I Am Responsible.

These are the facts of my life.

I grew up in middle class America.

I’ve gone to school and continued my education every year since I was 5 years old.

I was given opportunities my entire childhood to play sports, try any musical instrument and get involved with any extra curricular activities I wanted.

My parents loved me, believed in me and supported me in everything I did and they still do.

My mom went back to school in her 40’s so she could get a job at a university that would help send her kids to college.

Because of that, upon graduating from high school, I was able to go to a private Christian University. I was even luckier to receive an education that did more than merely educate its students, but push them towards thinking past tradition, stereotypes, easy answers and half truths. 

I’ve traveled to 8 countries on 3 different continents before my 23^rd birthday.

I’ve been able to see raw poverty, injustice and inequality at an early age and watch my own ignorance and unconsciousness be wiped from my eyes because of it.

I’ve never been molested, raped or physically taken advantage of.

I am a woman.

I am educated.

I am empowered.

But because of the facts of my life, I am a minority in the world of women.

In the world of women…

Babies are aborted before taking a single breath on this earth simply because they are female.

Women and girls are seen as nothing but an expense-another mouth to feed, another body to clothe and another daughter to marry off.

Little girls are forced into marriages to men far more than triple their age when they are as young as 4 or 5 years old.

Women and girls never make it out of elementary school, let alone have the chance go to school in the first place.

Women and girls only dream of going to a university or college and they never see the day where that dream becomes a reality.

Women and girls are seen as nothing worth more than a dishwasher, house cleaner and baby maker.

Women and girls are raped, prostituted, and trafficked all for the pleasure, power and profit of their bodies.

Women and girls are beaten until they are nearly dead by the men in their lives who are supposed to love and protect them. 

Women and girls have allowed themselves to believe the lie that they are just a body and not a brain or a heart or a spirit or a soul.

And because of all of these facts…

I am responsible.

I am responsible to these women in the world-to see more of them go to school, earn college diplomas and become intelligent, strong and passionate people because of it.

I am responsible to the women in the world with no voice- to use mine so they don’t have to suffer in their silence anymore. 

I am responsible to the unborn and unwanted baby girls in the world- to make sure they have a shot at a life and good one at that.

I am responsible to the child brides, the prostitutes, the trafficked, the abused, the uneducated, the disabled, the alone, the missing and the un-advocated for.

I am responsible to myself- to take advantage of the undeserving cards dealt to me and make sure that it doesn’t go to waste on the meaningless and selfish things of the world. To acknowledge every day that I am not entitled to these privileges and that they are a sheer gift. And to use my cards to see one more girl go to school and graduate from college, one less little girl trafficked and one more woman valued for all that she is, from the inside out. 

I am responsible to the ignorant and uninformed- to show them that they can use their privileged hand of cards to make someone else’s life better.

I am responsible to God- to represent His name with honor and truth and to be an usher of His justice, compassion and victory here on earth.

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” Luke 12:48

A Lesson in Central Park

Today, as I was sitting in central park with a classmate filling out a worksheet for our class, a group of three young boys walked up to us. Close behind them was a middle-aged woman, who was hustling them over to us. As she approached us, she asked us if we spoke English. We told her yes and in her broken English, she began explaining that these boys are currently learning English and they need a fluent english speaker to practice it with. We happily agreed to converse with them so they could practice their English. They were so nervous when she prompted them, each of them shyly smiling, barely looking up and hiding their faces behind their friends. I began to ask them questions in English and the first brave boy responded with his well spoken and thought out English phrases. In my broken and nearly indiscernible spanish, I told them that I too, needed to practice my spanish. We conversed for about 10 minutes or so, giving and taking from what each other had to offer of their language. It was beautiful.

            I’m horrible at Spanish. I took 2 years of it in high school and most of it went right over my head. Ever since I stepped foot in Guatemala, I have felt so lost and confused because I don’t know how to speak the language. Many of my classmates on the trip are either fluent or very good at Spanish. It’s been intimidating and I’ve found myself feeling insecure and incompetent in my inability to keep up. But today, I felt like there was a two way street with these boys and I. No longer was I the only one struggling to understand. For the first time, I had something to give and to teach and to share. And in their nervous yet brave presence, they still had something to give, teach and share with me. 

           

There is something really important about this exchange. We all have something to give each other. And we all have something to receive from each other, too. That statement includes every single person on this earth, no matter who you are or where you come from. 

Loving this country and the way its humbling me already. Thanks for your prayers and support.

                                    View from my balcony, shortly after a 4.6 earthquake!

Thoughts on Being a Human

The other night I was walking down the streets of downtown Seattle with a few friends. As we were strolling back to our car, I looked to my right down a steep bank that had another level of parking. Next to the garbage dumpsters, I saw a man lying on the ground. He was shirtless, dirty, and sprawled out on the concrete. He looked like he had just barely made it to that place to lie down. At first glance, it looked like he wasn’t even alive. It looked like he had chosen that place to crash because it was hidden away where no one could see him. But I saw him. And when I saw him, I immediately looked away. The sight was horrible and the pain that followed felt too heavy to bear. I was in a funk for the rest of the night thinking about it. How did he end up there? What went wrong?

