the exchange.

Last night felt like the biggest night of my life. The event and movement I've been planning for almost a year now came to life. I was humbled and simply in awe of what happened. I can't really even put it into words.

Tears came to my eyes as friend after friend ran up to me with the profile of the child they just sponsored through Compassion. It was so overwhelming to see people caring, my friends, my teenage friends giving of their small allotment of money to help people in need, children with no hope.

It was beautiful. This is how the world should be.

I don't have much else to say, so I guess I'll just paste the little speech I gave:

To be honest, I didn’t want to do this event two weeks ago. I was tired. Plans weren’t going through. I didn’t feel like we could do these issues justice if we sloppily slapped something together. I didn’t feel like I could keep my sanity and go through with planning this. And I kinda figured that if God wasn’t pulling through, since things weren’t working out, he might just not want us to do it at all.

I agonized over throwing it all away. It pained me to think that this movement I started, this mission I feel drawn towards, this work I’ve invested myself in might be thrown away. But I really didn’t think I could do it. And looking back, I failed to see one thing:

“No act of love, no matter how small, is ever wasted, is ever meaningless.”

As I stumbled in my confusion, Mr. Hough sent me an email, reminding me of the greatness, and love of our God.

I remember just sitting in my room, in sobbing tears as I read his words over and over:

“No act of love, no matter how small, is ever wasted, is ever meaningless.”

This is worth it.

So I’m here, we’re here, and this is happening. And I’m just in complete awe. I’ve been broken, I’ve been pulled from every angle. I’ve cried just about all the tears I thought I had. I’ve said all the prayers I consider humanly possible.

But through it all, I realize that love is why we’re here. The truth, the freedom, the assurance, the peace, the grace, the abundance of life we experience in love. A love for people. A desire to see their lives transformed. That’s why we’re here.

We started this event last year to reverse the exploitation of people in our world. I learned that over 27 million individuals are enslaved each year—that’s over 3 times the population of Los Angeles! I was in shock. I couldn’t even fathom how slavery still existed—and I’ve lived 18 years completely oblivious to it all!

And this year, we’ve tacked on the issue of homelessness, something so prevalent right here in our own city. I drive by homeless people on my way to and from school, and most days I just pass them by.

But the statistics are so staggering: there are 1,165 people who are homeless on a given day in Pasadena. That’s like an entire school! 254,000 men, women and children experience homelessness in Los Angeles County during some part of the year, which is almost 1.5% of the total population of Los Angeles. Not to mention, nearly twice the amount of all homeless people in New York and Chicago combined!

Who am I to just keep driving by them?

They’re people too. A couple weeks ago I was doing some service with my church, and for part of the day we met with this homeless lady named Cindy. We listened to her share her story, and I was just struck by how normal she was. Lots of times, I think I just assume that homeless people are a little nutty, and if I give them money, they’ll just go spend it on drugs.

But when I met Cindy that all changed. She put a face to the issue. Here was a woman struggling to get by, honestly. Here was a woman who had a completely normal life, but poor decision after poor decision brought her to the streets. What hit me the most was the amount of discrimination homeless people face. It’s crazy to think that when politicians say they’re going to clean up the streets, they really mean they’re just kicking homeless people off the streets. Where are they supposed to go? Shelters are often so full! What are they supposed to do when cities make it illegal for people to sleep horizontally in public places? How are they supposed to get a job, when they don’t have a place to wash up? Who’s going to help them? Who’s going to challenge the law enforcement, who’s going to stand up for them?

I am. I will. This discrimination, is wrong. And it needs to stop.

This past year, I’ve prayed and sung that God would break my heart for what breaks his. And I think that’s happened: my heart breaks for people like Cindy, for little girls stuck in the sex trade in Thailand, for families endlessly toiling in rice mills in India to pay off an age-old debt.

As I look at my life, I want it to have meaning, to have purpose, to have impact. I want to live and die for something higher, something other than myself. I want to lead people into experiencing what I have, into the knowledge I know. I want to love people, love people till it hurts. I want to encourage people, in their weakest, darkest moments. I want to advocate justice, reminding people of the way this world should be. I want to be a light, a reflection, a living sacrifice for my God, in everything I do. I want to live in complete surrender to him, abandoning all else for his glory.

I don’t want to reach the end of the road and find I’ve lived this life in vain, lived for my own ambitions. I don’t want to breathe my last breath, wondering what else I could have done. I don’t want to leave this world, regretting the choices I made. I don’t want to be normal, seeking and storing up for myself treasures on earth. I don’t want to lose sight of what’s important, forgetting the overwhelming love of my God, forgetting to be his hands and feet, forgetting that I’m the one he’s invited to finish the good work he’s begun.

