Mary

I find myself every day finding a moment where I think, "Wow, God. I am here. California is my home. I am an adult in college. We made it." Even though it's been three months, I am still amazed by the grace and mercy I have received. It should not be this way - I should not be in a private university in Los Angeles County, surrounded by friends and mentors. I should not be finding myself joyful in the chaos and (if lucky) silence of living in community, functioning without a car; healthy on multiple levels; working my dream job and getting paid for it; living, eating, studying, sleeping, fellowshipping on the same piece of property. Heck, I should not even be alive.

Yet I sit here typing, slightly annoyed by the loud voices and laughter coming from the hall. I miss my quiet, yet somehow it is here where I have found peace. God is teaching slapping me in the face with a lesson on giving and receiving grace. Rather, I am to be filled with joy, knowing that He is seeing His children loving and laughing together in the hallway. Love means nothing if it does not include love of yourself, others, and God.

I feel like God ripped away all of my distorted delusions about love, trust, grace and forgiveness that I harbored before I knew His Son.

He left me raw, helpless, internalized, with little faith in goodness.

Maybe this is why I came out here.

Perhaps I ran away from the yuck, from the hurt, from myself.

Yet God has shown me that I can run from my sin, but I cannot hide. I have brought with me the same fears, the same temptations, the same pride, and the same lack of forgiveness that sucks the life out of me more than anybody else.

He is doing a work in my heart, allowing me to reflect and meditate on my past. It is when I open myself up to His challenges that I am best able to discover Him and discover myself. Wrestling is painful, but a necessary part of healing and maturity. Yet we are to remember that there is a place in us that no man can ever touch; it is sacred, for your and God's enjoyment alone. It is in this place that we are fully able to surrender ourselves to Him.

I feel like God is ripping away all of my distorted delusions about love, trust, grace, and forgiveness that I harbored even while I knew His Son.

He is leaving me raw and vulnerable, strong and confident, with faith in His goodness.

Maybe this is why I came out here.

Perhaps God drew me towards His love, His mercy, His promise, His Son.

All things rise by a winding staircase. Maybe God had to pull me out of my environment to give me perspective; He is the wonderful mystery. I have room here to think and reflect. Creating this new life on the other side of the country has allowed me to take a hard look at who I really am, who I really was, and who God wants me to be.

May I be Mary, strong enough to say "I am the Lord's servant, may your word to me be fulfilled," (Luke 1) when I am scared to pieces that my bills won't get paid, that I am being too vulnerable, or that I am being sent to Mexico. May I make my commitment without knowing where I am going or how I will get there. May I be Mary, blessed enough to have the Lord's presence overshadow me.

For all of this, I am blessed.

It's a great day at the YMCA!

After a week of work, I have made a few observations...

School never prepared me for the workforce.

Sure, I can solve some algebra equations, write a 4 000 word essay on the importance of SPAM during the Second World War, and even recite to you in detail 20 steps in cell respiration - but I walked out of high school not knowing how to write a resume. IB helped me talk and write like a little British kid (because who likes to grade American papers?), but I was never coached in the art of the job interview. I can wield around my over-sized graphing calculator, but I am clueless in how to file my own taxes. I am well versed in the top 2 000 most frequent SAT words, but I do not speak the vocabulary of the IRS. The school system that was intended to prepare myself and my peers for our future careers did well to prepare us for college, but little to help us get a side job to pay for it.

"Success" isn't measured by grade point averages.

I like to have my ducks in a row. Actually, that's an understatement - I need to have my ducks in a row, and everybody else's, too. To me, having a "successful" day of camp was ensure that everyone, from four years old to fourteen, sat silently while the teachers taught and played fairly with complete participation in all activities. Shut the front door - it will never happen, and I need to be okay with that. I work with another counselor who is training to be a teacher. Frazzled and distressed, I told him I felt like I was fighting for the kids' attention all day and could not complete a single activity. He looked at me and goes "You know they're 7 and 8, right? It comes with the age."

Turns out that some things do need to be nit-picked. The attendance book must be perfectly kept - or we lose kids. Bullying must be nipped in the bud - or it spreads. Yet other things, if I can manage a 50%, then I have reached my "pass rate". While reading a story, I do not need every single kid to have his eyes glued on me. When I give directions, I cannot demand that thirty second graders sit up straight with their mouths closed and ears open. The ones that do not listen will quickly learn that they cannot play the game. As long as I have some of their attention, I have succeeded.

I am blessed with a healthy body.

