After the hustle and bustle of an exam-filled week, the students here at B.G.I.S. have now completed all their assignments and final grades are being recorded. Our last day of school is next Wednesday, a half-day, which will consist of nothing more than an extremely tiring and drawn-out series of productions and presentations for the Kindergarten graduation. This school is extremely unique in several of the ways they do things- certain procedures, protocols, etc.; and honestly, I find it rather entertaining and nothing less than confusing that the last day of the school year is dedicated to nothing other than the Kindergartners graduating. For an entire year, I've seen the Kindergarten class possibly a total of 2 times as a whole. They wander onto the school's campus an hour and 1/2 after school has begun, eat a bunch of snacks, run around in a circle from time to time, and leave before we are dismissed from school each day. And now, the entire school, grades 1-9 will perform various acts in celebration that the youngest tikes of the school have completed their school year. So, my year of teaching grades 3-9 all comes down to a celebration of tiny little students I've never even met, and better yet, we get to sing and dance for them as these mother-goose-loving strangers parade around in their cap and gown regala celebrating their completion of coloring inside the lines.
AWESOME. so, so awesome.
I'm not trying to sound overwhelmingly pesimisstic about this joyous jubilee; rather, I'm just taking it from the realist perspective, honestly and openly admitting that it's absurdity at it's finest. Tiny tikes in gowns or not, Wednesday is our last day of school, and my heart couldn't be more content. Though the challenges have been trying, the ups have have up, and the downs have been down, this year truly has been the greatest year of my existence. So many different aspects of myself have been stretched, and pulled, and twisted in various directions this year that I've somehow come to accomplish things I never thought possible.
As I was punching out at the timeclock yesterday, Pastor Mike asked me if I'd miss Thailand. I honestly didn't know what to say. I feel like my eyes have been so fixed on the prize of returning to my American nest and comfort that the idea of 'missing' Thailand hasn't really entered my mind. I quickly manuevered my emotions through the idea, and responded that I'll undoubtedly miss some of the people- the students with their unique minds and personalities, I'll miss my new community of friends from Newsong (my church here,) and a few trainers I met at my gym here- but I don't know if I'll 'miss' Thailand as a place to live. Transportation is very affordable (pro). Everything is very affordable (BIG pro). The Thai lifestyle is rather depressing (con). The pollution of Bangkok is smothering (con). Everyday feels like a slight emotional struggle (serious con). Therefore, yes- the people I've met over the past year will be missed, but as for Buddha, temples, rice, and dirty, sewage-covered sidewalks- I say I've had my fill for now.
Though I will not be returning to America with an impressive fluency of the Thai langauge, or flashy craftsman skills in basket-weaving, jewelry-making, or of traditional Thai cooking methods, I will be returning to America with much appreciation.
Appreciation for a year survived.
Appreciation for God's protection when I very well should have died a few times (sorry, mom)
...effective communication
...the people God has so lovingly brought into my life.
...the opportunity to try something out-of-the-ordinary.
...the fact that I lived on my own in Asia for an entire year.
...ethnic cuisine
...train tickets
...random bits of the English language that made me feel at home
...scooters
...ten-baht pieces
...a sense of completion
...newfound contenment
...spontaneous trips to countries I never knew anything about prior to coming here
...guesthouses
...handmade Valentines
...random pizza parties with 10 year olds
...nights with nothing but a quiet, empty apartment, a notebook and a pen
...free fruit samples
...the warm smiles of the 7-11 ladies
...a 'dirty' passport
...international phone cards
...The US Postal Service
...calendars
and anticipation for..
...hugging my mom
...warm water
...the chance to sit on a couch for the first time in a year
...a soft mattress
...a dryer
...people over 5ft tall
...the radio
...driving
...highways
...Walmart
...sidewalks
...fresh air
...mountains
...English
...English
...English
...friends
...reunions
...and most of all..my family.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
numerically challenged
Asia has morphed me into a slighty obsessive and perpetual counter.
No one, no thing, no being, could ever be further away from being considered "mathematically minded," however, this year in Thailand has transformed my genetics into something-someone, I've never known.
It all started upon my arrival in the land of smiles. Hello, currency conversion.
Rather than thinking in single-digit US dollar prices, things had to become more complicated. 31 Thai baht=1 US dollar.
Inconvient? I'd say so. Try pricing anything...a coffee, a movie ticket, a head of lettuce at the grocery story, a pack of gum, a can of coke in American money..and then, simply just multiply by..oh..you know..31! Afterall, didn't you memorize your 31's tables in elementary school?
Throughout my International travels over the past year (Indonesia, Singapore, Vietnam,) I've dealt with this currency conversion with ease. Though, upon arrival in Vietnam, I mistakenly withdrew only $10 from the ATM when I really was expecting $100. Simple math error. Afterall, it's just one digit. I should at least get partial credit for effort if I show my work, right?
The counting progressed.
This progression has taken somewhat of a cancerous state as in the counting has spread to several aspects of my life. When in a hurry and on my own, I count steps (usually stairs).
52 steps from the skytrain to the lower platform.
8 steps (when skipping a stair) to climb to the Mo Chit skytrain.
18 stairs to get to my apartment.
102 steps from my apartment to the sidewalk.
This is a plague. Disregard what you've heard of the bird flu. No birds here.
Just numbers. And lots of them.
But, no no..it doesn't stop here.
I've even been prone to count a certain number of objects when in a crowded area.