            The next morning, I woke up and found myself thinking about that scene again. I was ashamed of the way I chose to respond to it. Is the unbearable pain I felt for that man really a good enough excuse to look away and keep on walking? Does telling myself,  “I just can’t handle how sad that is” really count as having compassion for a stranger? Because the truth is, Jesus doesn’t turn his face from anyone. He is not concerned about their pain being too much for his heart to bear. Jesus is not afraid of allowing someone else’s pain to become his own. He looks at our pain, no matter how big or small, and bravely stares at it straight in the face. In doing that, Jesus shows us compassion that is boundless. It’s because of this we can know true acceptance and comfort in our darkest hour.

             I’ve really struggled with this lately. How can I walk around the slums of India and allow my heart to embrace the immense amount of suffering and injustice that is everywhere? And how can I be completely overwhelmed and terrified with the same amount of suffering that is on my own neighborhood streets? Why am I not afraid to embrace the pain of others when I’m on the other side of the world, but hit the ground running when it approaches me here in Seattle?   

             
              Vulnerability is scary. Fear can feel relentless sometimes. Compassion doesn’t always feel good. And the human spirit is a powerful thing. The more I think about it, the more I count my encounter with the man by the dumpsters as sheer grace…and a true gift. The fact that we can look at strangers and feel so deeply for them; that is grace. In so many ways, I am just like that man lying by the dumpsters. I’ve felt hopeless and alone. And at the end of the day, it’s a beautiful thing that we share those same feelings, because it connects the human spirit and it doesn’t divide. I count it as no mistake when God decided to make us all human.

             So what’s worse? Embracing the suffering of someone else or embracing apathy in your own heart? At some point, we can’t keep on claiming our own ignorance. There are only so many times you can run and hide.

            Maybe I need to start being brave and allow someone else’s pain to manifest in my own heart. Maybe I need to choose courage and stop allowing fear to have the last word. Maybe in doing this, I will be able to see Jesus a little more clearly. Maybe that’s what it means to run after the heart of God. Maybe that’s what seeing Jesus alive outside of the four corners of a church building looks like. I think I’d rather see Jesus in the face of a drunken homeless man than in a routine church service.

So I’m going to try and stop running away from fear of pain. I think there is more beauty than brokenness in allowing compassion to complete it’s work.

Taking Time to Look

You can read a lot about a person by just looking at their eyes. The deepest of emotions are expressed through the eyes. I would argue that the eyes express more emotion than any other part of the face. Eyes speak loud and can tell entire stories, without any words at all.

I was reminded of this truth this morning when looking through pictures from India. I’ve found myself looking at pictures of India a lot lately, trying to relive the memories through looking at those precious faces, those faces so full of joy I can almost feel my heart experiencing it again just by looking at it on my computer screen. But I stumbled upon this picture of Cedar and his ayah and I was reminded of the kind of feeling I got when I used to look into this woman’s eyes on a daily basis. When I first met her, she barely made eye contact with me at all and humbly went about her job without trying to get in anyone’s way. It was almost awkward at first to make eye contact with her because she was so timid. But I’ll never forget the day when all of the volunteers washed the ayah’s feet for staff appreciation day. I specifically wanted to wash her feet, to honor her and the work she does for our kids at SCH, to finally be able to look her in the eye and show her my appreciation for all that she does. And I’ll never forget the feeling of being so taken back when I looked at her square in the eyes for the first time on that day. I’ll never forget seeing the welling of tears in her eyes when I made her sit down and the steady stream of tears that soon followed as I began to wash her feet. It didn’t take long for me to realize those honest eyes of hers told an entire story. It almost haunts me to remember the kind of raw, deep, intense, and vulnerable emotion I saw when I first looked into her eyes. I saw pain and brokenness. Hurt and hopelessness. Weariness and despair. We didn’t exchange words once that entire summer. Verbal communication with her was never something that happened between us. We communicated only through emotion, through the exchange of eye contact. But I didn’t need words to know the kind of story this woman had. I didn’t need words to know that this woman has been through hell and back a few times. I didn’t need words to know that this woman thinks of herself as the lowest of the low. I didn’t need words to understand that she carries such a large burden but with so much strength, even though I knew she didn’t think so. I didn’t need words to see her pain. I didn’t need words to see past her busy work and see her humanity completely exposed. I didn’t need words because her eyes said it all, loud and clear.

So what’s my new years resolution? It’s to make more eye contact. It’s to take more time to actually look at someone in the eye. It’s to stare long enough into someone’s eyes to see their humanity and not just the mask their wearing. It’s to stop and look at the homeless person in the eye begging for money instead of pretending I cant see or hear them. It’s to choose to stand in someone’s pain with them instead of praying for their pain to go away at a distance. It’s to use less of my words and more of my eyes and ears. It’s to be a reflection of Jesus not by smooth Christian ease but by action expressed in humility and driven by compassion. It’s to make myself more invisible so that Jesus can be fully seen and experienced.

Happy new year, everyone! May you experience Jesus for all He is this 2013.