I don’t want people to live in pain. I don’t want people to feel inadequate. I don’t want people to be exploited in their weakness. I don’t want people to be forgotten, their talents unappreciated. I don’t want people to despair, live with no hope. I don’t want people to go through life without knowing about this God. I don’t want injustice to wreck any more lives. I don’t want corruption to reign supreme any longer.

Something needs to be done. Pleasure is too high a priority, while people are in peril and pain permeates. The lost need to know and experience the overwhelming love of our gracious God. They need to know there’s another way. They need to see how the power of his presence will crush their despair and bring them into freedom.

So tonight, I encourage you to join me in taking a step towards that change. We have tons of organizations here and there are so many practical ways you can help. I want to especially encourage you to consider sponsoring a child through Compassion. We’re really excited to have them here tonight because through their program you can donate just about a dollar a day to ensure that a child is released from the confines of spiritual, economic, social and physical poverty, that they’re cared for, have food, and a safe place to go. They’ve even done something really special: they’ve brought profiles of kids who live in the areas we as a school send missions teams. Imagine how cool that would be to sponsor a kid here tonight, and visit them next summer on a missions trip?! If you can’t swing that monthly commitment right now, then I encourage you to donate what you can to help us as a school sponsor a few kids.

Whatever you choose, take this opportunity to do something! Because tonight, we’re taking a stand. Tonight, we’re letting our awareness of these issues, our love for these people, to motivate us to action. Tonight, we refuse to let the weight of these issues cripple us. Tonight, we will not be silent.

addict.

I'll admit: I was a Facebook addict.

It consumed me. I came home from school, flipped on the Internet, opened it up, responded to friend requests, wall posts, inbox messages and the like, surfed the most recent pictures, and stalked old friends.

I found myself thinking, "If I just outline ten more pages in my government book, I'll let myself go on Facebook for fifteen minutes."

An hour did not go by when I wasn't checking my account for new updates.

And then, when nine o'clock came 'round, it was like prime time! (If you don't already know, nine to ten is roughly the time that everyone worth knowing is on Facebook.)

I think I found a certain pride in the fact that I usually had over 100 friends of my 1,000 online at the same time each night.

I know there are others like me. Don't try and hide. I have some of you as my friends. You subconsciously gravitate toward computers, type in "facebook.com", and begin living your second life. Updating your status, writing back to people you never talk to in-person, etc. The story's the same for everyone.

(Perhaps I should start a program: "Facebook Addicts Anonymous: A place for you and your friends. Your real friends. The ones who care enough about you to interact with you in person. In real life. In real time.")

I was right there with you.

And then one day, I just stopped.

Ash Wednesday came around, and this addict began realizing that she really did spend too much time on there. And it wasn't even time well-spent. I was stalking people. Snooping around. Figuring out who knows whom, and who's the biggest party-er.

It was pointless. All this time and effort for nothing. I never got anything back. It was just this empty black hole, this bottomless pit.

So I gave it up for Lent. I came to the hopeful conclusion that the proceeding forty days would be productive. The roughly two hours per night I spent on Facebook would be put towards something else more meaningful: sleep, blogging, talking to people on the phone, learning to play the guitar, etc.

And I have to say that these past forty days have been incredibly productive. But more surprisingly, I've learned several lessons:

1. Conversing audibly with individuals via the telephone is quite exciting and effective. Real laughing is more fulfilling than the "haha" or "lol" typically offered for witty interjections.

2. Going to bed before 11:30 PM every night makes you feel so much better in the morning. Staying up till 1:00 AM talking to people through a screen isn't worth the sleep you miss.

3. There is life beyond social networking. In fact, there are real people out there for you to get to know on a deeper level than what they post about themselves in their "Info" section. On top of that, you already have friends in real life, there's no need to aimlessly search for more (as the cartoon below satirizes).

Most importantly, however, I feel like I've learned something about my generation:

The development of the Internet, cyberspace, and online social network sites in general has created in my generation the acute desire to inform others of how we are feeling.

We have a need to be known.

For the first few weeks of Facebook-less-ness, after singing a song or making some snarky comment, I found myself thinking, "Oh! I can't wait to get home and make that my 'status!'" Moments later, I'd remember that I didn't exactly have a Facebook anymore. Such a status update was virtually impossible, and, as I began to learn, slightly ridiculous.

In times like these, I found myself questioning the motives behind updating my status. And all I found was this need to let others know how I was feeling.

