heart of compassion the desire to seek his face and the revelation of his character to know that he is listening.

As we prayed we found that God had begun speaking the same things to us, we had burdens for different people, but discovered that the Holy Spirit had already weaved the tapestry of our burden and cry for help. In the coming week I had the incredible priviledge to see him set to work, acting on those very prayers. God gave me love for the kids at Esperonza and I find myself opening my hands to grab hold of theirs and find the key hole in their hearts that will cause them to see they are precious. I am only following Kristen lead. She amazes me with her quick humor and boundless mercy for the students under her care. One moment they may be deliberately ignoring or fighting her and the next calling for help and overcome with tears. She stays with them not distracted or putt off by their unruliness. Then just last night God opened another door with Jis and J. Last night I had I did not know why I had a burden to help little J. or found such connection with Jis Now I know the purpose of my time here and direction that God is heading. Abba is so unbelievably faithful, kind, and loving. He is moving to respond the to the cry of his people and allows me to come alongside him with my little shovel and take part. Jis and I are going to start a short little Bible study and explore what the scripture says about women in the kingdom of God. I am excited to see what comes next around the corner of this journey. One this is for sure, I know Jesus is waiting there!

The First Encounter

2005-01-27T21:47:00.000-08:00

You try to be ready. You try to not be nieve. You try and brace yourself but it doesn't work. Walking out the front door for the first time in the heart of Los Angeles I was completely overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the things I saw, overwhelmed by the things I smelled and overwhelmed by the condition of the street. In the first ten minutes I saw four broken T.V.s, two broken couches a dead kitten and random trash strewn everywhere. I don't know what I found more discouraging the depressed state of living or my own reaction to it.
Now at the close of my third week in the city of Angeles I don't see the trash anymore and the smell of oil, garbage and urine is not quite as strong. I stand out on the street and constantly catch people watching me as I cross their path. I am one of five white people (that I know of) living in the neighborhood and it is strange to know I am a minority. In someways I welcome the change because people do notice me and can't figure out quite what I am doing here. Seeing me here I know I defy the sterotypes for my race. Now classes, homework and internships have begun and who knows where this road will lead. My hope is that in the coming weeks I will not become enamored with trouble and despair but learn to hear the drumbeats, the thump of God's heart in this place.

First Entry...Uhhhh

2005-01-25T11:12:00.000-08:00

APU Student lost in LA. Trying to comprehend the enviornment and people.