There's something about a blizzard

There’s something about a blizzard.

There’s something about the slow build up of a blizzard. For days we heard predictions and updates and warnings. Some people prepared by panicking and stripping grocery stores of all their staple foods. Others prepared by creating lists and lists of contingency plans, and others still sat back with a resolve to wing it and let whatever may come, come. Those of us from more frigid origins, reveled in a peanut gallery of commentary about blizzard experience and societal reactions. Schools closed, governments shutdown, and public transportation halted. If you didn't know it, you'd think the world was ending.

There’s something about the blizzard's first snowflakes. It’s so peaceful and quiet, like the whole world is on mute. When the snow starts falling, the pause button is pressed. There are hardly any expectations for work or daily obligations as contingency plans set in. Everyone slows to a stop as the snow falls gracefully to the ground. News outlets and social media are the only real sources of buzz, lighting up with pictures and descriptions of a city mesmerized as the white takes over. Everyone hunkers down with snacks and movies, board games and coloring books.

There’s something about the wait. Waiting for the snow to come, waiting for it to stop, waiting for the final inch counts, waiting to find out what the next few days will look like, waiting for reality to hit again. In the interim, the surreal detachment to the outside world slowly takes over. As the snow piles up, the realization that we really aren’t going anywhere any time soon sets in.

There’s something about a blizzard. It’s like a society wide reset button. The busy of everyday life in a career-oriented city is put on hold. There is, once again, time for quality time with your family or housemates. There is, once again, time to cook meals without being rushed. There is, once again, time to knock things off of your long-term home to-do list. There is, once again, time to rest. Guilt, though it tries to infiltrate our minds, is easily put aside. Because in the same way that our lives have stopped, so has the rest of the world. There is something about a change of pace that invigorates and excites.

There’s something about a blizzard that makes us feel like kids again. Children and adults alike are seen romping, sledding, snowballing, snowman and snow angel making, and looking out the window with wide eyes. The transformation seems magical and seemingly removes us from the grasp of adulthood. There’s something about waking up to a thick white blanket over the world that reminds us of our favorite childhood stories. Even if just for a moment, imagination takes over.

There’s something about a blizzard that builds comradery. If we didn’t have something in common with our neighbors and other city dwellers before, we do now. The playing field is even, though just temporarily. Everyone is left with one task: the dig out. Neighbors are brought together though they may have not spoken before. There are words of encouragement and acts of service. Text messages and phone calls to friends and family members are plenty. In the moment when we are most physically disconnected, we find ways to connect.

Snowzilla, as Snowmaggedon and Snowpocalypse, will live on in memory and will inevitably grow in size and stature as stories are told and retold for years to come...because there really is just something about a blizzard. 

Good? Friday.

"Your joking about calling it Good Friday, right? I told you the part about the nails?" -Jesus

This is a tweet from a comedian that I follow on Twitter. And it got me thinking.

When you read the story of "Good" Friday, there doesn't seem to be much Good about it at all. So on a surface level, there is a bit of truth in that tweet. "You're joking, right? Good? What could possibly be qualified as good??"

After all, it is a story of betrayal, denial, injustice, violence, pain, suffering, mocking, scoffing, death.

A man is arrested after one of his closest friends turns him in. Another close friend, after swearing loyalty, denies that he ever knew the accused. Upon being taken to the highest authorities, the man is condemned though he has not done anything outwardly wrong. A confused judge hands him over to a mob. He is mocked, spit upon, and beaten within an inch of his life while scads of onlookers deem him worthless. He is stripped down, and what is left of his unrecognizable body is hoisted onto wooden posts, attached with nails, and displayed for all to see. And then, in the most vulnerable position anyone could ever be in, suffering the worst kind of execution the human race has ever thought of, he is mocked still, until he takes his last breath.

It is a heart-wrenching, pit-in-the-stomach, tears-burning kind of a story. Everything goes from bad to worse, so where is the Good?

The Good is in the purpose. The Good is in the implications. The Good is that it didn't end there.

The Good is in realizing that it should have been us, but it wasn't.

Every year, I remember, meditate on, and wrestle with the story of Good Friday, knowing that without it the end wouldn't be the end. And I would not be able to repeat with confidence, "it is finished".

Singapore-shaped hole

This post was written in mid-October for my Aunt Marilyn's blog. I thought in only right to share it here in case you missed it. 

Fall has historically been my favorite season. And this week, the DC metro area is experiencing the most gorgeous fall weather a girl could ask for. The trees are starting to change colors and there is a crisp breeze causing all the leaves to rustle joyously. But what really gets me is the smell; the smell of changing seasons is indescribable and intoxicating.

