frilly words about what i felt when I saw...

I walk, my feet are tired, but I want to walk more.

To meet and see the faces of those so beloved, 

To see the ones I have been uprooted for.

I don't yet understand it, but maybe if I see I will. 

I need new eyes to see beyond the the grey bubbly water

under the houses and board walks;

New eyes to see through the open windows

half built walls and worn out tarps. 

New eyes to see the Joy in the laughing children, 

the staring women, and the teen boys' ego.  

I need new ears to hear the greetings 

beyond  he crazy and some foreign words.
I need new ears to hear the meaning of the mumble, 

to understand the cautious low tone, 

to hear anything of consequence. 

To speak of what is or what will be
To be able to share a peoples story;  

I am not gifted beyond the average person,

and the tragedy around me seems to worsen.

Each step I take I know I am weak
Unskilled and untrained in this place would I break?

A seat of humility is where I want to sit
I asked for it but I don't like it. 

Involuntary repulsion to these hopes of remaining here
Unsatisfactory surrender to my Lord. 

How far can obedience carry?

Mother Teresa, how did you do it? 

So many years so faithful and not budging,

Keeping the faith and holding Truth;

A call to a Way and a Place.

Our paths have troubles, that way is sure

Our pains will be great, how great the darkness

Our satisfaction--

Rest in the knowledge that God has said it is finished.

The Prophets spoke in completed tense,

So I will Faithfully wait here and pray.

Study the truth and hold on. 

That's all I can do...

Or rather, that's all I'm asked to do. 

(Written after a long day of walking around looking in Y.) 

In trying to express myself again i have waxed poetic

(Real poets please skip over what follows): 

My soul is still before the Lord.

My heart strings are plucked 

in the tune of a whisper, 

An uttering deep and mellow. 

Longing to speak only words that satisfy, 

I am silent. 

Ancient words uttered long ago speak of today. 

They have been shown true in times past

would now be different than then? 

A wise sage remains true, 

I choose to Listen.

Oh, my wandering ways. 

Easily led one way and then another
My feet swell and my clothes wear out, 

But not because God has forgotten. 

No, his ways are steady and sure to come about.
It is my eye

That catches the sparkle of things soon to tarnish. 

Discipline me Oh lord, 

But not in your anger, lest I come to nothing. 

Let your love root in me.

I am ready to cherish, 

I long to hold your treasure
I desire to be ever entwined

with your vine, with your Life;

I am a young donkey colt, tie me to your tendril
and let me live.

A day at your door is better than a life spent in any other tent. 

Stretch out your garment over me
I seek to be hidden, 

I am lit in a small place, 

I glimpse into heaven

in the silence as we fall down before you

with the hymn of the angels. 

Holy, holy, holy.