But why? For what? Why don't I just tell someone how I'm feeling? Why post it on the Internet? So that I can get the most comments on my status? So I can make people feel bad for me?

It's stupid, right? What ever happened to actually caring enough for people to notice when they're down, and then talking to them about it? It's like we're too busy to care, but because we all still have needs, we resort to broadcasting them online for all our "friends" to see.

So now, with Easter and Lent behind me, I find myself incredibly hesitant to "reactivate" my account. I know I'll go straight back to stalking people, catching up on what I missed, staying up late "messaging." And I don't want to waste my life that way.

Perhaps I'll resume activity as the infamous event known as The Exchange rolls around. Or perhaps I'll reactivate it when I move off to college. I'm not sure.

All I know is that I've had the most productive, exciting, enjoyable past forty days of my life. And conversing with people, sans screen, is priceless.

And I wouldn't trade that for anything.

where you are.

Since giving up Facebook for Lent about a month ago, I figured I'd have all this extra time to write. But that expectation has proven entirely false. I'm beginning to wonder if giving it up was more the hand of God looking out for me, than me trying to set time aside to observe and contemplate him. 

In either case, life has been incredibly busy.

So busy, that I have an even more apathetic and lethargic attitude towards school than before. I'm just weary. I feel somewhat like a gopher drilling a hole into the earth, and despite being halted in progress by the presence of a large boulder underneath the layers of dirt, I continue digging just for the sake of digging.

On top of this lack of motivation, is this growing desire to just discard the unnecessary things in my life. I so want my life to have meaning and purpose; and at this particular time, I feel like there are so many things in my life that serve no purpose; things that I'm doing just to do; things that contribute to my "digging for the sake of digging."

We sang a song in church tonight that says it: 

"I wanna be where you are."

I just want to be where God is. Serving him. Loving his people. Learning about him.

Everything else pales in comparison. 

What's the point of life if we're not focused on the source of it? Why do I have to be in school? Why do I have to learn about regression lines in Statistics? Why do I continue learning about literary devices?

I feel like this picture captures the essence of the place I'm in. While driving up to Big Bear on a cloudy day, we reached a point on the winding road where we passed through and above the clouds. It was incredible!

And I wish that I could do that with my life: rise above its mundane and repetitive course, tap into the heart of God, and live in simple service to him--without Statistics, AP English, or this thing called high school.

convicted.

Some of life's most beautiful moments are those in which you are utterly convicted. 

Conviction itself is a humbling, rather uncomfortable state. One in which you have been proven wrong. And as a teenage girl from a society striving to avoid the unveiling of (or simply the recognition of) personal flaws, it's even more difficult.

At the same time, it's rewarding. This correction brings forth growth and a reassurance in the grace and forgiveness of our Savior.

The reason this is even a point of discussion is because I've been convicted. It's hard to explain right off the bat, so let me give you some context.

Lately, my super duper friends and I have been attending Christian Assembly's Fusion service on Sunday nights. It's fabulous. It's both "current"/"hip" and spiritually edifying - things are taken to a different level than most high school ministries (mostly because it's the college-age and older service, not high school).

Currently, we've been in a series called "The Sequel" - taking a deeper look at what it means to be Spirit-filled believers who are the sequel to Christ, the ones left to do his will. A few weeks ago, Mark Pickerill (the pastor) highlighted a passage in Revelation 3:

"These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God's creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm - neither hot nor cold - I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see."

This is a letter to the church in Laodicea. And as Mark went on to tell the congregation, Laodicea was quite a "happening" place. It was a city of incredible prosperity because of its ideal location: the crossing of major trade routes. Because of this, its people were quite self-reliant - particularly the believers. Their wealth blinded them. They were unwilling to see what they were lacking, and that because of their wealth, they were "wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked."

As a result, they were an inward-focused community, which Mark likened to a football team that consistently stays in a huddle. Imagine that: a football team that always strategizes but never runs an offensive play. He went on to say that our churches are still like this: we don't adequately share the Gospel with others because we're so focused on our church budget, or the publicity campaign for the next retreat, or which songs to sing next Sunday, etc.

My conviction came when he pointed out that he thinks the Alcoholics Anonymous program has got things right. 

As he watched a relative work his way through the program he realized the institution's purpose was not to bring men to sobriety, but to help men become sober so that they can help others become sober. 

And that he said is what we, as Christians, ought to do. That is the point of the Gospel: to embrace the good news ourselves and share it with others. 

What got me was the fact that the Alcoholics Anonymous program is doing things right, and I'm not.

As that idea soaked in, I began really looking at my life. 