We have a lot of special needs children at camp on (so the rumour is) government grants and scholarships. I noticed quickly that I felt as though we had a higher rate of Autistic-like social skills, ADHD, health problems, and more. I saw my first seizure today, but did not recognize it as such. Lining up outside, I saw the girl suddenly take on a panic-stricken face then burst out crying, shaking slightly from what I thought was crying. I asked her what was wrong but she could not speak. I wanted her to sit to prevent a fall and radio for help on the walkie-talkie. Her usual counselor approached me and said she was okay, that his happens several times a day. He held her close to him both to comfort her and make sure she didn't fall. It passed quickly, and she went off to play like nothing happened. I have another girl with birth defects due to drugs en utero. Several children are clearly developmentally challenged and are mocked by some of the others. Praise God, I have been given such a healthy body.

Kids demand justice, not vengeance.

Now that it's the second week of camp, I am flagging kids away at the first sign of trivial tattling. I am starting to think now that these kids are not necessarily coming to me in order to get their classmate in trouble. Rather, they are demanding from me that I enforce the rules. I need to be the person that I said I would be; on day one, we went over the rules together, and I instituted myself as the enforce of these rules in order to protect them. When the kids see that I am not living up to this standard, they demand that I step up my game. All of the students understand that the purpose of the rules is to keep them safe - although it is obnoxious sometimes, they think they're helping me.

Kids don't have the same priorities as us - and rightly so.

When you don't have cell phone bills, student loans, or a never-ending TDL, obeying the laws of Four Square is important. Being Head Lord of the Playground is a right reserved only for the elite. Being Line Leader is empowering. Fighting over holding the door open for the class is an attempt to win approval from the teacher. Right now, that is what their life centers on - winning approval from themselves, their peers, and their leaders in order to establish confidence in themselves. I just wish it did not involve constant bickering over who is "out".

Me throwing a temper tantrum is really me saying "I need some structure".

I quickly realized by day two or three of camp that my kids were beat... which led to crankiness. After running hard nonstop, they needed some time to cool off and become grounded again, realize that they were in fact in a public facility. Since then, my group has implemented daily quiet time, usually involving some quiet coloring while I read a story. Not all of the kids listen and not all of the kids color - and this, I have come to accept, is just fine.

Health and safety practices are constantly changing. Go with your best instinct.

I am officially CPR, First Aid, and AED certified (praying I never have to use my skills). During my horribly long class, I asked about the old "arms up!" mantra that I remember being used on me as a child, and I have since then passed on to kids I babysit. The instructor smiled; she too had used the advice given during the 80s and 90s with her own children. However, it is not advisable that you instead, encourage the child to continue coughing and if necessary, help by beating on their back a bit to force the object out. Raising your arms does increase your lung capacity, but also decreases the force with which you can cough. Having a larger lung volume is great, yet useless if air cannot even enter due to a blockage. This, along with the Heimlich, pressure points, tourniquets, the "ten-ten" method of CPR, sucking venom, and countless other first aid techniques are outdated. This reinforces my theory that "modern medicine" is actually still barbaric, and we are really just guessing.

Unstructured play is really actually structured.

There is a lot going on in those pretty little heads when they are given the freedom to play. Leadership qualities are developed. Hula hoops become igloos and spaceships (no, really, it takes 5 hoops to make an igloo, and it is rather impressive). Levels of hierarchy are tested. Kids learn how to share and resolve conflict without being forced to do so. They are free to make and agree on their own rules, negotiate, and be creative.

2000 miles

I am officially $3,500 in debt.

I just turned eighteen this month.

And while a little piece of my would like to vomit, the rest of me is incredibly excited. I bought a one-way plane ticket the other day for California.

I am really going!

Praise God. The last last place I thought I would be going was APU. Quite honestly, I applied to it thinking "Eh, it's a good school, but let's be real." It was a free application, and hey, LA is pretty exciting. But when I started to get serious about my college decisions, I had written off APU (along with Biola, Gordon, and Wheaton (ahem, if they had accepted me)) as being too expensive. Things were starting to be okay on the home front, and I couldn't imagine leaving my baby sister until she started Kindergarten.

Then Azusa called me.

With the prospect of money to make it all happen.

Lots of money.

Then I asked God to do whatever He needed to in order to prepare me for wherever He wanted me to go.

Suddenly, the next day, my world was flipped upside down.

Suddenly, I didn't want to stay around this town anymore.

Then they flew me out there.

And I fell in love.

It wasn't that "step off the plane and love at first site" kind of feeling. No, it was more of a "Dani, please don't get too attached. Please don't get too excited. None of this is guaranteed. Please, be careful." I spent four days out there, and I just couldn't contain myself. A large part of me could have stayed there with the clothes I had with me and have been a happy girl. Either way, I came home sleepy, excited, and slightly annoyed by the screaming toddlers around me and my lost luggage.