For example, when waiting for a cab, I count how many pink taxis pass by- or, depending on the mood, maybe I'll even count only the green taxis. Or, possibly, tally as many people I see wearing white shirts- and sometimes, to humor myself, how many transexuals I see walk by (that one is always entertaining). Really I just like to switch it up...ya know, keep everyone guessing. And, what do I do with such useful information? Nothing. Nada. When I reach my quota (usually try to make it to some number divisble by 25,) I decide to move on to a new object to count, or, Lord willing, another hobby to occupy my crazed mind.
Though counting stairs, taxis, outfits, and transexuals is nothing but a complete waste of time- there is one countdown that I will not give up on, nor consider anything short of extremely crucial to my existence-
38 days until my plane leaves Bangkok for America.
No one, no thing, no being, could ever be further away from being considered "mathematically minded," however, this year in Thailand has transformed my genetics into something-someone, I've never known.
It all started upon my arrival in the land of smiles. Hello, currency conversion.
Rather than thinking in single-digit US dollar prices, things had to become more complicated. 31 Thai baht=1 US dollar.
Inconvient? I'd say so. Try pricing anything...a coffee, a movie ticket, a head of lettuce at the grocery story, a pack of gum, a can of coke in American money..and then, simply just multiply by..oh..you know..31! Afterall, didn't you memorize your 31's tables in elementary school?
Throughout my International travels over the past year (Indonesia, Singapore, Vietnam,) I've dealt with this currency conversion with ease. Though, upon arrival in Vietnam, I mistakenly withdrew only $10 from the ATM when I really was expecting $100. Simple math error. Afterall, it's just one digit. I should at least get partial credit for effort if I show my work, right?
The counting progressed.
This progression has taken somewhat of a cancerous state as in the counting has spread to several aspects of my life. When in a hurry and on my own, I count steps (usually stairs).
52 steps from the skytrain to the lower platform.
8 steps (when skipping a stair) to climb to the Mo Chit skytrain.
18 stairs to get to my apartment.
102 steps from my apartment to the sidewalk.
This is a plague. Disregard what you've heard of the bird flu. No birds here.
Just numbers. And lots of them.
But, no no..it doesn't stop here.
I've even been prone to count a certain number of objects when in a crowded area.
For example, when waiting for a cab, I count how many pink taxis pass by- or, depending on the mood, maybe I'll even count only the green taxis. Or, possibly, tally as many people I see wearing white shirts- and sometimes, to humor myself, how many transexuals I see walk by (that one is always entertaining). Really I just like to switch it up...ya know, keep everyone guessing. And, what do I do with such useful information? Nothing. Nada. When I reach my quota (usually try to make it to some number divisble by 25,) I decide to move on to a new object to count, or, Lord willing, another hobby to occupy my crazed mind.
Though counting stairs, taxis, outfits, and transexuals is nothing but a complete waste of time- there is one countdown that I will not give up on, nor consider anything short of extremely crucial to my existence-
38 days until my plane leaves Bangkok for America.
Monday, March 24, 2008
pastels, chocolate bunnies, and that dress your Mom made you wear.
advice: microwave your peeps for 16 seconds and watch them come to life. (psst: this could get messy- and, you might not want to do it in front of the kids)
Indeed He has risen. And, regardless of linen proof and words of witnesses, despite fulfillment of prophecy from a man who even predicted his own death- man still doubted.
How was the stone moved?
Which account of the gospels to the story right?
Which story is MOST historically accurate?
All insignificant.
Mary and Mary were said to have "hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy"- (completely typical of women to have such mixed emotions-right? haha).
The chief priests acted in deceit- lying to their people out of fear.
Mary and Mary, completely frazzled, risking appearing completely insane- bring the disciples to see the tomb. These disciples, hand-picked to follow Jesus, saw Jesus perform the most amazing miracles, and STILL Matthew 28:17 states "..some doubted".
The stone was moved, linens piled upon the ground of the tomb, as the disciples knelt in astonishment. In confusion and fear, they doubted the reality of what they saw. In this doubt Jesus appeared in full authority of heaven and earth, commissioning these disciples to teach the world to obey everything he had commanded.
Jesus didn't have to appear to them. What if he hadn't? Out of love for them and knowing they were stunned and confused, and in their doubt, Jesus appeared to them to clarify what had happened and what they needed to proceed doing.
Doubt- my own personalized plague. Without God in my life, I would easily be controlled by doubt- doubting everything, everyone, every thought, every action, every everything.
His love and power were made complete through His resurrection, and still while kneeling on the ground of the tomb seeing the linens on the ground and having heard the words from Mary and Mary- some disciples STILL doubted.
Though I am obviously not kneeling in His empty tomb, I have witnessed His miracles in my life- and STILL my imperfect nature causes my heart to doubt God's power and presence in my life.
People so often say- "seeing is believing...and belief triumphs over doubt".
Well- the eleven disciples saw the empty tomb. They saw the linens on the ground. They witnessed Jesus perform miracle after miracle. They heard his prophecy of his own death and watched him be innocently and brutally crucified-
the linens were there-
the stone was moved-
the tomb was empty-
"..but, some doubted".
Obviously seeing is NOT believing.
How much must we see before we believe?
This life has nothing to do with seeing, but rather faith.
So, truly I'm challenged to walk by faith, not by sight.
now, pass me a red jelly belly.
Indeed He has risen. And, regardless of linen proof and words of witnesses, despite fulfillment of prophecy from a man who even predicted his own death- man still doubted.
How was the stone moved?
Which account of the gospels to the story right?
Which story is MOST historically accurate?
All insignificant.
Mary and Mary were said to have "hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy"- (completely typical of women to have such mixed emotions-right? haha).
The chief priests acted in deceit- lying to their people out of fear.
