"Imagine being at a public event like a movie or game or play or religious service and before it starts, someone says to the crowd, "Please stand if you've ever been affected by cancer"
What would you feel? Compassion? Empathy? Solidarity? Connection? Love?
A setting of strangers and yet you mention cancer- a specific suffering- and there's instantly a bond.
If someone said,
"Please stand... if you've been to Hawaii" or
"Please stand... if you've had to fire your interior decorator" or
"Please stand... if you drive a station wagon"
It just wouldnt have the same effect, would it?
But suffering, suffering unites."
-Rob Bell "Drops Like Stars"
I love this, because it is so true.
First semester of my junior year I went to Leadership Retreat and the man who led it, Phil Boyt, asked us to play this game called "Cross the Line". In this game, Phil would ask a question and we had three answer options: Yes, No, or I dont want to answer. If the answer was yes we would cross the line... you get the idea.
The questions would start out "Cross the line if you do well in school" to "Cross the line if you are embarrassed to be your brother or sisters sibling" to "Cross the line if you have ever contemplated suicide" to "Cross the line if you have lost a parent to Cancer" to "cross the line if you've ever been sent to jail"... and the list goes on.
The questions went from surface level, to intimate, personal, deep questions.
our group went from 200 high school students who had known each other for years on a surface level, to a group of 200 high school students who were beginning to see into the lives of their classmates. People crossed the line on questions that i would never have expected.
But in that moment, I was given the opportunity to relate to my peers and see their hearts without saying a word, without passing any judgement.
Makes you wonder... what do you see in the garbage truck man? or the teen mom that lives next door? or the CEO of your company? or your Pastor? or the lunch lady? or your Professor?
...A million stories are waiting to be told. How would you react? and Who would you connect with along the way?
Suffering unites us.
2.28.2010
2.21.2010
Blessed.
I dont know who needs to hear this tonight, but I know somebody does. So if it gets to one person, then it's totally worth it.
Tonight I sat with a few of my best friends with our mouths full of water, waiting for someone to start laughing and spew it all over the place, and begin the ripple effect. Having the time of our lives, in our element, being immature, and completely oblivious to the world around us.
It didn't hit me until I got home, but I realized the worlds around me were falling apart. So this is for you:
You were created in the image of God. You are the apple of his eye. He cares about every single thing You care about. He knows when your heart breaks. He knows every thought you have. He knows your feelings, and he sees the way you deal with them. His heart breaks when yours does. He yearns for you. He seeks you. He believes in your dreams. He brings you life. He has plans for you. He protects you. He has a place for you to rest in his shadow. He wants to tell you things that are true. He wants you to experience real, genuine, love. Love that doesn't envy or boast. Love that isn't proud or rude, or selfseeking. Love that keeps no records of wrongs. Love that rejoices in the truth. He wants to be that for you. He defends you, and he is on your side. Talk to Him about the small things, talk to Him about the big things. just talk to Him. He's dying to hear from you.
Remember this when satan tries to lie to you. When he walks in and does his very best to destroy you. To destroy your life, your family, your faith, your marriage, your trust, your security. Satan can only do so much. Greater is He who is within you, than he who is in the world. Do not let satan in. He will stay as long as you let him.
So open your mouth. Speak. Sing. Dance. Cry. Laugh. Run. Play. You have breath. You are here for a purpose. Never forget that.
The joy of the Lord is your strength. Nehemiah 8:10
"Without Joy, You have no strength."-Barb Olson
Tonight I sat with a few of my best friends with our mouths full of water, waiting for someone to start laughing and spew it all over the place, and begin the ripple effect. Having the time of our lives, in our element, being immature, and completely oblivious to the world around us.
It didn't hit me until I got home, but I realized the worlds around me were falling apart. So this is for you:
You were created in the image of God. You are the apple of his eye. He cares about every single thing You care about. He knows when your heart breaks. He knows every thought you have. He knows your feelings, and he sees the way you deal with them. His heart breaks when yours does. He yearns for you. He seeks you. He believes in your dreams. He brings you life. He has plans for you. He protects you. He has a place for you to rest in his shadow. He wants to tell you things that are true. He wants you to experience real, genuine, love. Love that doesn't envy or boast. Love that isn't proud or rude, or selfseeking. Love that keeps no records of wrongs. Love that rejoices in the truth. He wants to be that for you. He defends you, and he is on your side. Talk to Him about the small things, talk to Him about the big things. just talk to Him. He's dying to hear from you.
Remember this when satan tries to lie to you. When he walks in and does his very best to destroy you. To destroy your life, your family, your faith, your marriage, your trust, your security. Satan can only do so much. Greater is He who is within you, than he who is in the world. Do not let satan in. He will stay as long as you let him.
So open your mouth. Speak. Sing. Dance. Cry. Laugh. Run. Play. You have breath. You are here for a purpose. Never forget that.
