And some days I get very antsy.
I don't want to wait to get prepared and get trained and to finish schooling. I don't want to wait until then when there are people suffering now.
I've had plenty of spare time the last couple of days, so I've decided to listen to speakers or sermons each day. I've been extremely inspired the last two days. I stumbled upon the videos from Passion2012 and watched Francis Chan urging the church to just do it now. We have to act now. Just do what the Bible says... and do it now. And then today I watched Christine Caine talk about how her life had been interrupted and how we as Christians have been rescued... that Christ died for freedom, so that we can go help others find that freedom. And we need to do it... now.
She told a story of a Russian girl they rescued from a brothel in Eastern Europe. The girl asked why they had come; Christine told her about this loving God who rescued her and has sent Christians into the world to be light in the darkness. And she went on for a little bit... until the girl asked her, "If what you say about this God is true, why didn't you come sooner?"
That question sends chills down my spine.
Yes, there will be poor and hungry children when I'm done with school. Yes, there will still be trafficking victims when I'm done and ready to go. Yes, they will still be there.
But what about the ones who are hungry, poor, sick and dying now?
But then another thought stops me in my tracks.
What if when I am done with school and I can go pour out my life to set the the captives free and feed the hungry.... what if I just don't?
I'm not immune to the lure of comfort or the appeal of sin. I'm not. What if I am able to invite the poor over for dinner because it's my own home... but what if I choose not to? What if I get trapped in the mentality of needing to achieve, of needing to improve, of needing to climb this senseless social ladder? What if I believe the lies and forget what is truly eternal? What if I spend my energy, time, creativity on myself instead of pouring it out like a drink offering for God and for others?
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Martha, Martha
Not even two posts ago I wrote about how we're addicted to hurry. How I was looking forward to a summer where I wasn't rushing off to my next activity. A summer in which I could sit and relax and take time to process life. I expected that I'd be blogging quite a bit to make sure that I externalized everything going on internally.
But that hasn't happened.
I've definitely had plenty of down time. I've had time to think, to process, to slow down. But somehow, they internal hasn't quite made it out to the external. I would have an extremely hard time articulating what I've been learning or how I've been growing or how I've been challenged.
So, I've avoided blogging. In the past, I've blogged when I've had exciting things going on. When I have stories to share. Prayer requests to spread. Life to tell. But this last week... I've had so much down time, that I feel as though I have nothing to share-- a mentality I know is false. And though I know it is false, I still have to pick my way through the lies to figure out what to share.
I've been able to spend time with Lucas almost every day so far, which has been wonderful. I've enjoyed being outdoors with him, being in Ottawa with him and eating dinners together. But when we aren't spending time together... I'm alone. Now, I knew this would be the case. I was preparing myself for this. I was ready for a summer where I would break my addiction to hurry. I had anticipated that I would begin to lose my mind.
I wouldn't go as far as to say that I've begin to lose my mind. But I may soon. No alarm wakes me; I spend my days translating, communicating with people online, going on runs/walks, grocery shopping cooking, letter writing (send me your address if you want to be pen pals!) and longer devo times. Not too shabby.
However, I find this profound desire in me to be doing something. To be learning something. To be serving someone. To be developing as an individual. I feel terribly stuck in the mundane. It hasn't been three days and I'm stuck in the mundane.
Obviously, I need time to sit in this season a bit longer. I restlessly browsed websites yesterday looking for places where I could volunteer. I told myself that I'd feel better if I was just doing something.
But that's the point. I can't just be doing things to be better, feel better. In my restlessness the last couple of days, I've heard Jesus' quiet voice beckoning me to walk away from my altar of service and turn to him. I hear him tell me, like Martha:
"My dear Viviana, there is really only one thing worth being concerned about."
Ah, if you think of me, pray that my soul would be quieted... that I'd be able to sit at the feet of Jesus and simply hear his voice.
But that hasn't happened.
I've definitely had plenty of down time. I've had time to think, to process, to slow down. But somehow, they internal hasn't quite made it out to the external. I would have an extremely hard time articulating what I've been learning or how I've been growing or how I've been challenged.
So, I've avoided blogging. In the past, I've blogged when I've had exciting things going on. When I have stories to share. Prayer requests to spread. Life to tell. But this last week... I've had so much down time, that I feel as though I have nothing to share-- a mentality I know is false. And though I know it is false, I still have to pick my way through the lies to figure out what to share.
I've been able to spend time with Lucas almost every day so far, which has been wonderful. I've enjoyed being outdoors with him, being in Ottawa with him and eating dinners together. But when we aren't spending time together... I'm alone. Now, I knew this would be the case. I was preparing myself for this. I was ready for a summer where I would break my addiction to hurry. I had anticipated that I would begin to lose my mind.