Mary and Mary, completely frazzled, risking appearing completely insane- bring the disciples to see the tomb. These disciples, hand-picked to follow Jesus, saw Jesus perform the most amazing miracles, and STILL Matthew 28:17 states "..some doubted".
The stone was moved, linens piled upon the ground of the tomb, as the disciples knelt in astonishment. In confusion and fear, they doubted the reality of what they saw. In this doubt Jesus appeared in full authority of heaven and earth, commissioning these disciples to teach the world to obey everything he had commanded.
Jesus didn't have to appear to them. What if he hadn't? Out of love for them and knowing they were stunned and confused, and in their doubt, Jesus appeared to them to clarify what had happened and what they needed to proceed doing.
Doubt- my own personalized plague. Without God in my life, I would easily be controlled by doubt- doubting everything, everyone, every thought, every action, every everything.
His love and power were made complete through His resurrection, and still while kneeling on the ground of the tomb seeing the linens on the ground and having heard the words from Mary and Mary- some disciples STILL doubted.
Though I am obviously not kneeling in His empty tomb, I have witnessed His miracles in my life- and STILL my imperfect nature causes my heart to doubt God's power and presence in my life.
People so often say- "seeing is believing...and belief triumphs over doubt".
Well- the eleven disciples saw the empty tomb. They saw the linens on the ground. They witnessed Jesus perform miracle after miracle. They heard his prophecy of his own death and watched him be innocently and brutally crucified-
the linens were there-
the stone was moved-
the tomb was empty-
"..but, some doubted".
Obviously seeing is NOT believing.
How much must we see before we believe?
This life has nothing to do with seeing, but rather faith.
So, truly I'm challenged to walk by faith, not by sight.
now, pass me a red jelly belly.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
the "L" word.
'Tis true February is the month of love.
(Though, let's not be so culturally blind and forget that February is also Black History month...so...mark that on your calendars, too.)
My Valentine's Day this year was far from the norm- though, what is "the norm"?
Well, it all depends...
Let's flash back to Elementary school. Ahh, yes... The days of paper and paste. Wait a second... whatever happened to "paste"? You know...those little plastic tubs perfectly proportioned to aid in crafty projects for dirty-fingered tikes? I miss paste. So, yes...Elementary school. As the month of February would approach and the excitement of Christmas and the new year is quickly replaced by the anticipation for candy hearts and chocolate surprises, we would begin the busy construction of personalized Valentine's Day cards. Wal-Mart always played a major role in Valentine's Day; and, before Wal-Mart, it was the local drug store because even if you didn't hand-make your Valentines, you were sure to have your Mom buy a couple boxes of cards covered in your favorite cartoon or superhero. Childhood stars like the Ninja Turtles, Barbie, Batman- they were all celebrating Valentine's Day, too! Usually I'd sit at the kitchen table with a list my Mom wrote out of every student in my class so as to spell their names correctly. I'd mess up on about half of them (which truly is why I think they put like 32 cards in a box...) but WHY are there NEVER enough of those heart stickers? It's like the hotdog/ hotdog bun debacle.
Alas, the 14th would arrive. My Mom would usually have some sort of breakfast prepared (something warm, unlike the usual poptart or cereal,) I'd usually make a call to my sister for her birthday (she's the nice, older one..."...of COURSE she'd be born on Valentine's Day," I'd think as a kid,) and then with a grocery bag full of cards and some sort of item I was required to bring in for our class Valentine's Day party, we'd rush off to school for a day of fun..and...ALOT of sugar.
The Elementary school party was always conflict in my household when I was growing up. You see, I grew up in a small town in Connecticut where most of the men worked and a lot of the Mom's stayed home making quilts, eating granola, and driving Volvos. These were the kind of Mom's that had time and energy to make 5 dozen heart-shaped sugar cookies for the 4th grade Valentine's Day party. And, once the cookies were baked, frosted, and in the tummies of all my fellow classmates, we would all rant and rave about "these are so good. your mom is such a good cook!".
Yea, well...little Tyler and Jessica's mom should be a good cook- afterall, making those cookies was the only thing she had to do that week.
Then, there was my Mom. My Mom is a FANTASTIC cook. She claims she "cooks for looks, not for taste," HOWEVER, everything she makes tastes fantastic- and, when the party food sign-up sheet would come around the room, my pencil would so badly want to sribble my initials next to "cookies," "brownies," "chocolate cake,"..(you know...something I could claim "MY MOM MADE THIS!") but I knew those were naughty thoughts. Anytime I took the plunge and signed-up for anything that required baking or more than 2 ingredients, my Mom would literally want to kill me- shouting (lovingly, of course,):
"You need how many cookies baked?! Can't we just buy them? "
"WE DON'T HAVE ANY MORE MILK OR EGGS!"
"I HAVE TO GO TO THE STORE NOW?! IT'S 9 o'clock!"
"You need FIVE pans of Brownies?!?!?!..FOR, TOMORROW?!?!?!?"
Afterall, I have a hard-working mom.
She didn't slave all day over the stove, and, she didn't drive a Volvo.
So this.... this is why I became the plates/napkins girl.
Plates and napkins are the safe choice.
Moms like plates and napkins duty.
In my high school days, Vday was for high school cheerleaders- a locker overflowing with those incovenient, over-sized, sappy-eyed stuffed animals. Then, tragedy would strike: you can only carry so many bouquets of roses AND pompoms at the same time!! HELP!! So, in exchange for a chocolate cupcake with strawberry frosting and red sprinkles (go team!,) her athelete boy-toy would flex his muscles at the opportunity to be the extra set of hands our lovely little bundle of cheers would need for the day.
Then came college. OH, BROTHER.