The joy of the Lord is your strength. Nehemiah 8:10
"Without Joy, You have no strength."-Barb Olson
2.14.2010
We All Have a Story.
This week I have been assigned to find and orally interpret a poem, along with an original, to my speech class. The purpose is to learn to express poetry through different tones and expressions. However, the opportunity is far greater than that. I've been given an assignment, but even more I've been given a platform. So far, there has been various topics, emotions, and meanings. Sports. Animals. Imaginary friends. Senior year. Regrets. Aspirations. Suicide. War. Paintings. Desire. Hobbies. Laughter. Anger. Depression. Tears. Each person telling their own story. Each person speaking out of passion about a topic that intrigues them. My Oral Interp is due on Wednesday, and tonight I have found the perfect poem. It's a poem about people, but to me its a poem that reminds me that the ground at the foot of the Cross is flat. That we are all created equal. That we all experience the same feelings. That we are all called to greater things. It reminds me that no matter where we are in life, on which ever road, regardless of our past, mistakes, shortcomings... the Cross remains. It challenges me to "Shake the Dust"... to drop the dirt, and to seek out the good... So here it goes: "Shake the Dust" By Anis Mojgani
This is for the fat girls.
This is for the little brothers.
This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.
This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.
This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters. Shake the dust.
This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,
for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,
for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly. Shake the dust.
This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god. Shake the dust.
For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,
for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,
for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,
for the girl who loves somebody else. Shake the dust.
This is for the hard men, the hard men who want to love but know that is won't come.
For the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for.
For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.
Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.
This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.
For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.
This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.
This is for the biggots,
this is for the sexists,
this is for the killers.
This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers and for the springtime that always shows up after the winters.
This? This is for you.
Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.
Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.
So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has never been for me.
All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls for you.
So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off shake it again for this is yours.
Make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.
Walk into it, breathe it in, let is crash through the halls of your arms at the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.
So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob and open on up, running forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.
This is for the fat girls.
This is for the little brothers.
This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.
This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.
This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters. Shake the dust.
This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,
for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,
for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly. Shake the dust.
This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god. Shake the dust.
For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,
for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,
for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,
for the girl who loves somebody else. Shake the dust.
This is for the hard men, the hard men who want to love but know that is won't come.
For the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for.
For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.
Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.
This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.
For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.
This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.
This is for the biggots,
this is for the sexists,
this is for the killers.
This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers and for the springtime that always shows up after the winters.
This? This is for you.
Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.
Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.
So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has never been for me.
All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls for you.
So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off shake it again for this is yours.
Make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.
Walk into it, breathe it in, let is crash through the halls of your arms at the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.
So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob and open on up, running forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.
2.09.2010
Bucket List
A new phenomenon has been created. It's called The Buried Life, and if you've never heard of it it's a TV show of 4 boys who travel the United States attempting and completing different things they want to do before they die. However, that isn't their only goal. In every city they enter and for every thing they cross off their list, they help a stranger do something on his or her list. They end each show asking the question, "What do YOU want to do before you die?"
The question challenged me. The boys challenged me. What am I doing that is meaningful? What kind of impact am I making, if any at all? What do I want to do before I die? More importantly, What am I waiting for? But when I ask myself these questions, my mind is flooded with heavier ones... What I am doing to help other people obtain their goals? Their dreams?
"...whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." 1 Cor 10:31. Write a book. Travel to six continents. Fluently speak another language. Donate blood. Adopt a child. Plant a tree. Help build a house. Live among the homeless. Skydive. Be part of a flash mob. Have a pen pal. Bless someone, daily. All obtainable. What are we waiting for? And who might we meet along the way?
I am convinced that we meet nobody by accident, but purely by divine appointment. Changing THE world starts with changing ONE world. We each have our own story. To know, we must ask.
"Let the songs I sing bring joy to you. Let the words I say confess my love. Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune. Father let my heart be after you." -NeedToBreathe
The question challenged me. The boys challenged me. What am I doing that is meaningful? What kind of impact am I making, if any at all? What do I want to do before I die? More importantly, What am I waiting for? But when I ask myself these questions, my mind is flooded with heavier ones... What I am doing to help other people obtain their goals? Their dreams?
"...whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." 1 Cor 10:31. Write a book. Travel to six continents. Fluently speak another language. Donate blood. Adopt a child. Plant a tree. Help build a house. Live among the homeless. Skydive. Be part of a flash mob. Have a pen pal. Bless someone, daily. All obtainable. What are we waiting for? And who might we meet along the way?
I am convinced that we meet nobody by accident, but purely by divine appointment. Changing THE world starts with changing ONE world. We each have our own story. To know, we must ask.
"Let the songs I sing bring joy to you. Let the words I say confess my love. Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune. Father let my heart be after you." -NeedToBreathe
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