Being inspired

Lately, I've been reading The Hole in the Gospel by Rich Stearns, president of World Vision. The book gives one much food for thought. He speaks from the perspective of one who is well-acquainted with wealth and its lures and traps, yet at the same time, he challenges us to step out of our current paradigms and see the role of the church in bringing healing and redemption to the world's ailing issues. I marvel at his dreams -- they are big dreams -- eradicating world poverty, getting Christians (and non-Christians alike) to donate billions of dollars to help people across the world, finding ways to curb the AIDS epidemic, just to name a few.

I'm inspired, yet at the same time at a loss. I'm inspired that he dares to dream so big and is undaunted in the face of such huge challenges. If Rich Stearns can be so motivated, surely, I can too. God has given me many resources, riches, connections -- if I don't utilize these blessings for the good of others, I would have wasted them.

Yet I am also at a loss because I don't know where to begin. How can I, a school teacher, begin to unravel what it means to reach out to the world's poor? Do I begin in my classroom? with my own wallet? volunteer at a soup kitchen? do I organize trips to impoverished countries or be a part of fundraising campaigns here in the States? What has God placed on our hearts to do?

Sometimes, you just gotta do it

It's been welling up inside of me these past couple of days -- this murky, nondescript substance called listlessness. It caught me by surprise this time, for all else had been going well -- I loved my new routine, my students, my job -- and then bam. The sickness could have been it, or maybe the change in weather. I'd like to blame it on the flu, but I know better. There's a deeper reason for these gray clouds sinking in the horizon. The only trouble is, I don't know what the reasons are.

Is this what becoming old feels like? One settles, becomes complacent, begins to care less about what could be and should be and is concerned with simply what is. How does one's soul grow old and why does mine feel twenty years older than it should? How does one keep her spirit alive, her soul continuously fresh and revived despite disappointments and delays, day in, day out?

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it fester like a raisin in the sun or fester like a sore then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

There was a time when I used to dream. I used to dream big. Now I don't dream anymore -- it's safer not to.

I defy you. You, who have grown old. You, who have stopped dreaming. You, who taunt my yesterdays with nightmares about tomorrow. Who are you? You are nobody. You exist only to pull me down, and I defy all that you stand for -- apathy, listlessness, complacency. You have no place in my life.

You, who still dream, love, write, make poetry -- you I want. You, who see beauty in even small things -- you I want. You, who take time to revel in God's creation -- you I want.

Take this old self and make it new.

Rape

She is swallowed

bite by bite

her tongue tied by invisible cords

taut against her chest

afraid to expose once more

and feel naked

-- forced --

without being asked.

 

I probe

like a dentist against cavity walls

scraping, scratching a surface hardened...

Words fail me.

Inspirations from Harry Potter

A man is but a man.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  We all must return to the simple, brown, unassuming dirt from which we came.  Why do we toil?  Why seek glory?  What sufferings or joys come out of this bizarre thing we called "life?" 

Having watched the inauguration of the 44th president of the United States yesterday, I am impressed by the life and ideals of such a young couple, whose lives of public service is enviable, but undoubtedly tiring at the same time.  I could not imagine having the daily demands of the world upon my shoulders, without needing to retreat into my quiet space regularly.  Perhaps, this explains why Jesus retreated to the mountains to meet with the Father constantly, so that he could be released to help the needy people in the world.

Such a spirit of hope has swept across our nation, one unlike any I have seen or experienced before.  While I am enthused by the political changes symbolized in our new president, I am also wary of the fact that he is, after all, simply a man.  We hinge our faith upon a man who promises change, and if all goes according to plan, change will come.  Yet, his term will end in four years.  He, too, will move on.

I wonder if this is the kind of enthusiasm that the disciples/apostles possessed when they realized that Jesus was the Messiah?  Their entire lives had been devoted to waiting and seeking for the One who will bring about change to their dismal condition.  Upon seeing a man who spoke with authority and wisdom, the disciples rallied to his side and proclaimed his greatness.  Had they known that he would die and leave them within three years, would they have followed as closely?  Had they known that Jesus would die a most shameful death, would they have wanted to associate with him?  How their hopes and dreams must have been crushed when they saw their supposed "savior" hanging on the cross like a defeated victim of oppressive political powers! 

And yet.

The mystery of the cross: at the most wretched place, a rose bloomed.  Somehow, the dark magic of the world was reversed when a man sacrificed himself to save the lives of many.  The One who delivered himself into the hands of Death chose this path out of love.

Love conquered in the end. 

"But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection."  Colossians 3:14