A day that was once defined by how sticky your fingers were from paste and frosting was robbed of it's innocence and somehow transformed into this awkward, rather pressured day. As the Liberty knockouts would sport their cutesy pink and red sweaters, chats of dates and dinners would be exchanged in the halls. Yes, I've had a Valentine's date a couple of times; but, there have been more times that I haven't had a date. Never would I have considered NOT having a date to be a bad thing. In fact, I'd rather not have a date- BUT, at Liberty University, (a school sickly plagued by the obsession of relationship status,) if you do not have a date...you might as well have an infectious disease- or, you'll just wish you had one.
Why? Because everyone will bombard you with the question-
"sooooo, do you have a date tonight????,"
and, when you daringly, yet confidently respond-
"umm..actually, no..."
their countenance would lose it's vibrant fleshy hue and a response similar to an "oh. well..that's okay.."
will haunt and tease your singleness, causing you to feel this pressurized "hmm, maybe I should find something to do..." idea.
This year, I had the greatest Valentine's Day, ever. Seeing as my 5th grade class has never done much for Valentine's Day, I decided to do something for them because I wanted to..out of love. So, I planned a Valentine's day breakfast. We had pancakes, eggs n'toast, and fruit, enjoyed on pink plastic plates. In art class I had them all make mailboxes out of shoeboxes, which we covered with construction paper, glitter, and stickers so they could deliver Valentines to each other during the breakfast. This little party reminded me of the beauty and simplicity of being a kid. No talks of boyfriends, girlfriends, or dates...rather, we just enjoyed each others' company.
Valentine's Day has always seemed like a day of obligation.
Whether it's an obligation to bring in cookies (or, in my case, plates/napkins,) stuffed animals, or, find a date, there has always been an attached obligation.
I've been meditating on 1 Cor 13. for the past few weeks. I've read this passage many times, and so often this passage is quoted in movies, books, etc; however, I've never really taken the time to dissect it thoroughly.
"Love is patient,
love is kind.
It does not envy,
it does not boast,
it is not proud.
It is not rude,
it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects,
always trusts,
always hopes,
always perseveres.
LOVE NEVER FAILS"
(1 Cor 13: 4-8)
For two weeks I've read this passage over and over again; and, with each read, I've become more and more aware that I do not know how to love.
In a mental exercise, I placed my own name before the word "love," , and read the passage aloud-
"Lauren's love is patient, Lauren's love is kind..."
No.
No, I am not patient.
I am not kind.
I am embarrassingly rude.
I am most certainly self-seeking.
I get angry quite frequently- at stupid, insignificant things.
I keep record of wrongs done against me- especially wrongs that have broken my heart.
Who do I protect? Most certainly not myself, and not others.
Why don't I trust people?
Am I hopeful?
Why do I so easily give up? And, so many times, I feel like I have failed.
Why? Why? Why?
Because, I am not love.
And, all praise to God that "love," is not altered, influenced, or defined by who and what I am.
Then, I replaced the word "love" with "Christ's love".
The results were humbling. Insanely true. Perfect.
True, perfect, selfless, kind, patient love is that from God.
Pieces of our ideologies and concepts.... our impatient, unkind, selfless portion of love for one another as we carelessly, selfishly throw around the word "love," as if we were trading snacks at the lunch table- slyly attempting to upgrade from our ziploc bag of carrot sticks to a slice of gooey chocolate cake.
In our lifetime, we must strive to learn to love one another like Christ loves us; however, we will never fully know what love is until we're fully known in heaven.
Until then, everything is partial, incomplete, and empty.
But oh, how sweet it is to be loved by God- to an extent that I am completely incapable of fathoming the true depth and power until I am in His presence.
That....is love.
Love is NOT an obligation.
(Though, let's not be so culturally blind and forget that February is also Black History month...so...mark that on your calendars, too.)
My Valentine's Day this year was far from the norm- though, what is "the norm"?
Well, it all depends...
Let's flash back to Elementary school. Ahh, yes... The days of paper and paste. Wait a second... whatever happened to "paste"? You know...those little plastic tubs perfectly proportioned to aid in crafty projects for dirty-fingered tikes? I miss paste. So, yes...Elementary school. As the month of February would approach and the excitement of Christmas and the new year is quickly replaced by the anticipation for candy hearts and chocolate surprises, we would begin the busy construction of personalized Valentine's Day cards. Wal-Mart always played a major role in Valentine's Day; and, before Wal-Mart, it was the local drug store because even if you didn't hand-make your Valentines, you were sure to have your Mom buy a couple boxes of cards covered in your favorite cartoon or superhero. Childhood stars like the Ninja Turtles, Barbie, Batman- they were all celebrating Valentine's Day, too! Usually I'd sit at the kitchen table with a list my Mom wrote out of every student in my class so as to spell their names correctly. I'd mess up on about half of them (which truly is why I think they put like 32 cards in a box...) but WHY are there NEVER enough of those heart stickers? It's like the hotdog/ hotdog bun debacle.
Alas, the 14th would arrive. My Mom would usually have some sort of breakfast prepared (something warm, unlike the usual poptart or cereal,) I'd usually make a call to my sister for her birthday (she's the nice, older one..."...of COURSE she'd be born on Valentine's Day," I'd think as a kid,) and then with a grocery bag full of cards and some sort of item I was required to bring in for our class Valentine's Day party, we'd rush off to school for a day of fun..and...ALOT of sugar.
The Elementary school party was always conflict in my household when I was growing up. You see, I grew up in a small town in Connecticut where most of the men worked and a lot of the Mom's stayed home making quilts, eating granola, and driving Volvos. These were the kind of Mom's that had time and energy to make 5 dozen heart-shaped sugar cookies for the 4th grade Valentine's Day party. And, once the cookies were baked, frosted, and in the tummies of all my fellow classmates, we would all rant and rave about "these are so good. your mom is such a good cook!".