A Bus in Yangon

There are many things circling in my head about the past three weeks. New sights new smells, and new experiences external and Internally.  So I begin here with the bus.
It all started one wintry day in Vancouver.  I had been visiting a friend who lived on the other side of the city from my home. We had spent the afternoon talking and eating and enjoyed each others company so much that I hadn't realized how late it was getting, but the snow that had started to fall gently earlier was now coming down and piling up on the sidewalks and street. We said our goodbye at the bus-stop for nearly 2 hours since every bus that passed by flashed their lit up sign saying "Sorry Full". When i finally got on I found a seat and sat comfortably pondering the conversations with a friend.
Several years later I am standing on a bus Around four in the afternoon in Yangon. No room to sit the and the isle is full and the smell of sweat hangs on everyone as they make their way home from work and a busy day.  I am reminded of the time the buses passed me up because they were full. I was glad to be on the bus and not passed up; I smile at the heat that is present instead of snow.  We stop and a couple people exit and 4 people get on.  We are motioned by the door keeper (a well built man with tattoos covering his arm chewing beetle nut) as he barked out in a loud voice with words I gathered meant 'scoot toward the back of the bus'. We drive on, and the next stop one person gets off and 6 get on. Further down 6 on 2 off, we start to move on but slow for the 5 boys that are running for the bus. Scoot further back we are told, but how can i when there is no where to move? Yet non the less we maneuver  around and the people at the stop are accommodated into the tight space. 4 on one off, 5 on two off, 6 on one off. We continue in this fashion turning no one a way for over an hour. "Thamine Lan So" we had told the door keeper that was our stop, when we got on. Now he hollered out those words and motioned for us to come to the door. After over an hour of accommodating people and very few exiting we could only imagine what he was meaning for us to do as we stood wedged in to the others on the bus. What followed was to me the strangest and a new sensation for me (or t least new to my memory). I now know the feeling  from the perspective of a new born, of being pushed and pulled out of the birthing canal.  No one stepped out of the way, because there was no where to go. It would be like asking an internal organ to step aside so the baby can stretch inside the womb. but each person did there part to contract like a muscle that inched us toward the open door. The whole time the door keeper like a midwife, kept motioning us forward and reaching over heads to help pull at least our arm through the crowd.(All on a moving bus might I add.)  Relatively sooner than I had anticipated we arrived at the front door. Many were smiling around us at our inexperienced achievement of this task. Monica was just a step ahead of me and as the bus came to a stop she proceeded to start to exit the bus. This evidently was not the moment for such actions for a wave went over the crowd  and though in reality it may have only been 6 men and the midwife (door keeper) Lunged after her to keep her on the bus, it certainly felt like half the bus responded to her. After a few awkward moments as we stood with them babbling to each other in Burmese and smiling at us we were then gestured with great ado that now was the time to exit. We thanked them, were waved at as the bus drove on and we laughed at the whole experience.
          A few days later we were headed into the downtown area and were enjoying that the mid morning hours provided us with a bus with plenty of room. A seat for everyone! And more for those we might pick up along the way. How pleasant I thought to myself, this is good to keep in mind as I travel to and fro in the future. I sit in the back seat observing all the interactions especially the door keeper and the money collector as they look a bit bored, but liven themselves with swapping funny stories. then wander the isle counting people. both men do this a couple times and then go up to the driver as we  are waiting at a stop light.  Suddenly they turn around and shout out something in Burmese, which causes the 20 so people on the bus to start mumbling as they grab their belongings and exit the bus.  A bit bewildered My friend and I gather ourselves as well and follow everyone off. Was the bus broken down? They hurried last of us off the bus as the light changed green and the bus sped away. Not broken. "Welcome to Burma!" Said a taller Burmese man in English. He told us there would be another bus coming that would take us where we wanted to go, and pointed to a different numbered bus a bit  down the rode. Why did we have to get off?  He smiled, "the bus was too empty." and we hoped on the the next bus--standing room only.
So my dear Vancouver, and all other public buses, I'm letting you know a fact that Asians know that is a unknown secret on snowy winter days in the west.  Bus cannot be too full, it it can be too empty.

I sit in unknowing

I sit in Unknowing.
I sat down to write some of my thoughts from the past weeks, but in searching for any words the only words that come are "unknown". 

We have established a routine, part of which is studying language every morning from nine to noon. 

Yet there is an ever present feeling of unknown even in this. 

I can study all morning "Da beh lout leh?" (how much is it?) and practice my fruits and numbers;

 In the Afternoon when I go to the market to buy for dinner, it is a world of unknowing again; since the language used in the market is not the language I studied all morning.  

We meet together every Saturday as a team, opening up topics for conversation that will eventually help us solidify who we are as a team and what we are called to be, do, and live. But for now, at the end of these days, we sit with more questions than when we began..."how will all that fit together?" we hold that question openly as we end our meeting. 

We have established praying four times spaced out in each day, yet this is by far the place to gain a sense  of knowing.  There is great joy, there is silence, there is peace, and openness, but "knowing"...How is stillness and prayer, helping anything? How does my moving here to unfamiliarity draw me deeper into the way of whole life.
In all this I find unknowing is ok, and in the times of prayer and silence, I recognize an assurance of the hope, that Life will spring forth in the desert. 

so I gladly sit... 

