Writing is one of my passions, and I enjoy having the chance to share my thoughts on a variety of topics when I write. Below, I've highlighted a couple of blog posts I wrote in the past.
Here are links to other posts if you're interested in reading more:
Seeking Refuge.
This God-man has bound us all together in blood, and in blood we stand. | Pastor Sosthen, Sudanese refugee.
I spent the past few days in a refugee camp in South Sudan.
Personally witnessing the hurt that daily accompanies these people felt nightmarishly surreal. Everywhere you turn, kids run wild, clothes tattered and worn, toothy smiles beaming in the desert heat. Tents stretch down miles and miles of campsite, people crawling in and out of their makeshift domiciles like ants, quickly realizing that their lives now consist of sitting and waiting and hoping for an indefinite amount of time. War-torn peoples are hurting peoples; you see it in their eyes, the canyons of wrinkles lining their faces, telling wordless stories of lives lived for a painfully greater purpose.
And yet, they're filled with quiet strength in the midst of their suffering; they cling to eternally-weighted things as they beg for provision; they walk humbly before God in beautifully submissive dependence because they know that they don't have the wherewithal to take a single step forward without receiving the daily grace offerings and new mercies that are extended to them as they wake.
One of the pastors has a church in the camp, a beacon of hope surrounded by deep despair. I remember spending some time listening to his story and hearing about his life, and something struck me as he poured out parts of himself on camera. He recounted a story about how his daughter was recently beaten by a random man to the point that she needed to be hospitalized. His response struck me with power as he uttered a profound, heart-altering summation of his actions:
"I went to the jail where they were holding him, and I paid his bail and forgave him."
I'm reminded that Christ called Jairus to believe in the midst of his suffering as his daughter was dying - he commanded belief the moment Jairus was hurting most, at a time when his affliction was unbearably heavy. I see that same belief in these faces, that same call being answered as pain increases indefinitely, their strife reaching dangerously unimagined heights.
I'm glad to be able to call them brothers, people who have walked the harrowing streets in this city of life, tilted askew by our soul rebellion, where night is dark with sorrow and day is grim with forsaken memories of aimless wandering. Yet their hope is somehow strong, strength flourishing from what most would perceive as a situation that's meant to deter and extirpate every bit of hopefulness. Their souls pant, and so they cling; their bones creak and cry out in pain, revealing the Joy in their marrow; their hearts pump lifeblood throughout their bodies as they grasp greater chunks of Truth with emptied hands.
Be strong and courageous brothers, for the weight of what's to come is much, much greater than either of us can perceive.
This is the war of joy.
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(originally published: http://silentimages.org/discovery-in-south-sudan/)
The Art of Presentness.
(thoughts on my trip to Mexico with Friends of Acción)
I've got a lot going on in my life, and having a laundry list of things to do each day for the next couple weeks has led me to live in a sliver of the future that doesn't currently exist. All too frequently I find myself caught up in an ever-expanding web of to-dos and errands that have this hydra-like ability to regenerate once I cross them off with a sword-like flick of the pen. Basically I'm too busy for my own good, which leads me to believe that I'm missing out on a precious gift that I unfortunately take for granted: the present.
Having just returned from Mexico after filming for an organization in the Yucatán, I was forced into reflection about how and why I spend my time worrying about days that have yet to be conceived. Sure, I was physically in another part of the world, but my mind kept returning home, to things I need to do before I move into my new apartment, or plans I arranged with friends that are slowly materializing as new days are born and eventually pass at the end of their 24 hour life spans. For some reason I ignore the present due to the allure of what lies ahead, subtly deeming that unexplored piece of time as my favorite. But why? I amble off into time beyond because of the imminent coalescent nature of anticipatory ambitions and reality. I'm so bad at being where I am - that's weird isn't it? We have absolutely no idea of what's going to happen tomorrow, or next month, or at any point forthcoming. And yet I'm more concerned about what's to come than what already is. Taking time to think back on this trip is helping me uncover a paradox of a lesson, one that's profoundly simple: take the gift you've been given and run with it. There's no telling what the future holds, but we can be certain of the gift-like nature of the present.
I have a feeling that mastering this art form takes a lifetime (or at least double the regular serving size for reaching peak proficiency in any other discipline). And this goes hand-in-hand with all other types of art - it requires hard work and persistence and could possibly yield massive amounts of sweat and tears in order to get good at it. But it's worthwhile; every bit of yourself you pour out now will lay the foundation for that which the future holds. As we continue to practice, we'll begin to see the beauty in the patience of it all, moments becoming brush strokes that we layer one on top of another. Stepping back, the full scope of what we're creating comes into view - our lives become an artistic delicacy, personal histories becoming different takes on the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel in their own right, works of art that would make Michelangelo envious due to their elegant purity. You can't skip the now to reach the beyond; there are no short cuts through a thing like time.
The sad news is, this gift will run out sometime soon. That's the nature of being human; we've all been allotted a fistful of it, and we're bound to deplete our reserves in the time banks of our lives someday. From this point forward, I'm choosing to invest this present, this gift of grace that has been freely doled out to me, despite the heavy truth that I'm an undeserving recipient. Through this investment, I'm hoping to have a plethora of remembrances and stories chock full of days spent laughing and cherishing deep friends and still moments, filling up the memory banks of this life to the brim. I choose to dwell in the gift of the present, and I'll only have myself to blame for whatever may go to waste.
Instead of fighting to love that which we have yet to see and experience in the future, we should take time to swoon over the here and now; we ought to fall more in love with the present tense.
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(originally published: http://silentimages.org/the-art-of-presentness/)