I find that there is a stirring in my heart; a nostalgic joy that has been long lost is awakening in my soul. It is brought on by crunchy leaves, bright orange pumpkins, delicious apples, and that familiar and comfortable atmosphere of Fall that I know so well.

But every crunch of a leaf, flash of orange from a pumpkin, and juicy bite of an apple reminds me of the season I have left behind.

The last two years of my life were spent on the tiny island of Singapore. This island is a bustling city nestled in Southeast Asia between Malaysia and Indonesia; rich in jungle atmosphere, cultural diversity, and the best food known to man. Though 6 weeks have already passed since I moved back to America, a piece of my heart still dwells with that little island. I long for the sticky, hot air and the smell of jungle and city, combined with a hint of durian.

I wonder when I will again feel that tropical atmosphere, eat chicken rice at the local hawker stall, or be the only white face crammed into a train car packed with Asian faces.

As I am experiencing the joy I have always found in changing seasons, my heart is being torn in two as I grieve what I have left behind. Some mornings when I wake up, the Singapore-shaped hole in my heart is almost too much to bear. I tell myself that I would trade the gorgeous Fall weather any day to be back on that tiny island.

But the grief will inevitably fade, and the joy of Fall will once again take over. And I will move forward into my new season, as we are all forced to do at times, but I do so having left a piece of my heart in Singapore and treasuring the piece of Singapore left in my heart.

Food.

I think I decided that my favorite part of traveling is the food. Everyone's gotta eat, right? Whether you're American, Asian, African, European, whatever, we all have one thing in common: food. But every culture has its own interpretation based on available resources, history, and styles. That's what makes it so beautiful: the diversity within the commonality.

Today, I enjoyed my first Korean Barbeque experience in Chinatown in Singapore with one of my best friends who just happens to be from Indonesia. Talk about a cultural experience.

I was just so excited and overwhelmed by the choices of meat and vegetables and the grill in the middle of our table and the tasty chili sauces, that I'm pretty sure the only words out of my mouth in the first ten minutes were "This is SO COOL."

That's when I realized that food is my favorite part of traveling. We started talking about it, and about different food experiences we've had. I tried to articulate what constitutes "American" food, settling with a general description and then ending by saying, "but every household is different..." Then we started talking about Senegalese food, and all of a sudden I was flooded with this intense nostalgia for Senegal. Just thinking about the meals that I ate there, brought me back and I could close my eyes and imagine myself there again.

So many of my memories of traveling revolve around food, because it is such a central part to just about every culture. Nasi Goreng in Bali, green curry in Thailand, ceebujen in Senegal, bread and cheese in France, char kway teo in Singapore, jambalaya in Louisiana, philly cheese steaks on the East Coast, and I could go on and on and on.

As I sit here with my belly full of delicious Korean food (and seriously considering falling into a food coma), I can't help but appreciate food and how it brings people together to educate, entertain, and enjoy.

On Weddings

Within the last 24 hours, I missed out on the weddings of two wonderful couples. And my heart aches. It's knowing that I'm missing the transition into a new (and significant!) season in my friends' lives. Of course I want to be there for the oohing and awwing over the beautiful brides, for the dancing, for the food, for the overall celebration...but the real reason I want to be there is to show my love and support for the couples. For them to know that I'm excited for them, that I can't wait to see them grow together and start a new life together.

One of the weddings was that of one of my adopted brothers. I have known him for almost 15 years (holey buckets that's a long time!)...He has been a constant presence in my home life for more than half my life. I have countless memories of him randomly showing up at my house, doing crazy things with my brother, and teasing me like I was his sister (which I may as well be). The first time he brought his (now) wife over to my house, it was as though she was meeting an extension of his family--another set of parents and siblings. The amazing thing is that she fit in perfectly :) So even though I've only known her for a year (most of which I have spent in Singapore), I consider her to be a part of my family too.

The other wedding was that of a dear, dear friend of mine. We met in Singapore and spent a most wonderful year growing our relationship, sharing pineapple cheese prata and butter chicken, hanging out with high schoolers, and playing ultimate frisbee together (well, she did most of the playing and I did most of the watching...). We've been through ups and downs together, and my heart broke when she moved back to the U.S. Then she started dating this boy. And every time I skyped with her she was even more filled with joy than the time before. Though it was from afar, I got to watch her relationship grow deeper until the point when she got engaged. And let me tell you, I had a box of tissues in hand when she told me the proposal story. The joy didn't stop there, it continued to grow as I heard about wedding plans--to the point at which my heart was bursting with joy on her behalf! I miss her terribly, and cried tears of joy just thinking about her wedding yesterday. The first photos on Facebook sparked even more tears seeing how absolutely radiant she was in her dress with the love of her life by her side.


And so I want to say to these two couples, I love you and it is hard for me to not be able to take part in your celebrations. Celebrations indeed! But know that I am so excited to see what the Lord has planned for you as you venture into this new season of life together. And I miss you. Loads.