You could say I've been raised in a Christian bubble. It's a wonderful bubble, don't get me wrong. But the problem with it is that its perpetuation has not exposed me to the outside world, the world that I'm supposed to share this good news with. 

In fact, up till now, my only outlet to the non-Christian world has pretty much been through National Charity League (NCL): a 6-year program in which mothers and daughters serve their communities together. Having just completed my service with NCL, I've realized how much I've taken that ministry opportunity for granted. I have been too consumed with my disgust in watching women serve to acquire required hours and miss the point of it all, that I too missed the point: I could have developed deeper friendships with the girls who, though quite different from me, are thirsting for truth and meaning and purpose in life. 

I could have been a light. 

I could have shown them the way to fulfillment and joy. 

I could have shown them hope.

But my selfishness kept me from doing so. I stayed in the huddle and forgot to launch my offense.

I don't want to live life in the huddle. I don't want to forget that at some point, I've got to put all this strategizing to play. I don't want to let my selfishness hold me back.

blind.

Once again, I’m feeling inspired to write. And once again, I don’t exactly know where this is going.

I guess I’ll start with describing a conversation I had with my friend over lunch.

Lately, my friends and I have been sitting on this grassy lawn during lunchtime. We spread out, lie down, and gaze up at the sky. This month, California weather has been treating us pretty well: the just-after-rain sky is the most spectacular shade of blue, and it always seems to spur on rather meaningful conversations.

So this last week, my friend asked me if I ever feel like I would’ve defended the cause of Jesus in the first century, or stood up for the abolition of slavery in the 1800s, or fought for civil rights in the 1960s. Her question caught me by surprise: on many occasions, I have found myself wondering these same things. And it wasn’t until that moment that I realized other people wonder the exact same thing!

To be honest, the more I’ve thought about the whole concept, the more I’ve realized how much “hindsight bias” impacts my answer to the question. Having learned about these movements and reaped the consequences and benefits of their outcomes, I’m sure we’d all hope to answer, “Yes! Of course I would’ve believed in the teachings of Jesus. I’d be crazy not to. Of course I would’ve supported abolition. It’s the right thing to do. Of course I would’ve fought for civil rights. Segregation is wrong.”

But as I’ve reflected deeper on this question, I get more worried that I might not have.

For although I have this part of me that is committed to social justice, there’s this other part that is stuck in the conventional, the traditional, the “right” way of doing life. And honestly, while radical Christian living is quite appealing (and a bit of what I’ve written about in previous posts), I feel like there’s a point at which I cut it off, a point where I might not believe things.

Seriously, if we look at some of the stuff Jesus says in the Gospels it’s crazy sauce (my AP US History teacher’s favorite expression). In my Pastoral Theology class at school, we’ve been memorizing the "Sermon on the Mount", and it hasn’t been until now that I have realized how truly revolutionary and controversial his words were (and still are). Take for instance, Matthew 6:14:

“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

Are you kidding? If we don’t forgive men, God isn’t going to forgive us? Wow. They certainly don’t teach kids that in Sunday school! No wonder people went nuts about what Jesus was preaching!

And with a record of saying things like that, I worry that, back in the day, I might have been one of the hypocrites, one of the Pharisees, one of those who shunned Jesus for being too counter-cultural, too crazy.

It's in realizing this that I get to wondering if there’s a movement going on right now that I’m missing out on: something or someone that I’m ignoring because they sound too crazy. What if I end up missing it? What if I become somewhat of a modern equivalent to a Pharisee or someone who was pro-slavery or someone who was pro-segregationist?

I don’t want to miss out on that movement. I don’t want to be blinded by my pre-conceived notions, or my prejudice, or my own judgment. And yet it’s so hard. In all societies, I think people are taught that "what’s right is right." And those who go against the grain, those who challenge or question the status quo are shunned or ignored.

But as we’ve seen with the three examples I’ve mentioned, it has turned out that these under-dog movements changed societies (and arguably, the world). And as we look back, the ones who were against those movements are now the crazy ones, the ones we frown upon.

Forty years from now, I don't want to be frowned upon.

Fort years from now, I don't want to realize that I missed out on an important movement because I have been stuck in the traditional, "right" way of doing life,

Forty years from now, I don't want to realize I've been blind.