I wouldn't go as far as to say that I've begin to lose my mind. But I may soon. No alarm wakes me; I spend my days translating, communicating with people online, going on runs/walks, grocery shopping cooking, letter writing (send me your address if you want to be pen pals!) and longer devo times. Not too shabby.
However, I find this profound desire in me to be doing something. To be learning something. To be serving someone. To be developing as an individual. I feel terribly stuck in the mundane. It hasn't been three days and I'm stuck in the mundane.
Obviously, I need time to sit in this season a bit longer. I restlessly browsed websites yesterday looking for places where I could volunteer. I told myself that I'd feel better if I was just doing something.
But that's the point. I can't just be doing things to be better, feel better. In my restlessness the last couple of days, I've heard Jesus' quiet voice beckoning me to walk away from my altar of service and turn to him. I hear him tell me, like Martha:
"My dear Viviana, there is really only one thing worth being concerned about."
Ah, if you think of me, pray that my soul would be quieted... that I'd be able to sit at the feet of Jesus and simply hear his voice.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Elevator Speech
I recently came back from a week-long retreat with InterVarsity up in Michigan. I had prepared an elevator speech for those who asked, but didn't have the time to really care how it went. I was ready to share my two-minute spiel. But I never took the time to think about those who might have the time to care... who might ask a couple of follow-up questions and who might want to know a little bit more than my rehearsed two-liner.
And so, I've struggled to put into words how CFW (Chapter Focus Week) was when I'm allowed to talk for a bit.
Surely they don't want me to go through my schedule, day by day, session by session. Should I trace what happened? Who I talked to? What stories would I tell? Just how vulnerable could I stand to get?
I figured I'd just get back and blog about it, but I've run into the same problem online. What do I write about? Who should I talk about?
Sooo... time will go on and people will no longer care about CFW, but I know that I'll have to keep processing the lessons I learned while I was there. With that said, I'll probably hop back on here throughout the summer with small posts about CFW-- a memorable story, a quote, a session I enjoyed.
But with that said, I'll leave you with my elevator speech:
And so, I've struggled to put into words how CFW (Chapter Focus Week) was when I'm allowed to talk for a bit.
Surely they don't want me to go through my schedule, day by day, session by session. Should I trace what happened? Who I talked to? What stories would I tell? Just how vulnerable could I stand to get?
I figured I'd just get back and blog about it, but I've run into the same problem online. What do I write about? Who should I talk about?
Sooo... time will go on and people will no longer care about CFW, but I know that I'll have to keep processing the lessons I learned while I was there. With that said, I'll probably hop back on here throughout the summer with small posts about CFW-- a memorable story, a quote, a session I enjoyed.
But with that said, I'll leave you with my elevator speech:
"It was good! I definitely enjoyed it... I love retreats-- made me miss home. I was reminded of the importance and power of prayer and my vision and passion for college ministry was strengthened and refreshed."
Toodles! Until next time :)
Friday, May 11, 2012
Addicted
We're addicted to hurry.
In the last several weeks I've become more and more aware of how hurried our lives can be. We cram our schedules, leaving but a couple of minutes of margin in between appointments. Oh, I'm sorry, I'll speak for myself. I cram my schedule: Class from 3:00-3:50, meeting at 4:00, dinner at 5 and Bible study at 6:00. Cram, cram, cram. I squeeze in lunch dates so that I can spend time with people, and then, because they're squeezed in, I linger to make them last just a litle bit longer, and because I lingered, I'm off running, late to my next engagement. I find myself wishing I had time for a nap far too often, knowing that if I take the time to nap, then I'll be up late that night. Sometimes I succumb; I'll probably be up late anyway.
Yes, we-- oh, sorry-- I am addicted to hurry.
During worship on Sunday the worship pastor said that he had had an excellent week of following Jesus and wondered if anyone else felt that way. A few hands went up. He asked for people to call out why they felt it had been an "better than average week." Words like "discipline" and "rest" or "obedience" or "prayer" were shouted out. Then he asked if anyone had had a less-than-average week following Jesus. I heard people call out words like "busyness" and "exhaustion."
Standing there listening to this got my mind spinning again. This obsession with hurry-- with busyness-- is pervasive. It's everywhere. We rush through meals, rush through phone calls, rush through traffic, rush through devotions, rush through appointments and rush to meet deadlines.
I've become increasingly aware of my tendency to rush through life and hurry through things. I've noticed my propensity toward crowding out things I care about in order to be more "efficient" with my time. See? I can balance my life and two-and-a-half others! Clearly, I am being productive as long as my never-ending to-do list has somethings marked off.