I sit in the unknowing.

A little babe...

A little Babe,  

A tiny spot, 

Insufficient on my own.

An helpless one, 

An observant eye,

Taking in what goes around.

A lot of waiting

A lot unknown,

Mystery is unfolding.

Take the leap 

dare to breathe 

the world is so inspiring

creativity 

in birds and trees

Gems of knowledge in Other people. 

May I learn

May I grow
In the way of the Son Incarnate

Just a babe, 

In a spot on the globe
Giving up sufficiency on his own. 

Infused...

"The Glory of God infused in flesh..." 

That was a phrase I pondered last night. 

Infused. 

The life and death and life again of the saviour overflows with the goodness of this phrase, and I wondered at my awareness of the cosmic story that plays the leading role in this universe.

As we are being made in the likeness of our creator, do I have eyes to see this infusion of life and glory surrounding me.  I know I like to think I do, but I also know I am ignorant of so much, both by choice and by mystery yet to be revealed. I find it fairly obvious to see this infusion in Christ, but not so obvious in my own life or in the life of others, who like me, say that we are now alive in the one who actually has this infusion thing going for him. 

I witness the frustration and judgement within me towards people I supposedly care about when I see them refusing to talk to each other, the laziness within me to move on a rainy day, debating whether a lie would be helpful for a situation, the desires to avoid, procrastinate, doubt, turn a blind uncaring eye, and all of this in one week. 

Oh the grace upon grace of this Mysterious One who infuses Glory into so weak a vessel. 

I seek,

 I long,

 I dare to hope for this transformation

 even now... 

Its a Choice...

I sat and talked through most of dinner last night about community, with a few people that were keen on starting a community over the next few years.  I was glad to hear the thought that they have been putting into this idea and not assuming they know how to be community, or that its as easy as living together and sharing.  To people who say they want to live in community, I find that I usually say something to the line of "you know its not easy don't you? You're going to be confronted with people who have different opinions than you, people who irritate you, people who are lazy or human, people who get it wrong, your going to be confronted with yourself."  Surprisingly this doesn't scare most people off (though maybe it should). Again and again, community offers the chance to offer grace, to realize that others as well as ourselves will get "it" wrong most of the time.  Communion with other people (another way of saying community) is a choice-- a choice to act on love rather than fear or anger or pride. And it is also a choice to trust--trusting that the other really is acting out of the best way that they can express love and best interest for others.
When this idea is acted upon well, laughter fills the halls and no one wants to leave the space because of the sweetness. When something gets in the way like fear, mistrust, or pride...the stones turn cold as words of hate are spoken and doors slam that you wonder if they will ever open again.
Last night some doors slammed as choices were made to hold on to mistrust that deeply grieved my heart.  I cannot, no matter how much I would like, make people choose love.  For those who did chose love last night I was privileged to watch the Congo line dance out the front door singing Backstreet Boys hits; then as I moved to the window to watch them walk away from the house, I saw the beauty of community as a group of people (who would not have even looked each others ways a few years ago), hung out for 5 more minutes on the sidewalk chatting away.  Nothing forced, no one could say well it my job, it was from their heart, their choice to choose Love.

A bit of writing without a title...

Here is a recent bit of words written down in creative form that I wrote.  I don't know what to title it but it stems from a few images from scripture, mixed in with experiences of waiting and watching and other encounters of life in each day:

The blossom awaits deep within
Looming in the uncertainty of future
Petal after gentle petal waiting.
The succulent smell of sweet grass
confident in their roots, daring toes to wiggle
in its soft tenderness.

I have waited all winter,
Spring is near past
And the scorching heat of summer threatens
The well made plans falter--
Part of brokenness that rears its ugly head;
This is not as it should be.

Who will water my tender Love?
Who will care for each blade and courageous root?
Will all stand by and shake as a leaf in the autumn wind from fear?
Will the strength, that once was, be mocked with pride?
Will ignorance ever profit the one who turns the eye away?