(What do you think? Leave a comment, if you’d like!)

look up.

so i found this quote.

i used to have it on my Facebook profile.

but i've decided to post it here - in hopes that more will read it and contemplate its poignance. 

i think it's great.

it certainly challenges me to see beyond my often-trivial worries and anxieties and realize that something greater is coming, God is so near to us, and His kingdom's work is at hand.

so here's the epic quote by one of my heroes, dietrich bonhoeffer:

"look up you whose eyes are fixed on this earth,

you who are captivated by the events and changes on the surface of this earth...

look up, your redemption is drawing near.

something different than you see daily, 

something more important,

something infinitely greater and more powerful

is taking place.

become aware of it,

be on guard,

wait a short while longer, 

wait and something new will overtake you!

God will come, 

Jesus will take possession of you,

and you will be redeemed people."

i've just got one question for you:

was anyone else utterly convicted when they read the line, "look up...you who are captivated by the events and changes on the surface of this earth"?

i feel like that's totally me. my time, my money, my life. they're all so oriented towards things on "the surface of this earth."

so how do we change that? how do we look up?

*i took the liberty of separating the quote into stanza-like segments for greater effect. please don't sue me...

life.

I've been thinking a lot about life lately.

Like what we're supposed to do here. How we're supposed to figure out our calling. How we're supposed to be God's hands and feet.

The more I think about it, the more I feel like our society's got things wrong.

I was at Barnes & Noble today, and I noticed this magnet that said "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." At first I didn't think much of it, but before I walked by, I read it again and it hit me. Really? Life is about creating ourselves? 

It seems a rather grim and trivial purpose: to create yourself.

This idea kind of reminds me of a recent message I heard from a speaker. During his sermon, this individual repeated over and over: "Make your name great." And like the magnet's little quote, I didn't think much of it until he said it for about the seventeenth time. And again, it hit me. Really? Life is about making our name great?

I know there's that whole "To each his own" philosophy. But honestly, I don't believe it - at least, not for this scenario. We do not exist to make our name great nor to create ourselves.

I'm just eighteen, and I'll admit, I'm not anywhere near figuring out what this life is about. But what I have figured out so far is that we are called to love God and to love his people. And I feel that in our society, we have lost sight of that primary calling. Few people sit down after their high school graduation, ready to consider their next step in life, and think, "Hm. What should I do now? How can I serve God and serve people with my life?"

That's not to say that no one does that, but I think, on the whole, few people do. Parents, teachers, and school administrators all encourage us to move on to higher learning, to gain wealth, to achieve success, and to become famous - because then we'll be happy, right? We seek to acquire material possessions rather than taking into consideration the greater reward that may come from "storing our treasures in heaven" rather than on earth. We put "making a name for ourselves" in front of bringing glory to God (because, let's be honest, loving God and loving people doesn't exactly rake in the money).

Lately, we've been reading essays written by famous authors in my English class. One in particular, by Annie Dillard, struck me. It's called "Living Like Weasels". The premise is a little odd: the author describes and recalls an observation of a weasel. But what she gleans from this rather silly, little animal is quite profound.

Yes, these creatures are long and skinny, but they are fierce. She mentions one instance in which a hunter shot an eagle, and found the skull of a weasel attached to its neck. The image is a little grotesque, but when you think about how it got there, more meaning develops: while being attacked by the eagle, the weasel most likely bit the eagle's jugular in an effort to fight him off. And despite the fact that the weasel was considerably smaller and bound to lose the fight, it held on. Tightly. It never let go. It died there. On the eagle's neck. Crazy, right? 

In abandoning life itself, Dillard seems to admire the weasel's carelessness. This living out of instinct. This living in the moment. This living for survival. This "choosing the given with a fierce and pointed will" (or as I like to think of it, embracing what you're handed as if you have chosen it).

In the end, Dillard uses the weasel analogy to hammer home her conviction that in life, "the thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse." We should abandon excess and seek after life itself. The very heart of it.

As I read the essay, I fell more and more in love with the idea of living simply and intentionally. I've never been one who's yearned for a life of luxury. To be completely honest, I'm a little tired of suburbia, of a life in comfort. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate it. I thank God every day for it. But part of me feels that there's an aspect of life that gets lost as you live knowing when your next meal will be. There's not a whole lot of wholly relying on God that goes on there. 

In this last year, I've realized that I want to live life on the edge. I know people say that all the time, but I really do. I don't want to have a high-paying job. I don't want to be successful. I want to be forced to trust in God's provision. To be in situations where all I can do is rely on God. It's a little scary saying that. But I think it's what I might need if I'm ever going to come close to catching even the slightest glimpse of who God really is.

I want to live like a weasel. With purpose and with passion. With less "premeditated" decisions and with more reckless abandon. With a "fierce and pointed will". Seeking life, life to the fullest. Seeking God, the real God. Loving others. Loving God. And most of all, working to make his name great - not mine.