Yea, well...little Tyler and Jessica's mom should be a good cook- afterall, making those cookies was the only thing she had to do that week.
Then, there was my Mom. My Mom is a FANTASTIC cook. She claims she "cooks for looks, not for taste," HOWEVER, everything she makes tastes fantastic- and, when the party food sign-up sheet would come around the room, my pencil would so badly want to sribble my initials next to "cookies," "brownies," "chocolate cake,"..(you know...something I could claim "MY MOM MADE THIS!") but I knew those were naughty thoughts. Anytime I took the plunge and signed-up for anything that required baking or more than 2 ingredients, my Mom would literally want to kill me- shouting (lovingly, of course,):
"You need how many cookies baked?! Can't we just buy them? "
"WE DON'T HAVE ANY MORE MILK OR EGGS!"
"I HAVE TO GO TO THE STORE NOW?! IT'S 9 o'clock!"
"You need FIVE pans of Brownies?!?!?!..FOR, TOMORROW?!?!?!?"
Afterall, I have a hard-working mom.
She didn't slave all day over the stove, and, she didn't drive a Volvo.
So this.... this is why I became the plates/napkins girl.
Plates and napkins are the safe choice.
Moms like plates and napkins duty.
In my high school days, Vday was for high school cheerleaders- a locker overflowing with those incovenient, over-sized, sappy-eyed stuffed animals. Then, tragedy would strike: you can only carry so many bouquets of roses AND pompoms at the same time!! HELP!! So, in exchange for a chocolate cupcake with strawberry frosting and red sprinkles (go team!,) her athelete boy-toy would flex his muscles at the opportunity to be the extra set of hands our lovely little bundle of cheers would need for the day.
Then came college. OH, BROTHER.
A day that was once defined by how sticky your fingers were from paste and frosting was robbed of it's innocence and somehow transformed into this awkward, rather pressured day. As the Liberty knockouts would sport their cutesy pink and red sweaters, chats of dates and dinners would be exchanged in the halls. Yes, I've had a Valentine's date a couple of times; but, there have been more times that I haven't had a date. Never would I have considered NOT having a date to be a bad thing. In fact, I'd rather not have a date- BUT, at Liberty University, (a school sickly plagued by the obsession of relationship status,) if you do not have a date...you might as well have an infectious disease- or, you'll just wish you had one.
Why? Because everyone will bombard you with the question-
"sooooo, do you have a date tonight????,"
and, when you daringly, yet confidently respond-
"umm..actually, no..."
their countenance would lose it's vibrant fleshy hue and a response similar to an "oh. well..that's okay.."
will haunt and tease your singleness, causing you to feel this pressurized "hmm, maybe I should find something to do..." idea.
This year, I had the greatest Valentine's Day, ever. Seeing as my 5th grade class has never done much for Valentine's Day, I decided to do something for them because I wanted to..out of love. So, I planned a Valentine's day breakfast. We had pancakes, eggs n'toast, and fruit, enjoyed on pink plastic plates. In art class I had them all make mailboxes out of shoeboxes, which we covered with construction paper, glitter, and stickers so they could deliver Valentines to each other during the breakfast. This little party reminded me of the beauty and simplicity of being a kid. No talks of boyfriends, girlfriends, or dates...rather, we just enjoyed each others' company.
Valentine's Day has always seemed like a day of obligation.
Whether it's an obligation to bring in cookies (or, in my case, plates/napkins,) stuffed animals, or, find a date, there has always been an attached obligation.
I've been meditating on 1 Cor 13. for the past few weeks. I've read this passage many times, and so often this passage is quoted in movies, books, etc; however, I've never really taken the time to dissect it thoroughly.
"Love is patient,
love is kind.
It does not envy,
it does not boast,
it is not proud.
It is not rude,
it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects,
always trusts,
always hopes,
always perseveres.
LOVE NEVER FAILS"
(1 Cor 13: 4-8)
For two weeks I've read this passage over and over again; and, with each read, I've become more and more aware that I do not know how to love.
In a mental exercise, I placed my own name before the word "love," , and read the passage aloud-
"Lauren's love is patient, Lauren's love is kind..."
No.
No, I am not patient.
I am not kind.
I am embarrassingly rude.
I am most certainly self-seeking.
I get angry quite frequently- at stupid, insignificant things.
I keep record of wrongs done against me- especially wrongs that have broken my heart.
Who do I protect? Most certainly not myself, and not others.
Why don't I trust people?
Am I hopeful?
Why do I so easily give up? And, so many times, I feel like I have failed.
Why? Why? Why?
Because, I am not love.
And, all praise to God that "love," is not altered, influenced, or defined by who and what I am.
Then, I replaced the word "love" with "Christ's love".
The results were humbling. Insanely true. Perfect.
True, perfect, selfless, kind, patient love is that from God.
Pieces of our ideologies and concepts.... our impatient, unkind, selfless portion of love for one another as we carelessly, selfishly throw around the word "love," as if we were trading snacks at the lunch table- slyly attempting to upgrade from our ziploc bag of carrot sticks to a slice of gooey chocolate cake.
In our lifetime, we must strive to learn to love one another like Christ loves us; however, we will never fully know what love is until we're fully known in heaven.
Until then, everything is partial, incomplete, and empty.
But oh, how sweet it is to be loved by God- to an extent that I am completely incapable of fathoming the true depth and power until I am in His presence.
That....is love.