Oh valiant one, I see you,
Hiding where there is no fruit,
Are you filled with stone that drags to the depth of the sea?
Oh, that you were a stone upon a stone built into an alter
Meant for the sacrifice of the sweetest sweetness to my nostrils
Or  be as clay crushed, softened, molded for good pleasure
shaped into love as I Love.

Leaving Is On My Mind

I have leaving on my mind, since I left my mom's house and southern California yesterday, and most likely won't be back there or here at my sisters or Further north for a few years.  Having lived in this place where moving 1/2 an hour away is a long distance, requiring adjustment of life rhythms--even the idea of going half way across the world seems unfathomable to many. "Why would you want to go? Can't you teach English or anything else here?" And yet that is where I find myself--in the unfathomable...on the journey to go without a logical reason why--  6 months here and I can see why many who don't have the compunction to follow this Mysterious Way, tell me I am crazy for attempting this. It is hard to leave them because they have become great friends and I long for them to understand.  (some days I long for myself to understand too)  Other people who do understand more of this Mysterious Way, are hard to leave for so many other reasons...they are all family, they are a strong source of encouragement and challenge. These qualities among many others, make the ache of leaving great. I know I have a hard head and am stubborn and selfish, which makes it difficult to understand love; I do not say this ache exists to teach me, but this ache that I feel when I leave a place is what it takes sometimes to remind me that Love exists.  I am learning that Love goes with us, and is not as frightful as I once had thought.  I am thankful that I live in a generation where communication is made easy through emails and skype and blogs, but I am even more grateful that I belong to a Family that spans geographical, and time distances.  As I go, I meet more and more of my Family.  I feel kinda like glue that sticks to you, and attaches to something new. So for all of you who are remaining here on this side of the world be strong and courageous living generously by the Love of this Mysterious Way; embracing the stranger and the beautiful and abundant Life.  Know that I am full of a good strong healthy ache for all of you, and carry this love for you as I connect to others I am yet to meet.

I hear You call

What is Truth,
      and does it hurt;
like a longing in the heart
      like the pain in her eyes.
            -Does Truth satisfy all?

A sword to split hairs
      A mask to hinder grace;
like a wet bandage, adhesive is gone
      like being off balance, no room for error.
            -Am I that transparent?

This strong craving,
      Yet fearful to trust;
like butterflies in the stomach
      like the sudden sound of a siren
            -Is it worth the cost?

Love's not a sham,
      but has a mysterious name;
like an elephant on an egg
      like a feather on a duck.
            -Which one is it?

Do my ears deceive me,
      Is what I hear true;
like Cyrano de Bergerac
       like Romeo and Juliet.
            -Are you sure?

Have I wasted my time,
      Am I preserved in fear;
like a ravishing lover
      like the aroma of spices.
            -I hear You call.

Selction of a prayer I read today...

Fulfilling the words and proclamations of the God-bearing Prophets, O Jesus, Thou didst appear on earth, and thou Who art uncontainable didst dwell among men. Wherefore, being healed by Thy wounds, we learned to chant: 

Alleluia. 

When the light of Thy truth shone in the world, devilish delusion was driven away; for the idols, O our Saviour, have fallen, unable to endure Thy power. But we who have received salvation cry to Thee: 

Jesus, Truth dispelling falsehood. 

Jesus, Light transcending every light. 

Jesus, King surpassing all in strength. 

Jesus, God constant in mercy. 

Jesus, Bread of life, fill me who am hungry. 

Jesus, Well-spring of knowledge, refresh me who am thirsty. 

Jesus, Garment of gladness, clothe me who am naked. 

Jesus, Haven of joy, shelter me who am unworthy. 

Jesus, Giver to those who ask, grant me mourning for my sins. 

Jesus, Finder of those who seek, find my soul. 

Jesus, Opener to those who knock, open my hardened heart. 

Jesus, Redeemer of sinners, wash away my sins. 

Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me.    

I built a Sandcastle today...

