If you want to change the world...

If you want to change the world, love a man

Time and Space of My Heart

These days my heart is filled with so much vibrancy of color and complexity of sounds and radiant light.

I just want for this heart to burst forth onto a multidimensional canvas that moves and reflects light, and where sound can be seen heard and felt!

The piece would be abstract with colors of sound dripping everywhere while it dances with light.

But.
This canvas is not yet.
And I feel this weightiness of heart,
a good weight,
a grounding weight,
an anchoring weight.
A weight that causes the colors and music and light to to be pipelined into distinct spaces for each sound each color each wave of light.
Patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) I watch each of these elements of my heart find their individual places.
Like a supernova I want for this all to explode forth.
But.
I see the purpose of waiting.
Space is being made.
It's with a steady hand that I'll be able to pick each color, each sound bite, each light ray to begin to create the most beautiful of dancing fractals.


...
In the meantime I think I'm going to start watching monks make mandalas... ;)

Because most times, it's just about showing up.

Almost daily I park about a ten minute walk away from my school. Some of the girls I speak with there, won't park on the particular part of town because they're afraid. I try to help alleviate their concern by sharing that I not so long ago had elected to live with some friends right there in the midst of the "danger." I know that not everyone is well intentioned; however I choose to believe that all people are good. I see it at their cores. And it's from that place that I attempt to interact and engage.

And it's with that stance that I walk through this particular neighborhood. There is a one stretch block that feels so uncared for. And it shows. Debris from the mishandled dumping of the garbage cans to the garbage trucks ends up blown into the residents yards, boulevards, and run over in the street. In turn, it seems that people just add to it because of how it already looks. One day I caught myself wondering how people could let their community reach this point. Immediately I start to think of rounding up a group of kids to share the importance of taking care of what we have and doing a neighborhood beautification day. But this would require, time, and investment to rally the people. It's something I want to do, BUT I'm investing my time differently these days that don't leave so much space for these sorts of efforts just yet. I'm working on being able to do this very thing with a few more letters behind my name... Go figure.

I caught myself with the words, 'why don't they....?" And I realized that for someone to be able to take care of something they have to see it's value- they have to see their value. We care where we see value. Immediately I was overcome with the raw unseen value that each resident had buried under the litter of their social stigmas. Wanting to counter this marginalization, I asked for a plastic bag and gloves from my place of learning, and cleaned my way back to my car, Atsidi. Picking up the debris left behind by others and those who lived in these houses, I felt that with each piece that I was unearthing something deeper within this neighborhood. Because I see it as beautiful, full of good people. I choose to see it that way. And this little seemingly insignificant act bears so much more weight. I'm attempting to let the residents know that I see them in their beauty, and I hope to help others see the beauty I see in this place by removing the debris that impedes their vision.

It's the little things.

I understand that this action isn't the most sustainable of action. But. For now, it's all I've got- so I'm givin' it.

Other

An assignment for class that I feel merits a share, given the themes of conversations had within the last few months. May you embrace the fullness of your otherness and of those around you.

N.A.

þ Other

Lopez Lyman in her article, We Got Issues: Cultivating a Women of Color Consciousness (2014), shares her experiences of having been both singled out and isolated in the school environment she grew up in; however, she forged a community after finding herself again alone within her collegiate journey. Alsultany in her article, Los Intersticios: Recasting Moving Scales, shares many accounts of how she has been [mis]identified within social contexts and placates to this misidentification, yet yearns to be seen for the fullness of who she is—unfragmented. As Alsultany, Lopez Lyman, and I have taken time to explore our identities, we share three common experiences: the pain of feeling displaced within scholarly contexts, wrestling with a place of belonging, and influencing change in how we as people see one another.