Right?
Laundry. Check.
No... perhaps efficiency and productivity is more about keeping the list short rather than finding things to check off.
This last week I've thrown my internal clock a wrench. Alarm clock? No way. Schedule? We'll figure it out. Feel like running? Or napping? Or eating? Or Skyping? Sure. And yet, I've finished two final papers, and two exams in the last week. I've been able to serve at PADS and Skype friends who I've struggled to keep in touch with. I've been able to play games with my grandparents and go on walks with God.
And still, I find my mind whirring like an incessant machine at times. It's confused. Why isn't there something to hurry off to? Something that needs to be rushed? At times, I must admit, I feel like I'm losing my mind. There's nothing to do; I worry that I'm being lazy, or unproductive, or inefficient.
Is this "losing-my-mind" stage my withdrawal from hurriedness?
I'm so sick of answering "tired" when asked how I'm doing. I hate hearing myself answer, "Good, but busy!" when asked how life is going. I don't like it and I'm sick of it.
And yet, the idea of not doing much seems terrifying. Shouldn't I be doing something productive? Gaining new skills or a wider work experience? Making money? Saving money? Getting work accomplished? I get squirmy and uncomfortable with the thought of not having much to do. Will I pick up a book and read for pleasure? Will I go on walks, and sit outside to see the sunset-- just because? Will I rest and be replenished, ready to pour out and serve? Or will I lose my mind because I'm not busy?
I know that I need more margin. I know that I need more down-time. I constantly have to fight this achieve, produce, gain mentality that has sunken in.
I must. I don't want to cut corners on the things and people that matter most. I don't want to give them corners. I want to give them the best me possible, knowing that they love the worst me too. I'm not exactly sure what this summer is going to look like, but I hope that I find time to simply sit... to rest... to breathe.
And on that note, I'm off to take a nap :)
In the last several weeks I've become more and more aware of how hurried our lives can be. We cram our schedules, leaving but a couple of minutes of margin in between appointments. Oh, I'm sorry, I'll speak for myself. I cram my schedule: Class from 3:00-3:50, meeting at 4:00, dinner at 5 and Bible study at 6:00. Cram, cram, cram. I squeeze in lunch dates so that I can spend time with people, and then, because they're squeezed in, I linger to make them last just a litle bit longer, and because I lingered, I'm off running, late to my next engagement. I find myself wishing I had time for a nap far too often, knowing that if I take the time to nap, then I'll be up late that night. Sometimes I succumb; I'll probably be up late anyway.
Yes, we-- oh, sorry-- I am addicted to hurry.
During worship on Sunday the worship pastor said that he had had an excellent week of following Jesus and wondered if anyone else felt that way. A few hands went up. He asked for people to call out why they felt it had been an "better than average week." Words like "discipline" and "rest" or "obedience" or "prayer" were shouted out. Then he asked if anyone had had a less-than-average week following Jesus. I heard people call out words like "busyness" and "exhaustion."
Standing there listening to this got my mind spinning again. This obsession with hurry-- with busyness-- is pervasive. It's everywhere. We rush through meals, rush through phone calls, rush through traffic, rush through devotions, rush through appointments and rush to meet deadlines.
I've become increasingly aware of my tendency to rush through life and hurry through things. I've noticed my propensity toward crowding out things I care about in order to be more "efficient" with my time. See? I can balance my life and two-and-a-half others! Clearly, I am being productive as long as my never-ending to-do list has somethings marked off.
Right?
Laundry. Check.
No... perhaps efficiency and productivity is more about keeping the list short rather than finding things to check off.
This last week I've thrown my internal clock a wrench. Alarm clock? No way. Schedule? We'll figure it out. Feel like running? Or napping? Or eating? Or Skyping? Sure. And yet, I've finished two final papers, and two exams in the last week. I've been able to serve at PADS and Skype friends who I've struggled to keep in touch with. I've been able to play games with my grandparents and go on walks with God.
And still, I find my mind whirring like an incessant machine at times. It's confused. Why isn't there something to hurry off to? Something that needs to be rushed? At times, I must admit, I feel like I'm losing my mind. There's nothing to do; I worry that I'm being lazy, or unproductive, or inefficient.
Is this "losing-my-mind" stage my withdrawal from hurriedness?
I'm so sick of answering "tired" when asked how I'm doing. I hate hearing myself answer, "Good, but busy!" when asked how life is going. I don't like it and I'm sick of it.