I built a sandcastle, and then sat back and watched it wash away.  The process was slow but the out come was sure.  Having no foundation, and the reliable tide schedule was very effective in making sure that in just a few hours there was nothing left.  Familiarity with bible stories since my youth,  and a catchy tune, made sure that a certain parable came to mind.  "....the rains came down and the floods came up ...and the house on the sand went smash."
I also went to the Getty Villa with two friends on Monday.  We saw a lot of art and artifacts from the Greco-roman  era and a special collection of Byzantium art displaying early Christian depictions of belief and spirituality.  Trying to keep straight in my head the stories of Greek and other ancient gods such as Zeus, Athena, Artemis, Poseidon, and others; I was intrigued by how much belief was inscribed on everyday items of life.

What does the Getty Villa and a sand castle have in common? As I walked through the halls I remembered some of my more recent readings about how the ancient stories of gods and other stories influenced the times of the old testament, and then I built a sandcastle wondering what parts of my daily life are inscribed with stories of a false god? What will wash away in the rains of life and the floods of death? Where will the slice be when the sword of Truth has pierced through?  Will I have added to the lie in any part or will I have carved away and sculpted a life that is a vessel for Truth, worthy of the calling set before me? It is not a simple answer. for sand brick and stone are from similar materials under different conditions and wheat and tares grow close together.  I am just wondering...that's all.

Purple Trees

       When I first arrived in Long Beach, I was captivated by the flowering trees, and not just  that they had flowers on them in December, but how many trees were around and the different colours.  For the last five months since I continue to be in awe that there are so many types of blooming trees around here.  I Love it! When the purple trees came in bloom in march I again made remarks "look at all the flowers!" My mom and cousin have begun to laugh at how often I comment on them.
        This week my friend Jenny from Vancouver is in town, and i am celebrating that I am not the only one overjoyed by the purple trees, and constantly commenting on the small things in celebration of beauty.

Here is Jenny and one of the many Purple Trees (two things out of many that I am celebrating today) :

I have been thinking about patience this  morning; realizing that it is only when I am stretched beyond my limit do I actually grow.  Well I am growing now, and today I have been strangely encouraged by the writings of Catherine Doherty to three women who were being woken up to the harsh reality of their calling that lay before them.
"...It should be evident to you now that [any work] is built on the foundation of your self-surrender to God, your dedication both to His ideals and to the unreserved living out of His ideals as a member of this work to which He has called you.  In a word, what all of this means for you is the entering into His Passion.  Only this will make the foundations of the house being built [the Location of our work] on the rock that is Christ.  Anything else will be built on sand.
     Yes, you are beginning to lay the first stones of that foundation.  The Lord will supply you with many more, and you will have to carry them and lay them next to the others.  Then a time will pass and a day will come when you will be able to start the structure of the house itself.  That may be even more painful.  But these are the materials that God builds of and on.  So be ready, dearly beloved.  All is well with you because all is according to God's plan so far."

The Gift of Hearing

       My day starts with a tweet; not the modern kind that uses man made technology, but the soft sound of a young bird who can't stay still anymore because the sun is coming. the coo of a mourning dove tells it that it is not yet dawn and an owl of some sort agrees. The young bird's friends are awake now and start chirping their excitement for the dawn that will be.
       No, I am not in a rural location these birds have found their home on roof tops, telephone wires and my neighbors Banana tree that hangs right outside the window.  As I awake to this conversation I can hear the sound of a city that never stops--buzzes and whirs and faint honks of horns that in the early morning seem to travel three times the distance in the morning hush.
      The sounds are the presence of a world around me and a settling in to the understanding that I am only a small part of all of this.  My own insignificance sets me up to listen to others, and as I shift to a sitting position I hear that though a small part I contribute to all of this in my own way.
      More sounds flood my ears as the hours progress: the laugh of children walking to school, Hispanic music from across the alley, the call of "tamales" from the street seller,  the gong in the distance from the Buddhist temple around the corner, the parrots in the trees on my bike ride, the sound of waves crashing on the beach ...
      As the day goes on I recognize the greatest joy--Each sound calls for a response, and I as the Hearer am invited into a connection with what I hear. I participate in conversations listening and responding--the ability to interact because we have heard, and the delight it gives to respond well to what I hear. I am called into response with my entire being. It reminds me of the cosmic conversation,  that seems like a mystery is waiting to be revealed each day. Part of this gift is hearing.  In Jesus' words and the words of the ancient prophets "to him who has ears to hear, let him hear."