Love is NOT an obligation.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
eyes in pencils and in pens
While riding the water taxi this afternoon into the great metropolis of Siam, I decided to read, rather than meaninglessly sway back and forth to the rocking of the boat. I've been reading this book for...well, almost a year- and yes, I'm still not finished; however, I like to justify my actions by saying that I'm just taking the time to let it all really soak in.
John Piper's insight is fantastic. I know, I know- as I've said before- BUT, hey, I went to school for marketing- So, just look at my support of his literary genius as pro-bono marketing work. In today's reading, Piper addresses how writing has played such a crucial role in his growth mentally and spiritually, he states:
"Writing is a way of slowing us down and opening our eyes to see what we do not otherwise see.
This struck me so forcefully one day that I paused and wrote:
'I know not how the light is shed,
Nor understand this lens.
I only know that there are eyes
In pencils and in pens' "
Writing is soothing and yet so exhausting at times. I find myself frantically writing line after line of thoughts that seem to only snowball into a page full of...well..nothingness at times; but, at times when I later return and reread over that written nothingness, that nothingness becomes somethingness- and, usually, I can gain some sort of insight from my past writings.
Once arriving to my destination and hopping off the river taxi, I headed to the Starbucks to order what has become my "usual".
Yes, it's true- I have "a usual".
I am now one of those- one of those snobs ordering " the usual,"
however, snobbish or not, it's become a little routine that I look forward to sipping on such frequent occasion. As my "usual" Barista was preparing my fine cup of iced coffee, she looked up at me, smiled, and asked me how long I'd be here in Thailand.
I've seen this woman four days a week for almost two months now, and only now did I discover she speaks great English. She ("Jun" is her name,) directed me towards her friend that was waiting for her drink to be made at the pickup counter. Her wide-eyed friend looked up (yes, literally...up- she's about 4 ft tall) at me and began questioning me with the usual- "where do you live?" (which is usually followed with an bitter looking far, a perplexed glare and a "really? that's far"- mostly because many white people don't make it out to where I live in the Latphrao ghetto) questions following regularly include: "how long are you here?" "where are you going?" and "where do you come from?"
Once my friendly interrogation was finished, she laughingly suggested that maybe I could teach her some English. I was astonished. A two minute conversation with this woman and she decides that I'm the one to help her with her English.
I AM SO EXCITED. You see, in my little, lonesome world of teaching, cycling classes and long walk with my boyfriend (yes..that's right. my boyfriend.. Have I told you about him? He's small, black, and always with me..singing sweet songs to me..keeping me company..) I've named him iPod. This world of mine is more like a bubble...a bubble of an American girl surrounded by everything Thai, lacking much interaction on a daily basis. Sometimes, the entire weekend passes without having the opportunity to say more than a "hello" or "thank you" seeing as my Thai vocabulary hasn't really been extended more than the basics; however, I've been praying for opportunities to just TALK.
I was in the line at Subway the other day and there was a woman in front of me that was white. TARGET.
I took out my earphones and thought of just something to ask her..just anything.something...anything I could say just to talk to someone! I think I ended up saying something as foolish and meaningless as "hmm..looks good. Never tried that.." which lead to a speedy introductory conversation where I learned she's lived here for 5 years, she's from Alaska- and, she LOVES it here. I would love it here too if I was from such a frigid, inconvenient ice cap.
Talking felt so good- to both the Subway Eskimo and the friend of my "usual" Barista.
God answered my prayer by bringing me to Starbucks at that moment where I met Nong. I will now be meeting with Nong on Sunday evenings at 6, to enjoy a good coffee and English conversation.
Wow- God is so good. Not only does He answer my prayers- but, He answers prayers and gives me the chance to enjoy coffee.
cheers.
John Piper's insight is fantastic. I know, I know- as I've said before- BUT, hey, I went to school for marketing- So, just look at my support of his literary genius as pro-bono marketing work. In today's reading, Piper addresses how writing has played such a crucial role in his growth mentally and spiritually, he states:
"Writing is a way of slowing us down and opening our eyes to see what we do not otherwise see.
This struck me so forcefully one day that I paused and wrote:
'I know not how the light is shed,
Nor understand this lens.
I only know that there are eyes
In pencils and in pens' "
Writing is soothing and yet so exhausting at times. I find myself frantically writing line after line of thoughts that seem to only snowball into a page full of...well..nothingness at times; but, at times when I later return and reread over that written nothingness, that nothingness becomes somethingness- and, usually, I can gain some sort of insight from my past writings.
Once arriving to my destination and hopping off the river taxi, I headed to the Starbucks to order what has become my "usual".
Yes, it's true- I have "a usual".
I am now one of those- one of those snobs ordering " the usual,"
however, snobbish or not, it's become a little routine that I look forward to sipping on such frequent occasion. As my "usual" Barista was preparing my fine cup of iced coffee, she looked up at me, smiled, and asked me how long I'd be here in Thailand.
I've seen this woman four days a week for almost two months now, and only now did I discover she speaks great English. She ("Jun" is her name,) directed me towards her friend that was waiting for her drink to be made at the pickup counter. Her wide-eyed friend looked up (yes, literally...up- she's about 4 ft tall) at me and began questioning me with the usual- "where do you live?" (which is usually followed with an bitter looking far, a perplexed glare and a "really? that's far"- mostly because many white people don't make it out to where I live in the Latphrao ghetto) questions following regularly include: "how long are you here?" "where are you going?" and "where do you come from?"
Once my friendly interrogation was finished, she laughingly suggested that maybe I could teach her some English. I was astonished. A two minute conversation with this woman and she decides that I'm the one to help her with her English.
