Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I am...
-a bad student right now...(in the process of finishing a 4 pg. argmentative paper due in 2 hours)
-feeling like I'm stuck in routine, routine, routine....
-feeling like I "am in ministry" (worship leading, small group leading, even group prayer) more than I can ever spend with Him alone
-feeling like I'm an awful friend to some
-a little stressed about $ for Costa Rica
-super EXCITED for Costa Rica
-wishing the sun was out
-MISSING MEXICO and the kids
-feeling super disconnected to my family
-struggeling with self-image
-learning a lot about self-control
-told that I am worship leader again next year
-without a SINGLE fault in the Lord's eyes (reading Colossians)
PHEW! just to name a few :) I guess that's why I haven't written for a while! Things are a bit crazy. I am clinging to Jesus as best I can, but it's been hard lately feeling Him there. I've been realizing why I have fallen into his awful cycle, and here are some lyrics that came into my head yesterday as I was talking to the Lord:
I have put You in a box
I have left You at the door
I have brushed You aside,
neglected and ignored You
And I cannot tell you
How much it pains me to hurt You
And I'm here to say
I want to return
I want to return
to the loving arms of Grace
I'm sorry, my Lord
Well I have to get back to that paper now but wanted to share a bit! The Lord is so good to me. blessings,
suse
Saturday, April 3, 2010
A Prayer
“May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.
May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain in to joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.”
I found this in a blog. (actually, a blog that I follow that is of an 18 yr old girl who moved to Costa Rica to teach high risk teenage girls typing and math skills in a slum for 9 months right out of high school...pretty addicting to read and her faith is so inspiring and it's getting me even more stoked to go there! :)
P.S> If you want to read one of her cool stories, here it is.
Day 108.
The Story of the Sandia
This morning I woke up with a craving for sandia. Watermelon.
So I decided to get some.
First I woke up at 5:30 and finished making a math test for my students. Then I thought of the watermelon.
Next I went on a run in the hot hot heat. Still, I thought of the watermelon.Then I sat myself on the bus and planned out the purchase. I would get to work, give my girls their test, and then buy the plump red perfection on my way home through downtown.
I got to La Carpio. My students presented their Infomercial assignments; I had told them to "sell" various geometric shapes, cramming lots of information about each two-dimensional form in a short amount of time. One group promised the rest of the class that a quadrilateral was the best deal on the market -- "We'll throw in not one, not two, not three, but FOUR angles!" That made me laugh.
Still, I thought of the watermelon.
After that, we spent thirty minutes on their vocabulary test. I read my book. And tasted the watermelon in my near future.
Once that was done, I hopped back on the bus. Only forty-five minutes left of this grueling anticipation.
Finally I had made it: I was in front of the fruit stand. It was staring me right in the face, as if every black seed from the quarter slice was an unblinking eye, begging to be consumed. I forked over 600 colones, about one dollar, knowing that I was getting ripped off (I can buy two pineapples for the same price). No matter. This was going to be a sacred snack.
Carrying my long-awaited juicy treasure through downtown, I began pondering the consumption. Should I eat it in the plaza? No, the piece was too big. I didn't have anything to cut it with...my 6'3" frame already provided enough clumsy attention.
I boarded my second bus and continued thinking. Should I just wait until I made it home, cut it there? No, there was an inedible, over-ripe watermelon waiting in the fridge. My host mother had bought it and would be confused why I had bought my own. It's a delicate thing, the relationship with a host family -- particularly when it comes to food. No, I couldn't eat it in my kitchen.
A broken woman with less teeth than fingers guided a pig-tailed girl through the crowded bus aisle. She began barking an oh-so-common woe-is-me life story, holding out dirty hands that had done dirty things. Again, the watermelon entered my mind -- should I eat it in the little park a block from my home, where the only thing that could mock my devouring was rainbow walls of graffiti? No...that was too dangerous, that park was empty for a reason.
"We have all made mistakes, all sinned," the words fell from her face like a band's first show, well-practiced but lacking presentation. "Solo Dios es perfecto...Only God is perfect." What if I just ate the watermelon alone in my room? Perhaps cut half of it to save for later, read some more. Here was something I had wanted for hours, had planned for, had savored the very thought of savoring it. What was the answer to my predicament?
We slammed on the brakes and words came rushing at me -- words from an unnamed taxi driver.
"The way I see it, every question, every worry, has a very clear solution. You have control of your actions. And if your question has no answer, if it isn't something you can fix, then why worry about it?"