Flying across the country was one of the most beautiful and breath-taking things I have ever seen. I'm not sure how people can fly in a plane and deny a creator of the universe. In a matter of hours I got to see the east coast oceans, the endless Great Plains with their quilted farmlands, the dry red clay of the Arizona desert, and the snowy caps of both the Appalachian and Rocky Mountains. So many lives were happening below me. So many lives were happening around me. On one flight, a couple of girls in front of me were flying home to Ohio after spending Spring Break in Daytona Beach. On another flight, a thirty-something year old man was visiting his long-distance girlfriend (and checking his Playboy emails on his iPhone). A young couple with infants was traveling to show off their new blessings to friends. A soldier that I rode on two planes with was coming home from Afghanistan for two days to attend a funeral of a dear friend. There was so much going on besides my interview, my excitement, my lack of cellular communication (which was actually very relaxing).

I left Florida begging God to not let me get excited again, and then snatch it away from me. I know, that is pessimistic and not very trusting; but it's where I sat. Yet at the same time, I wasn't full of anxiety. Rather, I thought "He already knows who is getting the scholarship. He won't send me out here without a purpose." I wanted the scholarship - I still do. I knew He would reveal Himself to me, but I had expectations that I didn't want to be let down.

I didn't get the full ride scholarship. I won't be one of those "making money going to college" kids. I don't have a free ride. I won't be cashing in on the thousands of dollars the state is willing to give me. I won't be coming home every weekend. It's not about the money, and really, it's not about the comfort. That's a hard pill to swallow when I realize that my current calculations put me at graduating with $36,000 in debt or that it will take a whole day and several hundred dollars to come visit the people I love.

It's where God wants me. That's what I begged for, full of anxiety, for months. Quite honestly, I was a bit irritated with God. It seemed like everybody else around me knew exactly where they were going. I, on the other hand, had no clue. He waited until only a couple of months before the decision deadlines to tell me His plans - that's something I have to be okay and comfortable with. It's frightening to say "Well, I have no idea where I am living next year, how I am paying for it, or what I am doing with myself." Yet it is incredibly fulfilling to say "God told me to pack my bags, move to the other coast, and trust that He will provide the will, the way, and the finances."

The million dollar diploma

I like a good sale.

Like the fuchsia cardigan I got at Old Navy for $3.86.

Or my Nikes I got at the outlet mall for $30.

Or the brown and cream eyelet sun dress for $12.

Or the jeans I'm wearing for $15.

I could go on and on. Rarely do I buy anything full price. Actually, I have been pretty blessed lately to not have to buy a whole lot of clothes in the last six months.

I love when friends clean out their closets.

Like 90% of the jeans I own.

A handful of shirts and blouses.

A couple pairs of shoes.

A few jackets.

A dress and some bags.

I don't take offense to hand-me-downs; in fact, I get quite excited that you were thinking of me.

What I am offended by is the lack of funding that schools are willing to present their students with. I refuse to buy a college education at full price. Hear me, admissions offices: it does not cost you $37,000 to house and teach me for a year. Not even close. I am not worth a measly $10,000. I am worth considerably more than that. I will present myself in a way that you will be honored to have me on your campus. With pride aside, this is a business. I would not buy a car for the sticker price, the same as I will not pay the tuition stated on the eleventy-billionth postcard you have sent me.

I will search high and low, scouring malls and overstock stores (love love Marshall's!) to find the perfectly priced sun dress. I will do the same with my tuition. I will go to college, debt-free. I will sit on the phone for hours, I will create some tears, I will threaten to take my business elsewhere. Where there is money to be had, I will get it. Yes, I will write essays on Chinese immigration, fire sprinklers, and the importance of real estate agents in the community. I will harass my teachers for letters of recommendation and keep the mailman busy. You see, this application process is the easiest way to get money. Say I apply for four scholarships that take an hour each and receive one worth $100. That means I have just made $25 an hour... That is considerably more than I would make working at Chick fil a.

Either way, I am going to college and I am getting a degree.

Momma and the moon

I was driving home late last night... and by late, I mean it was actually past 8pm. I usually hate hate hate driving when it's dark out, especially now that my prescription glasses are failing me. Anyway, the moon was absolutely beautiful. It was a full harvest moon; the kind that's big, golden, and hangs low in the horizon. I remember the first time I saw one of these giant moons; I legitimately thought the world was ending. Anyways, several years later, I joyfully stopped at every red light, ready to gaze at the moon without risk of killing myself or nearby drivers. Yet, something hit me that I have not felt in years... or perhaps, never at all.

I found it oddly comforting to know that my mom could be looking at the same moon. I wondered if she was standing out on the front patio, like I had done so many times as a child, looking up into the sky. I remembered how at that house, Orion's Belt was so perfectly lined up with the corner of the roof during the spring, and then slowly shifted over the garage in the fall. The Big Dipper rose above the eastward neighbor's house with the yapping dog, and migrated above the crazy old lady's house. The ocean is to the east, and the "dirty water" is to the west. Still to this day, when I'm outside at night I imagine myself on that patio, looking up into the sky as a frizzy-haired, eight-year old girl.