As a result of the difficulties Lopez Lyman faced with being singled out in school, she sought to create a place of belonging within her college that she found so readily within the pages of books. To start with, Lopez Lyman felt singled out and isolated for being different within her journey of education. She recalls times in school when, “all eyes landed on me anytime race was discussed” (Lopez Lyman, 2014, p. 56). Having been singled out, Lopez Lyman found herself alone and desiring a sense of companionship within this space. Later in her schooling, she discovered a sense of belonging through the works of authors who have lived through similar difficulties. Lopez Lyman (2014) describes her source of encouragement: “Having combatted a deep loneliness for years, I found companionship through the work of Cherríe Moraga, Gloria Anazaldúa, Audra Lorde and others who gave voice to isolation and hopefulness for survival” (p. 56). Once we are able to find a source of strength, so much more can be achieved. Moreover, Lopez Lyman was able to play a key role in bringing about change on her University’s campus. She recounts the need she encountered on campus: “What became essential to the collective, however, was our understanding of multiple identities and our commitment to centralize our lived experiences, both of which became catalysts for creating change on and off campus” (Lopez Lyman, 2014, p. 57). We must be able to recognize within ourselves and within one another the complex beings that we are. When reconciling our identities with the struggle we’ve encountered from our past, we can create a new place in which to belong.

As Alsultany has explored her identity, she navigated through the pain of displacement, wrestled with a space in which to belong, and now seeks to reshape the present molds from which our society views one another. First, Alsultany struggled with the categories that people projected onto and omitted from her. This can be seen when she shares, “Those who otherize me fail to see a shared humanity, and those who identify with me fail to see difference; my Arab or Muslim identity negates my Cuban heritage” (Alsultany, 2014, p. 62). Unable to meet people’s clear-cut racial (or other generalization) paradigms, we can find ourselves caught in the places in-between, in los intersticios. Additionally, Alsultany wrestles with a sense of belonging from within los intersticios. She describes this feeling of not belonging: “We carry this pain with us as we live in los intersticios. To ‘belong’ we must fragment and exclude particular parts of our identity. Dislocation results from the narrow ways in which the body is read, the rigid frameworks imposed on the body in public space” (Alsultany, 2014, p.64). After focusing so much energy on how she is framed within certain contexts, Alsultany advocates for more. Consequently, Alsultany instigates change through dialogue. Her heart for the matter is conveyed when she shares, “I seek to decolonize these essentialized frameworks, so that I can move through public space without strategizing a performance, selecting a mask for each scenario. I want to expand los intersticios, creating a space. for us all in our multiplicities to exist as unified subjects” (Alsultany, 2014, p. 65). She invites us to enter into spaces that may be uncomfortable in order to expand los intersticios that we encounter within our own lives. Furthermore, Alsultany not only encourages us to expand these intersticios but to also shed light on where people are feeling displaced in their own sense of belonging in order to instigate change within our own communities.

Similar (and different) to the struggles Lopez Lyman and Alsultany faced, I too have faced the pain of feeling displaced, journeying to a place of belonging, and working towards creating a safe place for others to belong as well. The feeling of displacement was evident in each of my Minnesotan and Costa Rican schools.  My heart was shattered when I found grotesque writings about me in the boy’s locker room in Costa Rica. This mirrored the pain I had endured when being ostracized by jealous schoolgirls in Minnesota, which had at that time caused me to fragment and reject of the fullness of all that I am. Because of this, I was caught in los intersticios, I wrestled with who I was and where I was from. Seeking comfort I encountered a Biblical verse: “Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household” (Ephesians 2:19, New International Version). Finding these words and those that preceded it left my heart at ease as I pictured my passport cover’s gold crest as an ornate heavenly image and within its pages the two citizenships that I hold within an earthly realm. From this place, I recognized that everybody belongs- everyone is beloved. When walking with a friend, he questioned my desire to say hello to everyone, and I responded that it isn’t a desire but a need.  I need to acknowledge those that I encounter because I don’t know who they are or what they are facing, and my acknowledgement of the gift of their passing presence within my life is sacred ground. Throughout each day, I desire to and implore others to join me to take a step back, to notice those around us, to extend a place of belonging and to be the influence that combats that which seeks to destroy our sense of identity. 

References

Asultany, E. (2014). Los intersticios: Recasting moving scales. In C.K. Farr, M.M. Phillips, & N.A.  Heitzeg (Eds.), The Catherine core reader (pp.61-65). Acton, MA: XanEdu.

Lopez Lyman, J. (2014). We got issues: Cultivating a women of color consciousness. In C.K. Farr, M.M. Phillips, & N.A.  Heitzeg (Eds.), The Catherine core reader (pp. 55-59). Acton, MA: XanEdu.

