Once we watched a lazy world go by,
now the days seem to fly
life is brief, but when it's gone
love goes on and on.
Ooh, ooh, ooh.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Lay in the Grass
One night of the last week in Fresno, I decided it was time to sit outside.
I had spent the majority of my summer indoors, in the apartment of a thousand guests. :)
I found myself that night laying on the grass outside the Pink House, laying just looking up at the black night sky, searching for stars that were elusive and just thinking of Fresno.
I emulated the physical posture of Matt Rogers, who also laid on the grass thinking.
Laying there, I sighed a deep sigh.
I looked up into the heavens searching for something, anything.
I wanted to hear what God wanted to say to me.
I heard, "Sol, the things you want, I want. I long for them too."
I just about cried.
I thought about Fresno and how I had started to dream for the city, how I long to see and know the city as reconciled. As a place that is renewed.
I dream and have cried over the infinite possibilities of what unconditional love can really do.
I layed there and sighed a deep sigh.
A sigh of being heard, known.
A sigh of having God know my desires and me being completely at a loss of making them happen.
A sigh because it's all up to God, and he knows my heart.
I had spent the majority of my summer indoors, in the apartment of a thousand guests. :)
I found myself that night laying on the grass outside the Pink House, laying just looking up at the black night sky, searching for stars that were elusive and just thinking of Fresno.
I emulated the physical posture of Matt Rogers, who also laid on the grass thinking.
Laying there, I sighed a deep sigh.
I looked up into the heavens searching for something, anything.
I wanted to hear what God wanted to say to me.
I heard, "Sol, the things you want, I want. I long for them too."
I just about cried.
I thought about Fresno and how I had started to dream for the city, how I long to see and know the city as reconciled. As a place that is renewed.
I dream and have cried over the infinite possibilities of what unconditional love can really do.
I layed there and sighed a deep sigh.
A sigh of being heard, known.
A sigh of having God know my desires and me being completely at a loss of making them happen.
A sigh because it's all up to God, and he knows my heart.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Sometimes they have to kill us
During the week of Orientation at FUI, we watched a film entitled, "Thunderheart." It is a movie starring Val Kilmer playing a character who is part Sioux. He is sent under assignment by the CIA to crack a recent homicide. The movie revolves around the stuggles between Native American people and what it means to discover your own identity and embrace it. The movie holds much more than that, so watch it.
During the movie, one of the characters who is fleeing the police since he is the prime suspect, has a line that to me spoke volumes, "Sometimes they have to kill us." Jimmy was referring to how the Native American people have chosen to "be who [they] are," and sometimes they have to be killed since their spirit can't be broken.
Later, right around two weeks later made that same connection to Latino folks who are coming from both Mexico and South America. There is still a large wave of folks who are coming from various places to better their lives; the need as well as the motivation to come to the United States has not waned and will not be diluted.
I think of the wall that has been constructed between the U.S. and Mexican border. The wall has to be fortified, stronger, thicker. New technology has to be brought in, these people don't seem to stop coming. And so, my response is the same as Jimmy's, "Sometimes they have to kill us," 'cause our desire, want and need for the same opportunities that other Americans have are enough to get us through Satan's Highway in order to try to achieve the American Dream.
Our people have chosen to remain true to who they are. We have decided to stay immersed in our traditions, culture, our food. We choose to be who we are. Our choice fortifies our spirit.
7.16.10
During the movie, one of the characters who is fleeing the police since he is the prime suspect, has a line that to me spoke volumes, "Sometimes they have to kill us." Jimmy was referring to how the Native American people have chosen to "be who [they] are," and sometimes they have to be killed since their spirit can't be broken.
Later, right around two weeks later made that same connection to Latino folks who are coming from both Mexico and South America. There is still a large wave of folks who are coming from various places to better their lives; the need as well as the motivation to come to the United States has not waned and will not be diluted.
I think of the wall that has been constructed between the U.S. and Mexican border. The wall has to be fortified, stronger, thicker. New technology has to be brought in, these people don't seem to stop coming. And so, my response is the same as Jimmy's, "Sometimes they have to kill us," 'cause our desire, want and need for the same opportunities that other Americans have are enough to get us through Satan's Highway in order to try to achieve the American Dream.
Our people have chosen to remain true to who they are. We have decided to stay immersed in our traditions, culture, our food. We choose to be who we are. Our choice fortifies our spirit.
7.16.10
Friday, August 20, 2010
Visitor's Day
I was exhausted at the end of this Saturday.
I was wiped.
I crawled to bed.
It was the best kind of tired.
The tired of hanging out with 25 of your favorite people in the place that you love.