I can see why people worship the moon, the stars, and the sun. It is comforting to know that they never change. I love knowing that every single pair of eyes on this earth can look at the exact same image that I am. It somehow unites us under this giant glittery blanket. The constellations are out of our control, and yet, we can predict when and where they will move; it's a steady pulse, much like the rhythm of a lullaby. I love knowing that wherever I go to study next fall, I will always be able to see the same stars as I saw as a child. I am excited for the day when I have children of my own who will look up into the sky in the same way I had done so many years before.

I wonder if my mom has ever looked outside and wondered if her daughter is looking at the same image, too... but I am not so certain that I want to know the answer. I wish that she knew there is a great big God who created all of this beauty. One who is so much greater than all of the stars in the sky. One who has risen, but never falls. One who has been, is, and will be, even after the moon and the stars disappear. One who wraps around the earth farther than the sea of blackness can. One who can stretch His arms out as far as the east is from the west. One who does not just give comfort, but is comfort.

Yeah, I wish she knew this kind of God. But until that day comes, I will drive in my car, admiring the moon, and praying to the One that made it all.

A triumphant end to a tragic story

First, I'm not going to act like I know all the details and the politics and whatnot... because I don't.

What I do know, though, is that I saw a man on CNN crying "Tonight, we have our freedom! Tonight, we have our freedom! Tonight, we have our freedom!"

The first thing I thought was, "Sir, have you met Jesus?"

But ceteris paribus... this man's life has changed. He feels like a new man. He has the whole world in front of him. If freedom is having nothing to lose, then this man has won.

It's interesting the power that one man can have. I don't see mass genocide with Mubarak; but I do see a masked dictatorship, rigged elections, false imprisonment, rejection of free speech, financial corruption. This one man was able to destroy lives without huge casualties; it plays along with the idea that sometimes, it's better to die than to live a life of suffering. Mubarak stepped down, and Egypt was freed tentatively. Jesus stepped up, and the world was freed forever.

I've got to give a hand to those Egyptians. Whenever I see uprisings, I'm incredibly impressed by the organization and the determination. These people had a goal in sight and saw the "bigger picture"; they put aside their differences for a cause greater than themselves. That, my friends, is humility. Too often, I see groups with a common goal... and a whole lot of side goals. I think Fuel functions like this way too much. We all agree that we want to do some event; but someone wants to see skateboarders, someone wants to speak, someone wants it to fit into their life at their convenience. We struggle to give up our own personal ambitions or reservations in order to reach our final goal. There's little to no sacrifice.

Sure, getting a profound speaker or band or comedy group is not as grand a feat nor as important as liberating an entire nation. Until we ask ourselves the purpose of the out-reach event. Is it to have fun on a Saturday afternoon? Sure, of course it is. But that's not the big picture. The goal in sight is to bring dying people to Jesus Christ. And yet, while people are teetering on the fence of life and death, we sit in a room and draw up charts that never go beyond the brainstorming phase. We never rally up our troops. We never head to our community in the masses and share the Gospel. Instead, we wait for people to come to us; we put the work on the very people that need to be saved. Instead of reaching out, we more so say "Hey, if you have time, would you mind bringing yourself over here for a couple of hours and maybe, well, if you like our light show or our music and our games enough, would you mind listening to us for a few minutes?"

I don't see Egypt saying to Mubarak "Will you come over for dinner, and maybe we'll bring up freedom by dessert. We'll play cards and whatnot, you know, get you on our good side. Then maybe, would you consider allowing us to live?"

No. I see them attacking their goal with purpose in every step.

They rally by the thousands. We huddle in our fancy Sunday school rooms by the dozens.

They fought day and night because it was that important to them. We meet a couple of hours a week, if it fits into our lives.

They devoted their entire life to the cause. Their homes, their families, their jobs, their money, their bodies. We wrinkle our noses at the idea of contributing ten bucks.

Egypt succeeded because they saw it, wanted it, and did what they had to do to get it. We see salvation, want it, and the story ends there.

The Egyptians, overwhelmed with their emotions, cried out in public in praise of their new freedoms. When another person accepts Christ, maybe an applause will be heard.

So yes, I'm a tad irritated with myself and the rest of my church body.

Tom Brokaw stated that Egypt was not a tragedy. Arthur Miller, an American playwright, believes that "we feel a sense of tragedy when we are in the presence of someone who wants something and is ready to die to get it." Both are right. The Egyptians won - and yet for two weeks, the world felt that they were on the brink of tragedy. Are we?