What is Human Trafficking?

A Growing Heart and a Cry for the Unshackling

It wasn’t until I was leaving the airport, that all of the emotion of my time here hit me.  As the Thai security officer asked security questions about my bag with his thick accent, I held back tears, the overflow of my heart swelling with joy and gratitude to the man who stood in front of me. I’m grateful to have caught a glimmer of this man’s language, his culture, his people, and his nation. My heart was widened this day for Thailand, and for Asia. Space was made to hold these people, their cultures, and their countries within this little heart of mine.

Asia had been an area and a people unknown to me. Though I could appreciate the presence of my friends and of these cultures, I now have a little deeper and more heartfelt connection to them and to the countries they call home.  I’d never really desired to go to Asia. I had nothing against it- I’d just never had a super huge draw. Not like the way that my heart beats for Africa .  I didn’t think that my heart was capable of holding another continent,  or another nation so dearly. But my heart… it grew.  My quick response to people asking how Thailand went, “my heart grew three sizes” I’ve never truly been a Grinch, but the expansion of what my heart is now holding makes it seem to be so.

I find that each country I visit unlocks another piece of my heart, expanding its ability to see, feel, and love. With every person I encounter, a unique story leafed open before my very eyes- it’s a true honor to encounter such beauty, and such freedom within the glimpse of life exchanged in these moments.

There were justice issues that I couldn’t let my heart enter into because I thought it to be too much, the task too great to make any sort of impact.  More and more I’m learning that the smallest things can make the greatest of impacts. And if I can show up with the small piece that I have, then God can step in and take it to a whole other level.

My heart broke for the city of Pattaya. It’s people so beautiful, so kind, with such warm hearts to welcome new comers. And when I surveyed these newcomers, the tourists I couldn’t say the same. I felt the depth of greed that we greeted this nation with.  There was this drive present to take as much as possible for as little as possible. There is such a deep undervaluing of the true beauty of peoples hearts, of their stories, and what they have to offer.

I saw a glimpse of the ensnarement that this greed has fueled. Men and women trapped in professions that they view as their only option- as their view of what they have to offer the world can be purchased.  My heart broke for this city and for her people. People who don’t know that their beauty can be appreciated without being taken advantage of, and that their beauty expands beyond what is taken.  And my heart just screams knowing that so many don’t know that they are worth SO MUCH MORE.

I had the opportunity to take an elephant ride, but turned it down as what I’d seen made my heart just as sick.  When I think of elephants I can see them in the jungle, or roaming plains strong, and tall, and free-  freely drinking at the water’s edge.  This image was quite the opposite of what I’d encountered as drivers prodded their animals with a sharp stick, their skin so dry it was raw, and the breaks they were given to drink not lasting more than a few minutes for the countless laps around the pen to entertain the flood of tourists looking for a good time.

And I couldn’t help but draw the lines of similarity of the attitude that was keeping these magnificent creatures in chains and what was keeping so many of this country’s people in bondage within the sex-trade.  In light of some of the conversations I’d had with men looking for said, “good time” I couldn’t help but ask, what kind of life is being offered?  Sure, maybe food and water are being provided,  their family’s debts are being paid- yet they are shackled to the demands of others. The weathered skin depicting the weathered un-watered hearts. It may be a means- but there HAS to be more than this.

While there I heard this phrase on the lips of men, “What happens in Thailand, stays in Thailand”. I want to speak out against this adage, as yes, maybe something is staying- such as perpetuated abuse and exploitation, the degradation of people’s hearts. What happens in Thailand doesn’t just stay, these men too are taking back with them what they have stolen and having dropped their identity as protectors are returning as abusers. Come on, guys, wake up. What happens in a place has deeper ramifications that we could ever comprehend. Let’s stop greedily taking what is not ours to take. Let’s instead turn to these places to give. Give people your time, and of what you have to offer. People aren’t objects to be sold, let’s stop treating them as such. Let’s re-appreciate their value, by honoring people and the fullness of life that they hold.

Just a few of the turnings of my heart after my quick 2 days in Thailand, but I can see it as the kindling of so much more.

 


I am by no means an expert or even comprehend the inner working of this system. I just see this injustice and refuse to remain silent about it.