I AM SO EXCITED. You see, in my little, lonesome world of teaching, cycling classes and long walk with my boyfriend (yes..that's right. my boyfriend.. Have I told you about him? He's small, black, and always with me..singing sweet songs to me..keeping me company..) I've named him iPod. This world of mine is more like a bubble...a bubble of an American girl surrounded by everything Thai, lacking much interaction on a daily basis. Sometimes, the entire weekend passes without having the opportunity to say more than a "hello" or "thank you" seeing as my Thai vocabulary hasn't really been extended more than the basics; however, I've been praying for opportunities to just TALK.
I was in the line at Subway the other day and there was a woman in front of me that was white. TARGET.
I took out my earphones and thought of just something to ask her..just anything.something...anything I could say just to talk to someone! I think I ended up saying something as foolish and meaningless as "hmm..looks good. Never tried that.." which lead to a speedy introductory conversation where I learned she's lived here for 5 years, she's from Alaska- and, she LOVES it here. I would love it here too if I was from such a frigid, inconvenient ice cap.
Talking felt so good- to both the Subway Eskimo and the friend of my "usual" Barista.
God answered my prayer by bringing me to Starbucks at that moment where I met Nong. I will now be meeting with Nong on Sunday evenings at 6, to enjoy a good coffee and English conversation.
Wow- God is so good. Not only does He answer my prayers- but, He answers prayers and gives me the chance to enjoy coffee.
cheers.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
speechless
This blog has become a sharp pain in my side..a grey cloud hanging over my head..a mother's nag. (haha)-
It's been two weeks now since I've returned here to Bangkok and I am fully aware that I have yet to post the details of my Christmastime escapade. I like to take my time and carefully construct a well-worded blog for your reading pleasure; however, the blinking cursor stares back at my perplexed mind and motionless fingers as I have tried to write this entry several times.
How? How in written reason and ryhme am I to describe what I experienced in Bali? Words cannot explain. Pictures, I've found, were pointless. The first few days I was in Bali, I carried my camera like a small child, close to my side, awaiting any kodak moments that might pop up. Digitally scrapbooking my experiences has been one of the great joys of being here- a hobby I've found enjoyment in; rather, this trip could not be captured on film. In fact, my journey wasn't even captured by my mind. Every morning I woke up at the chidlren's home I would go through the same routine. Wake up, read a bit, shower, breakfast, and then...sit and watch in amazement.
I didn't feel like "myself" while I was there, and, I do believe it's because I truly wasn't myself. It wasn't "me" to go off and do something of this nature. It wasn't me to be sociable with native Indonesian-speaking, foreign orphans. None of it was ME; and, as one of the only things I've ever been positive of in my entire life, is that this trip not being MINE but HIS, is what made this the best experience I've ever had.
God presented this opporutnity, carried me there, and delievered to me the timeless gift of company, wrapped in worn-clothes and dirty flip-flops. Christmas without the trimmings and frills of holiday bliss traded for the naive simplicity found in the faces of these children.
I spent the majority of my time at the home wanting to help with the varied chores and duties of the children; however, rather than lending aid, the children insisted on treating me as a royal guest. The children sleep 3 to a bed, in geco-infested, un-airconditioned rooms- and yet, I was given an air-conditioned room with a small bathroom to enjoy. Never did I imagine I'd have so much privacy in a home crawling with over 60 children. During the daytime I would have to search for the children, as they were busy working in groups performing tasks around the house.
The routine of these children gains nothing but my utmost respect. At 5:30am they wakeup and pray together. Afterwards, the older girls take a shopping list to the local market and buy food for the day as Sandra (the owner,) insists that the children enjoy only fresh food. Meanwhile, some of the younger girls begin folding and ironing the laundry (and believe me, it's a MOUNTAIN of laundry,) while others begin mopping and dusting. This home is run like a well-oiled machine, and yet, no one complains.
5:30am everyday? That would be my first complaint.
Ironing? Complaint number two.
Rice? Again? number three.
Obviously, I'm nowhere near as mature as these children. Their innate love and respect for each other, and their willingness to serve not only guests, but their subordinates, has been a continous challenge to my own heart.
I've learned that obviously, I'm far from the maturity and humility of an orphan.
It's been two weeks now since I've returned here to Bangkok and I am fully aware that I have yet to post the details of my Christmastime escapade. I like to take my time and carefully construct a well-worded blog for your reading pleasure; however, the blinking cursor stares back at my perplexed mind and motionless fingers as I have tried to write this entry several times.
How? How in written reason and ryhme am I to describe what I experienced in Bali? Words cannot explain. Pictures, I've found, were pointless. The first few days I was in Bali, I carried my camera like a small child, close to my side, awaiting any kodak moments that might pop up. Digitally scrapbooking my experiences has been one of the great joys of being here- a hobby I've found enjoyment in; rather, this trip could not be captured on film. In fact, my journey wasn't even captured by my mind. Every morning I woke up at the chidlren's home I would go through the same routine. Wake up, read a bit, shower, breakfast, and then...sit and watch in amazement.
I didn't feel like "myself" while I was there, and, I do believe it's because I truly wasn't myself. It wasn't "me" to go off and do something of this nature. It wasn't me to be sociable with native Indonesian-speaking, foreign orphans. None of it was ME; and, as one of the only things I've ever been positive of in my entire life, is that this trip not being MINE but HIS, is what made this the best experience I've ever had.
God presented this opporutnity, carried me there, and delievered to me the timeless gift of company, wrapped in worn-clothes and dirty flip-flops. Christmas without the trimmings and frills of holiday bliss traded for the naive simplicity found in the faces of these children.