And yet, the idea of not doing much seems terrifying. Shouldn't I be doing something productive? Gaining new skills or a wider work experience? Making money? Saving money? Getting work accomplished? I get squirmy and uncomfortable with the thought of not having much to do. Will I pick up a book and read for pleasure? Will I go on walks, and sit outside to see the sunset-- just because? Will I rest and be replenished, ready to pour out and serve? Or will I lose my mind because I'm not busy?
I know that I need more margin. I know that I need more down-time. I constantly have to fight this achieve, produce, gain mentality that has sunken in.
I must. I don't want to cut corners on the things and people that matter most. I don't want to give them corners. I want to give them the best me possible, knowing that they love the worst me too. I'm not exactly sure what this summer is going to look like, but I hope that I find time to simply sit... to rest... to breathe.
And on that note, I'm off to take a nap :)
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Stories
"I was expecting you to be talking to people! Are you sure you're enjoying yourself?" Julie asked me.
I shrugged. I hadn't seen anyone else talking to people, so I wasn't sure I should be. Besides, I didn't feel up to it. I was volunteering at PADS tonight, a community movement to support the homeless in DuPage County. My grandma had told me they were short on volunteers to serve dinner and asked if I would be willing to help. Of course I was willing. I haven't been involved in need-based ministry for a while.
When I got there, I didn't know any of the volunteers. I kind of kept to myself, but began helping them set up mattress and make the beds for the night. Sixty mats upstairs for the men. Ten downstairs for the women and ten for the family room. As I was bending over and folding the sheets over and over again, I was struck by the momentary nature of my presence at PADS that night. I would only be helping out this one night, the whole summer. I would only set up these beds, this one night, this whole year. And yet, those coming tonight, would depend on PADS many, many, many nights throughout the summer. It was an eerie thought and, for some reason, sent odd chills down my spine in the 80 degree room.
After setting beds up, I headed to the kitchen where I found Julie, an old family friend. She knew me when I was a toddler, I believe. We chatted and caught up on life while we cut bread and put cookies on plates, waiting for the people to arrive.
When they started to arrive, I was unsure of how to interact with them. I knew they were homeless-- that's why they were here. But no one else was going up and talking to them. So instead, I smiled politely and helped wherever I could. But to be honest, I felt very useless. I was running back and forth filling up the dessert tray, wishing I was sitting at a table, striking up a conversation with one of the people there.
So Julie's question was unnerving. Yes, I was expecting that I'd be talking to people too. She said it was perfectly fine for me to go and talk to them... even if no one else was. So I took in a deep breath, grabbed a pitcher of water and started walking around the tables, offering refills. This way, I began making small talk with people. Near the end of the meal, I started talking with a man. We'll call him Rob.
Rob was in his mid-fifties and was very friendly. We started up a conversation very easily and I asked if I could join him at his table. He very hospitably said yes and kept a warm conversation going. I found out he had a daughter about my age and was able to hear much about his life. My heart warmed being able to listen to him and get to know more of his story.
Ah, stories. Aren't we all just stories strung together?
Lucas teases me because I love telling stories. I love hearing stories. I love reading stories. I love them. I find that they capture people so well... their hearts, their dreams, their interests, their fears... their lives. I love stories.
And so, we sat at the table, covered in a plastic tablecloth, telling stories.
The night came to a close and I had to leave.
"Dear young lady," he cried, "you have truly made my night."
I smiled and waved back.
Ah, he had truly made my night.
I shrugged. I hadn't seen anyone else talking to people, so I wasn't sure I should be. Besides, I didn't feel up to it. I was volunteering at PADS tonight, a community movement to support the homeless in DuPage County. My grandma had told me they were short on volunteers to serve dinner and asked if I would be willing to help. Of course I was willing. I haven't been involved in need-based ministry for a while.
When I got there, I didn't know any of the volunteers. I kind of kept to myself, but began helping them set up mattress and make the beds for the night. Sixty mats upstairs for the men. Ten downstairs for the women and ten for the family room. As I was bending over and folding the sheets over and over again, I was struck by the momentary nature of my presence at PADS that night. I would only be helping out this one night, the whole summer. I would only set up these beds, this one night, this whole year. And yet, those coming tonight, would depend on PADS many, many, many nights throughout the summer. It was an eerie thought and, for some reason, sent odd chills down my spine in the 80 degree room.
After setting beds up, I headed to the kitchen where I found Julie, an old family friend. She knew me when I was a toddler, I believe. We chatted and caught up on life while we cut bread and put cookies on plates, waiting for the people to arrive.
When they started to arrive, I was unsure of how to interact with them. I knew they were homeless-- that's why they were here. But no one else was going up and talking to them. So instead, I smiled politely and helped wherever I could. But to be honest, I felt very useless. I was running back and forth filling up the dessert tray, wishing I was sitting at a table, striking up a conversation with one of the people there.