Once more I saw eyes staring at me, but not the empty stare of seeds that would never be planted. No, these were the eyes of the innocent youngling gripping at her mother's drug-scarred body. As her mom drilled and droned, the daughter looked at me. I looked back. The tattered soul that jabbered on, the tired empty shell that life had gnawed on and spat out, the ex-convict, the mother, the person in front of me -- she had been that little girl once. She had let her own mother play with her hair, she had found joy in a lollipop, she had held someone's hand, held it tight.
At that instant the answer was clear. As fingers fumbled through coin purses that held the promises of meals, textbooks, and future days, I took one last look at the watermelon.
"Para su familia," I offered, "For your family."
The woman placed her hand on my head and gave me a genuine grin that life had filled with empty spaces. "Dios te bendiga, mi amor...God bless you, sweetheart."
I saw Jesus in that woman. And you know what? I decided that was what I was really craving all along.--Hannah
May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.
May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain in to joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.”
Beautiful, huh?! This is my prayer too..
P.S> If you want to read one of her cool stories, here it is.
Day 108.
The Story of the Sandia
This morning I woke up with a craving for sandia. Watermelon.
So I decided to get some.
First I woke up at 5:30 and finished making a math test for my students. Then I thought of the watermelon.
Next I went on a run in the hot hot heat. Still, I thought of the watermelon.Then I sat myself on the bus and planned out the purchase. I would get to work, give my girls their test, and then buy the plump red perfection on my way home through downtown.
I got to La Carpio. My students presented their Infomercial assignments; I had told them to "sell" various geometric shapes, cramming lots of information about each two-dimensional form in a short amount of time. One group promised the rest of the class that a quadrilateral was the best deal on the market -- "We'll throw in not one, not two, not three, but FOUR angles!" That made me laugh.
Still, I thought of the watermelon.
After that, we spent thirty minutes on their vocabulary test. I read my book. And tasted the watermelon in my near future.
Once that was done, I hopped back on the bus. Only forty-five minutes left of this grueling anticipation.
Finally I had made it: I was in front of the fruit stand. It was staring me right in the face, as if every black seed from the quarter slice was an unblinking eye, begging to be consumed. I forked over 600 colones, about one dollar, knowing that I was getting ripped off (I can buy two pineapples for the same price). No matter. This was going to be a sacred snack.
Carrying my long-awaited juicy treasure through downtown, I began pondering the consumption. Should I eat it in the plaza? No, the piece was too big. I didn't have anything to cut it with...my 6'3" frame already provided enough clumsy attention.
I boarded my second bus and continued thinking. Should I just wait until I made it home, cut it there? No, there was an inedible, over-ripe watermelon waiting in the fridge. My host mother had bought it and would be confused why I had bought my own. It's a delicate thing, the relationship with a host family -- particularly when it comes to food. No, I couldn't eat it in my kitchen.
A broken woman with less teeth than fingers guided a pig-tailed girl through the crowded bus aisle. She began barking an oh-so-common woe-is-me life story, holding out dirty hands that had done dirty things. Again, the watermelon entered my mind -- should I eat it in the little park a block from my home, where the only thing that could mock my devouring was rainbow walls of graffiti? No...that was too dangerous, that park was empty for a reason.
"We have all made mistakes, all sinned," the words fell from her face like a band's first show, well-practiced but lacking presentation. "Solo Dios es perfecto...Only God is perfect." What if I just ate the watermelon alone in my room? Perhaps cut half of it to save for later, read some more. Here was something I had wanted for hours, had planned for, had savored the very thought of savoring it. What was the answer to my predicament?
We slammed on the brakes and words came rushing at me -- words from an unnamed taxi driver.
"The way I see it, every question, every worry, has a very clear solution. You have control of your actions. And if your question has no answer, if it isn't something you can fix, then why worry about it?"
Once more I saw eyes staring at me, but not the empty stare of seeds that would never be planted. No, these were the eyes of the innocent youngling gripping at her mother's drug-scarred body. As her mom drilled and droned, the daughter looked at me. I looked back. The tattered soul that jabbered on, the tired empty shell that life had gnawed on and spat out, the ex-convict, the mother, the person in front of me -- she had been that little girl once. She had let her own mother play with her hair, she had found joy in a lollipop, she had held someone's hand, held it tight.
At that instant the answer was clear. As fingers fumbled through coin purses that held the promises of meals, textbooks, and future days, I took one last look at the watermelon.
"Para su familia," I offered, "For your family."
The woman placed her hand on my head and gave me a genuine grin that life had filled with empty spaces. "Dios te bendiga, mi amor...God bless you, sweetheart."
I saw Jesus in that woman. And you know what? I decided that was what I was really craving all along.--Hannah
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