That day was the best I had spent, the most giving day.
The day I understood what it meant to be loved quite tangibly.
I questioned whether you who said you were coming would.
I doubted because I hadn't been reassured.
And lo and behold, there were the people I so eagerly wanted to see.
They had not reassured me because they were coming.
I just didn't know that.
And yes, learning to trust them and the other 23 folks that came was like breathing deeply after holding my breath for a long time.
You see, I question my friendships a lot. Especially now.
Now when I am not fully immersed in our UCLA InterVarsity fellowship.
And so having promises kept is a really big deal for me.
Promises spoken matter of factly at the end of conversation.
Promises where friends understand what FUI has meant to me, and why it was so important to have visitors come and support me in the place where God continues to work so powerfully.
(There'll probably be more on this later.)
Thank you friends, for loving me.
I was wiped.
I crawled to bed.
It was the best kind of tired.
The tired of hanging out with 25 of your favorite people in the place that you love.
That day was the best I had spent, the most giving day.
The day I understood what it meant to be loved quite tangibly.
I questioned whether you who said you were coming would.
I doubted because I hadn't been reassured.
And lo and behold, there were the people I so eagerly wanted to see.
They had not reassured me because they were coming.
I just didn't know that.
And yes, learning to trust them and the other 23 folks that came was like breathing deeply after holding my breath for a long time.
You see, I question my friendships a lot. Especially now.
Now when I am not fully immersed in our UCLA InterVarsity fellowship.
And so having promises kept is a really big deal for me.
Promises spoken matter of factly at the end of conversation.
Promises where friends understand what FUI has meant to me, and why it was so important to have visitors come and support me in the place where God continues to work so powerfully.
(There'll probably be more on this later.)
Thank you friends, for loving me.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Smoke Signals
That Friday night after watching "Smoke Signals" I cried. I cried a lot.
I cried more than I had all Spring quarter, I think.
The themes of the movie are: poverty, adventure and the loss of a father (death and emotional detachment). As soon as Todd spoke the themes, I was already groaning.
I knew God was going to do something in me that night.
As I watched the movie, I felt wounds being uncovered to be aired out and dressed again. Wounds that I had avoided for far too long.
The question by Victor in the movie, "Did my Dad ever talk about me?"
It floored me.
I've asked that question to myself so many times. I have wondered if Dad ever thought about me, wondered what I was up to. If he ever asked about me.
I wonder that still.
I wonder if he thinks of me, if he cares what's happened to me.
And then I started to cry.
I cried 'cause I am frustrated with myself that I still wonder.
That I still hope that he's thought of me now and again.
I still cry on occassion 'cause I wish he did.
I cry 'cause I wish I was further on the journey towards healing.
The part where I didn't need my Dad.
And if you're wondering if there's any resolution, the answer is not really.
I have a lot of feelings that feel as if they'll never go away, but I also hold onto the hope of two pieces of Scripture that have been given to me.
"You, my Daughter, are called to be free" (Galatians 5:13). I know that freedom is near, that the journey is meant to be one that I walk and sometimes run, but I always have my Papa right there with me.
"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for he shields her all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). And I know that in the midst of the chaos and madness and frustration, I have a steady place to rest my head, to sleep in the arms of my Papa.
I cried more than I had all Spring quarter, I think.
The themes of the movie are: poverty, adventure and the loss of a father (death and emotional detachment). As soon as Todd spoke the themes, I was already groaning.
I knew God was going to do something in me that night.
As I watched the movie, I felt wounds being uncovered to be aired out and dressed again. Wounds that I had avoided for far too long.
The question by Victor in the movie, "Did my Dad ever talk about me?"
It floored me.
I've asked that question to myself so many times. I have wondered if Dad ever thought about me, wondered what I was up to. If he ever asked about me.
I wonder that still.
I wonder if he thinks of me, if he cares what's happened to me.
And then I started to cry.
I cried 'cause I am frustrated with myself that I still wonder.
That I still hope that he's thought of me now and again.
I still cry on occassion 'cause I wish he did.
I cry 'cause I wish I was further on the journey towards healing.
The part where I didn't need my Dad.
And if you're wondering if there's any resolution, the answer is not really.
I have a lot of feelings that feel as if they'll never go away, but I also hold onto the hope of two pieces of Scripture that have been given to me.
"You, my Daughter, are called to be free" (Galatians 5:13). I know that freedom is near, that the journey is meant to be one that I walk and sometimes run, but I always have my Papa right there with me.
"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for he shields her all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). And I know that in the midst of the chaos and madness and frustration, I have a steady place to rest my head, to sleep in the arms of my Papa.
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