So Julie's question was unnerving. Yes, I was expecting that I'd be talking to people too. She said it was perfectly fine for me to go and talk to them... even if no one else was. So I took in a deep breath, grabbed a pitcher of water and started walking around the tables, offering refills. This way, I began making small talk with people. Near the end of the meal, I started talking with a man. We'll call him Rob.
Rob was in his mid-fifties and was very friendly. We started up a conversation very easily and I asked if I could join him at his table. He very hospitably said yes and kept a warm conversation going. I found out he had a daughter about my age and was able to hear much about his life. My heart warmed being able to listen to him and get to know more of his story.
Ah, stories. Aren't we all just stories strung together?
Lucas teases me because I love telling stories. I love hearing stories. I love reading stories. I love them. I find that they capture people so well... their hearts, their dreams, their interests, their fears... their lives. I love stories.
And so, we sat at the table, covered in a plastic tablecloth, telling stories.
The night came to a close and I had to leave.
"Dear young lady," he cried, "you have truly made my night."
I smiled and waved back.
Ah, he had truly made my night.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Boxes
My closet is empty.
My dresser is empty save for two pairs of clothes.
My books are sitting in boxes.
I have yet to take my pictures down from the wall.
Am I really packing up again?
Strangely enough, this packing feels like I'm leaving Colombia all over again. No, I'm not nearly as attached to this room in Busey-Evans as I was to my home in Colombia. No, I'm not leaving my family, most of my friends and moving to a place where I know no one. No, I'm not moving to a different continent. No, no, no.
But, not unlike leaving Colombia, everything I own, after I leave U of I this week, will be in boxes or suitcases again. I'm not simply packing up my "college stuff" and bringing it back to a room where my "other stuff" is; my college stuff, for the most part, happens to be my stuff. I'll be back to living out of a suitcase for a couple of months before I move back down to Champaign to live elsewhere and unpack again-- creating a space of my own in the fall.
And there's that odd sense of knowing that I'll never be living in this room again. I probably won't (though I can't say for sure) live with Ty or Chrissy again. I won't walk down the hallway and stop by Karissa and Calen's room anymore. And that's just a really strange thought.
For the last two years, my entire college existence has happened from this room, with these people as core. I sometimes forget how the way we take in the world is so spatially and geographically influenced, but leaving this room is reminding me. Yes, next fall will feel quite different.
And so, in a sense... as I pack, I pack with farewells in my mind and goodbyes in my heart. I pack knowing that this concludes a short instance, a brief chapter. What has become so familiar will quickly become a memory and I'll fall right back into my familiar routine of transitioning and adjusting.
My dresser is empty save for two pairs of clothes.
My books are sitting in boxes.
I have yet to take my pictures down from the wall.
Am I really packing up again?
Strangely enough, this packing feels like I'm leaving Colombia all over again. No, I'm not nearly as attached to this room in Busey-Evans as I was to my home in Colombia. No, I'm not leaving my family, most of my friends and moving to a place where I know no one. No, I'm not moving to a different continent. No, no, no.
But, not unlike leaving Colombia, everything I own, after I leave U of I this week, will be in boxes or suitcases again. I'm not simply packing up my "college stuff" and bringing it back to a room where my "other stuff" is; my college stuff, for the most part, happens to be my stuff. I'll be back to living out of a suitcase for a couple of months before I move back down to Champaign to live elsewhere and unpack again-- creating a space of my own in the fall.
And there's that odd sense of knowing that I'll never be living in this room again. I probably won't (though I can't say for sure) live with Ty or Chrissy again. I won't walk down the hallway and stop by Karissa and Calen's room anymore. And that's just a really strange thought.
For the last two years, my entire college existence has happened from this room, with these people as core. I sometimes forget how the way we take in the world is so spatially and geographically influenced, but leaving this room is reminding me. Yes, next fall will feel quite different.
And so, in a sense... as I pack, I pack with farewells in my mind and goodbyes in my heart. I pack knowing that this concludes a short instance, a brief chapter. What has become so familiar will quickly become a memory and I'll fall right back into my familiar routine of transitioning and adjusting.
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Tyler and I at a Barndance-- Fall 2010 |
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First Snow Fall of 2010 with Chrissy |
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The three of us on my birthday-- 2011 |
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Chrissy- Dec 2011 |
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Ty and I on my birthday 2012 |
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ChRiSsY |
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On mah bday with Chrissy |
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Me, Karissa and Ty... on my birthday |
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Chrissy, Me and Karissa... birthday :) |
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