A prayer I Pray today:

Father,

I abandon myself into your hands;

do with me what you will.

Whatever you may do, I thank you:

I am ready for all, I accept all.

Let only your will be done in me,

and in all your creatures.

I wish no more than this, O Lord


Into your hands I commend my soul;

I offer it to you

with all the love of my heart,

for I love you Lord,

and so need to give myself,

to surrender myself into your hands,

without reserve,

and with boundless confidence,

for you are my Father.


Charles Foucald

The Gift of Touch

"And a one, two three, five six seven, one, two three, five six seven..." our instructor counted out the basic rhythm of Salsa as we in the class felt like contortionists trying to follow his directions When he demonstrated the moves, they looked as smooth as butter, but in our attempts we were off beat and stepping in opposite directions.  "Keep the connection--that is your communication tool as you dance; relax--feel the movement and respond..."  We still didn't get it, and us who were supposed to be relaxed and being led, kept trying to step out thinking we knew what we were supposed to do.  

So came the next instructions "Followers, close your eyes." 

Without sight, the sense of touch was highlighted-- I could feel everything. 

The beat of the music increased, the gentlest pressure on the shoulder was felt and the softest brush on the palm of the hand spoke of what the one leader was asking of me. I thought to myself "wow, I have not honestly allowed myself to feel the presence of others in a long time." When in Vancouver I offered to others to hold their hand when they were in they were sick and in the hospital, I gave hugs to women who were crying on the streets, I was happy to give, and yet not so willing to receive. I can't say I am any better now. One thing is for sure, that hour of being led with my eyes closed gave me a glimpse into the reason touch is one of the five major ways we receive love, and maybe why Jesus' touch had the power to heal.  I know the lesson is not yet over; I still find that there are some holds and moves that I resist.  Lord teach me the trust of dancing with my eyes closed through life, that I may truly see. 

Life today...

        A lot has changed since the last time I posted anything on this blog. Though starting new seems like a good idea that's not really how life works; so I will just describe a little of life now so that when you read you can maybe picture or understand what I am saying easier. (though understanding me at all may be challenging since I like pictures and stories more than saying one thing in a direct way.)
       Today is a warm sunny day and even though it is the end of April it has been bright and warm for many months. That is one of the things about Long Beach, Ca. that I have been enjoying...the sun. How the light and sun have an effect on our physical, and emotional health, is more intricate than I have studied in order to understand all the whys, but the reality is, it does have a strong effect on me.  I have thanked God many times for allowing me to spend these months in a sunny place.  The same goes for the affects of The Son on us--The warmth of The Light being present, and growing in understanding of all the intricate ways True Light shines and effects us, amazes me.  I was reminded of this when I waited for the dawn on Easter morning.             Waiting for the Sun and the Son to dawn in my darkness.
       I read and study; and the more I study the more patience is required of me because I am learning how much I don't know, and that it is not yet time to know what I want to know.  (I am speaking of reality and in analogy at this point) "Khau hswe" a basic Burmese word for noodle. Now I know there are many kinds of noodles and many ways of cooking noodles and they each have their own name, but I am not ready to learn all those names, for me to learn the word (or more accurately re-learn the word) yesterday will have to be enough for the moment.  So I wait with longing for the dawn that will come, I wait for the day when I will be ready to use the real name for thick fried rice noodles rather than generic noodle, and I wait for the day I can book my flights to the place my heart knows--and though I Long to know, I know it is not time to know when...yet.
       Other descriptors of daily life...well, location and studying are the main parts, though each day is intertwined with the surprise of the Spirit leading here or there, to this person or that place, and sometimes I pay attention and other times I don't.  That's life today.