I posted a video on What Human Trafficking is that Exodus Cry put out, and these are a few organizations I have deep respect for in their fight against this injustice:


Exodus Cry

Not Abandoned

Tamar Center

International Justice Mission

and then a little bit closer to home (because this is happening here):

Breaking Free

Pan-handled Pondering

Tonight we had a lovely women's night with ladies from my church- a place of new beginnings. I am excited for all that will be birthed out of this new place of connecting and reconnecting. I haven't been a part of a church for a while as the most recent community I had been a part of ended up being a very painful experience to all involved. To new beginnings!

The theme of our night centered around an act of service to the communities in which we each live. Everyone brought something: deodorants, toothbrushes, granola bars, waters, socks, scarves, underwear, etc. And we packed little care packages to share with the people we encounter in need on the street. This was a super fun activity and terrific way to connect with one another and provide avenues to connect in our respective communities where we live or work or study.

Some of the conversations surrounding the night I found fascinating. It opened my eyes to the cultures in whose midst I stood. Not bad. Just different. And always good. I heard twangs of apprehension and stretching into a new arena for some. From others I heard of the years or traditions families have made around serving the least of these. In whatever arena I find myself, I always feel bicultural- like I live in the realm of the both/ and.

Both of my parents work in some ways directly or indirectly with those in the system or off grid. Single teen moms on welfare to the train hopping travelers. Through them I've had an indirect access to the other worlds surrounding us.  Though I don't know the depths of the struggle of true homelessness (I've had very limited couch hoping experiences during in between seasons with foreseeable reprieve)  some people very dear to me have experienced the depths of the struggle encountered in homelessness. Through my parents, I've had more prominent connections with some people, and almost regard each other as long lost friends when we each inquire about one another through one of my parents.  Others have been very formative in my thinking (and style!) even in such a brief encounters as giving someone a ride who got separated from their traveling crew. And. At the same time, as my parents are more aware of the interworkings of these cultures- I've been kept at a safe distance. Sheltered. Yet Not. Sheltered enough to be safe, yet not sheltered enough to be kept away from these worlds. Instead I've been given the opportunity and freedom to embrace and build friendships. A sort of urban biculturalism.

So that's the set up. And here are the thoughts...

When encountering pan-handlers a common phrase I hear (and one that has been the guiding of my own actions in some situations) is, "I don't give money, because I don't know what they're going to spend it on..." Totally valid. We invest our money where we want to see something in return. We desire for there to be a fruitful return, whether to us or to the person we give to. But this draws out a bunch of questions for me...
Okay so if that's our stance then, the products we buy, the companies we are supporting- are we too taking into account where they spend their money whether to line the pockets of the CEOs to spend simply on more expensive booze or vices? Are we gaging whether where we buy our clothes or foods to ensure there is a benefit to all to give back to it's people who've developed, manufactured, produced, and advertised their product. Or do we look at where we are spending our money? On necessity? On pleasure? On self medication? On other investments that bring forth life?
It may not be the typical 9-5 but can we regarded pan-handlers as business men. Working shifts to earn their living to cover their necessities, pleasures, self-medications, and investments. I guess the point to my questions. Whether on the street corner or in the skyscraper aren't we all the same? And if we are concerned with peoples vices, are we offering another way? Are we willing to step into the unknown depths of peoples souls and partnering with them in it. Expectancy of hope and healing and new life.
And the withholding of our money is this a posture of our hearts? Withholding the offering of ourselves in our time? Maybe it's not. I know there is a practicality to budgeting what and where and how we give in order to be good stewards of what we are entrusted with whether it be time or finances.
A face comes to mind. She asked me for money, I asked her what for? A beer, she bluntly responded. I ended up walking into the local convenience store and getting her favorite. I want to say that as we sat on the curb a remarkable life changing experience happened. Maybe it did, and maybe it didn't. I don't know. I don't know the effects that this singular moment held. I know that we continued to waive in the crossing of our paths.
But then what if I give someone the money they need to OD?
It's a risk.
But I can't help but always think of the potential for good that each heart holds. And as I give, I trust the motive of my heart, and the bigness of God to shape and move and mold both where my hand is set out to give, and the hearts of those that receive.

A song by Jenny and Tyler comes to mind as I write: