The Dream Begins to Unravel

What is the Solomon's Portico of the U.S.A.?
The white house?

In Acts we find that
"They were all together in Solomon's Portico. None of the rest dared to join them, but the people held them in high esteem. Yet more than ever believers were added to the Lord, great numbers of both men and women, so that they even carried out the sick into the streets, and laid them on cots and mats, in order that Peter's shadow might fall on some of them as he came by."

The people had such faith in this way early Christians cared for the sick and hurting that they readily sought it out for themselves. What is really crazy is that you see these Christians caring for the oppressed in what would have been the Pentagon or Whitehouse of today.

Then, as Acts 5 continues, you see that the Christians are even arrested for living what the Sadducees call "this life." The life of dying every day to the cross over man leads to prison time, it leads to radical love. But this isn't your run-of-the mill revolutionary sect, this Christianity.

"If this or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them-- in that case you may even be found fighting against God!" --Gamaliel in Acts 5

What is nuts is that the authorities try to shut down this group of peaceful, passionately-loving healers for being law breakers. Yet instead of being a testament to the faithful unyielding nature of the law, the arrest and consequent liberation of the Christians from prison was amidst the time when "more than ever believers were added to the Lord." As Peter says, "We must obey God rather than any human authority."

Where am I even going with this? Basically I am beginning to see that a life lived toward God, a life lived to the fullest looks revolutionary and it looks risky, but it looks so appealing in its love and compassion.

Compassion is our destiny.

Alive Again

I realize that in the past few weeks, I have felt life and felt it in abundance.
I am so excited for coming days.
And even more excitingly, I am excited for today.

How often do we live life with hesitation and regrets? I live it that way too often. No more, I say!

No more hesitation, no more regrets.

No more prioritizing money over God. No more prioritizing self-pity over healing. No more prioritizing a masturbatory lifestyle over a compassionate life.
I am changing.

Changing from believer
to follower.

Bumble #2

Phillipians 2:3 says, "do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves."
Well, elitism pretty much goes out the window with this one.

Without my sense of entitlement, who am I?

No one deserves to wash my feet. I deserve to wash everyone's.

Still In This World

Conflicted: laughter and tears.
Conflicted: relaxation and tension.
Conflicted: who I am becoming and who I still have yet to leave behind.

In the past semester, something has changed. I'm simultaneously losing and finding my identity. For the first time, I feel the spark of a connection with my community. I wonder; I am the only one?

It's not re-invention. It's rediscovery. I was always this way, but I had to tease it out. Something, or rather, someone had to tease it out. God. Friends. Family.

I'm in for some real relaxation. Enough tension.

Peace.

Bumble #1

What more is a callus than a self-inflicted hardening of all of one's former shells?

Who Drinks Lattes, Hides in Thrift Stores?

She finally arrived at her destination after waking up not even knowing where she was. As she shuffled inside clutching the contents of her pockets, she preoccupied herself with the simpering smiles of those polished employees. Employees, that is if you could call the "work they did employment. A few leathery bills, some change was all she had left from last night's scourge. What a night. She'd been out far too late.

She wondered then how she looked. She'd gone straight there without even glancing in a window's reflection. It must have been obvious that she had a headache. She was sure the pain wrought itself quite clearly on her forehead. Honestly though, did those idiots behind the counter have to look at her like she was some sort of train wreck? That pseudo-sympathy behind the counter was really getting to her. It was in the way they looked at her. Those looks that said "don't worry, sweetie" as if they were experiencing the same headache-mindache-lifeache she was. Well, even if the employees were all hags, at least she could get what she wanted in this store, the likes of which are known nationwide for ubiquity if not fine taste.

Sure, she would be warm as soon as she got what she was looking for, but what size did she want? What size would be big enough to take away the waking chill of the changing seasons?

She counted out her assets. Four one-dollar bills and several coins. She decided to splurge and make her purchase a fancy one.

She pulled the lone Dior coat off the racks, paid the volunteer behind the counter, and left the dingy thrift store.

As the autumn wind picked up, she hugged her "new" purchase, heading off in the direction of the city mission. Even though she'd just woken up, the position of the sun in the sky told her that the soup kitchen would be serving dinner soon. She hoped she would soon recover those four dollars thirty-eight cents.

Five minutes later, a man spilled his Starbucks all over her coat.

Holden's Paradise

Tenth grade was a magical year in Mr. Allen's English class. It brought an enriched vocabulary, a (then) killer research experience, and Holden Caulfield. What was it about that twisted, pre-pubescent punk we all felt related to ourselves? I think Mr. Antonlini put it best:

"You're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior... Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now... You'll learn from them... [just] as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you... And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."
--J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 24, spoken by the character Mr. Antolini

Sometimes, it's impossible to believe that our streets are really full of selfish, fallen farces of what God intended. It couldn't be that everyone is one of Holden's "phonies."

So I tested a hypothesis. I challenge you to make like Josh and me. Walk down any street these days without your cell phone or iPod to distract you. What do you see? What do you do?
_________________________________________

An Experiment

Walking down the boulevard,
Head up,
Eyes open, seeing what?

Shoes pounding concrete,
heading off human contact.

Head up?

Head up,
Seeing buildings,
then
trees, skies,
light.

Head up, but off.

Head-on, facing others,
Walking down the boulevard.
See another person
see you
smile.

_________________________________________

Holden hadn't met anyone to meet his gaze by the end of Salinger's classic, and I'm no Holden Caulfield by any stretch of the imagination. It's good to know, though, that people, real human beings-- with sympathy for anyone else lucky or unlucky enough to identify as homo sapiens sapiens-- will sometimes look up.

If you start on the street, good.
Just remember, there are streets everywhere. Worldwide. Sometimes they're full of phonies, but sometimes, they smile, too.