I spent the majority of my time at the home wanting to help with the varied chores and duties of the children; however, rather than lending aid, the children insisted on treating me as a royal guest. The children sleep 3 to a bed, in geco-infested, un-airconditioned rooms- and yet, I was given an air-conditioned room with a small bathroom to enjoy. Never did I imagine I'd have so much privacy in a home crawling with over 60 children. During the daytime I would have to search for the children, as they were busy working in groups performing tasks around the house.
The routine of these children gains nothing but my utmost respect. At 5:30am they wakeup and pray together. Afterwards, the older girls take a shopping list to the local market and buy food for the day as Sandra (the owner,) insists that the children enjoy only fresh food. Meanwhile, some of the younger girls begin folding and ironing the laundry (and believe me, it's a MOUNTAIN of laundry,) while others begin mopping and dusting. This home is run like a well-oiled machine, and yet, no one complains.
5:30am everyday? That would be my first complaint.
Ironing? Complaint number two.
Rice? Again? number three.
Obviously, I'm nowhere near as mature as these children. Their innate love and respect for each other, and their willingness to serve not only guests, but their subordinates, has been a continous challenge to my own heart.
I've learned that obviously, I'm far from the maturity and humility of an orphan.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
On December 21...
“No eye has seen,
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him”- 1 Cor. 2:9
On the plane from Malaysia to Bali- I had somewhat of a rough day; however, I met a girl named Maggie who was traveling with a YWAM group doing various missions-oriented work. After only a few minutes talking with her about my purpose for my trip to Bali, she looked at me, put her hand on my arm and said, “Can I pray for you?”
No words could have sounded any sweeter.
I wanted to cry so badly..to hear such a genuinely loving prayer was so encouraging. She had such a calming voice and I felt God with us as the plane took off. Her voice and her words reminded me of those of my sister.
One of the best sounds my ears ever hear is the voice of my sister. My sister, Taryn, is a singer..a songwriter and a devoted musician. Very rarely do I ever tell her how soothing her voice is to me, and, if “home,” could be heard, her voice brings me home.
Maggie’s voice soothed my anxious mind and her voice comforted me.
After we prayed together, Maggie slipped one of those silly little satin masks to shade her eyes from the bright glare of the sterile environment and fell asleep. For the remainder of the flight I sat in my seat, meditating on why it was God was sending me on this journey- and, why he was sending me…alone.
Once again, I found myself lost in the pages of Mr. Chambers’ lyrical genius-
“When I am born again, the Spirit of God takes me beyond myself and my experiences, and identifies me with Jesus Christ…
My experiences are not worth anything unless they keep me at the source of truth-Jesus Christ”
This was probably one of the most adventurous steps of faith I have ever taken. Coming to Thailand, unsure of the where’s, what’s, who’s, and how’s, was one thing; however, alone with a backpack, a plane ticket and a plan to meet 70 orphans in Indonesia on my own seemed completely out of my league.
I was flattered by the opportunity because God obviously knew it was just the right thing. This trip would come to be the greatest where, what, who, and how I’ve ever experienced and it’s all because of faith.
Chambers continued:
“..be relentless and hard on yourself if you are in the habit of talking about the experiences you have had. Faith based on experience is not faith; faith based on God’s revealed truth is the only faith there is”.
My aim is not just to share my experiences with you, but rather convey to you somewhat of the enormity of God’s ever-revealing truths to me throughout my journeys, where I have undoubtedly felt, seen, and heard Him in my life.
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him”- 1 Cor. 2:9
On the plane from Malaysia to Bali- I had somewhat of a rough day; however, I met a girl named Maggie who was traveling with a YWAM group doing various missions-oriented work. After only a few minutes talking with her about my purpose for my trip to Bali, she looked at me, put her hand on my arm and said, “Can I pray for you?”
No words could have sounded any sweeter.
I wanted to cry so badly..to hear such a genuinely loving prayer was so encouraging. She had such a calming voice and I felt God with us as the plane took off. Her voice and her words reminded me of those of my sister.
One of the best sounds my ears ever hear is the voice of my sister. My sister, Taryn, is a singer..a songwriter and a devoted musician. Very rarely do I ever tell her how soothing her voice is to me, and, if “home,” could be heard, her voice brings me home.
Maggie’s voice soothed my anxious mind and her voice comforted me.
After we prayed together, Maggie slipped one of those silly little satin masks to shade her eyes from the bright glare of the sterile environment and fell asleep. For the remainder of the flight I sat in my seat, meditating on why it was God was sending me on this journey- and, why he was sending me…alone.
Once again, I found myself lost in the pages of Mr. Chambers’ lyrical genius-
“When I am born again, the Spirit of God takes me beyond myself and my experiences, and identifies me with Jesus Christ…
My experiences are not worth anything unless they keep me at the source of truth-Jesus Christ”
This was probably one of the most adventurous steps of faith I have ever taken. Coming to Thailand, unsure of the where’s, what’s, who’s, and how’s, was one thing; however, alone with a backpack, a plane ticket and a plan to meet 70 orphans in Indonesia on my own seemed completely out of my league.
I was flattered by the opportunity because God obviously knew it was just the right thing. This trip would come to be the greatest where, what, who, and how I’ve ever experienced and it’s all because of faith.
Chambers continued:
“..be relentless and hard on yourself if you are in the habit of talking about the experiences you have had. Faith based on experience is not faith; faith based on God’s revealed truth is the only faith there is”.
My aim is not just to share my experiences with you, but rather convey to you somewhat of the enormity of God’s ever-revealing truths to me throughout my journeys, where I have undoubtedly felt, seen, and heard Him in my life.
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