Photo-a-Day: The Experience.

On January 1, 2011, I started a project. I called it a Photo-a-Day. I vowed to take at least one photo every day in the year 2011.

And now, on January 6, 2012, I am proud to say that I did it.

365 straight days of taking photos. Phew! It's been a long time since I've felt such a feeling of accomplishment.

You see, it all started as a challenge to myself. I wondered if I would be able to do it. And then it turned into more than that. I had friends and family all over the world following it, encouraging me, and wanting to be featured in a "photo-of-the-day".

As I now look back over all 12 months worth of photos, I get a little nostalgic. I remember where I was for each of them, and what I was thinking at that moment. I remember being disappointed in the April photos, and absolutely falling in love with May. I pushed myself harder that I expected that I would have, and I am so proud of what I did.

It is now more than just a portfolio, it is a journal...It tells the story of 2011. There are highlights (weddings, birthdays, vacations, etc) and lowlights (being sick for an entire week and taking photos in my room...), but that's the beauty of the whole project--I documented EVERYTHING.

I learned to think outside the box and to see the world from the perspective of my lens. A photo captures one moment--a split second of life. A moment that will probably never exist again, whether it's a facial expression in an engagement shoot or the position of a dragonfly in the grass. The angle at which you catch that moment can drastically affect the perception of it.

By forcing myself to take photos every day, I was forcing myself to look for subjects that wouldn't necessarily capture the attention of a camera normally. I needed to take my camera every where, all the time, just so I wouldn't miss anything.

It was an absolute joy.

Now that it's over, I definitely miss it. A few times this week, I've freaked myself out at the end of the day thinking, "Oh my gosh! I didn't take a photo today!!" Something that has been a part of my life for a year, is no longer.

But now it's time to move on to the next challenge...who knows what it'll be!

Until then, I would encourage all of you to challenge yourselves. Push yourself outside the box, do something you love, take the time to get better at it, and watch yourself grow.

Here's to a new year!

From my hands to yours

I love snail mail.

Sending it. Receiving it. Stamps. Envelopes. The whole ordeal.

Obviously, we live in a world where there are much more efficient ways of communication (says the girl who's writing a blog post...). Email, blogs, text messages, and social networking have streamlined communication in ways that no one a hundred years ago could have anticipated. And don't get me wrong, I am all about internet-centered communication.

But there is something special about letters. Real letters. The ones that come in an envelope with a stamp and magically appear in your mailbox. Your real mailbox, that is.

It's that it is coming from my hands to yours. The paper was held by me, written on by me, carried around by me. There's an element of physical touch, that by definition, cannot be experienced in e-communication.

Every other minute there's some new communication technology at our doorstep. And it is inevitably skinnier, faster, awesomer than the one before it. I, myself, just got a new phone for Christmas. It is pink and has a keyboard and lets me communicate faster and better than my last one.

But I will never be able to give up snail-mail. Old-fashioned, maybe, but totally worth it.

On Birthdays

Last week, Monkey celebrated his 7th birthday. It was a big deal. Days and days of anticipation, the purchasing of gifts, the making of a cake, culminating in birthday crowns, candles, and a good old-fashioned party.

I remember so many years of that youthful anticipation and excitement. Birthdays used to be a month long endeavor, filled with so many "I just can't wait!!"s that it felt like I would die before the day would ever come. And now I wonder, when did that end?

This year, my birthday fell amidst returning home, a wedding, and a lot of random busy things. There was a special Skype call with friends across the ocean. There were family and friends and ice cream. There were cards and a gift (that definitely fell on the "need" list, as opposed to the "want" list). There was a surprise breakfast with old friends. But it just sort of slipped passed. No big hurrah. I wonder when it was that I became okay with that.

I don't care about the excitement anymore, which I suppose is an inevitable landmark of "adulthood". I'm a little nostalgic for the days when I cared, but I'm also not terribly torn up that they have passed.

Which is precisely why it is so great to be around kids, who feel the excitement, who induce anticipation, and let it spill over until you can't help but be excited with them. So instead of pining for the excitement of birthdays past, or feeling the pressure of fabricating excitement for future birthdays, I am content reveling in the pure joy shared by the young ones.

Scars

Scars tell stories. Stories of pain, clumsiness, danger. They are reminders of when things have gone awry in the past. Some are amusing and entertaining, others are simply painful. But no matter what the stories evolve into, they all start in the same place. They all start with pain.

The scar up the side of my leg tells the story of the time that I had an unfortunate run-in with a pick axe. The blob of distorted skin on my knee is from that one time I was visiting my eldest sister in Philadelphia when I was probably 7 or 8 and I tripped on the sidewalk. Those white lines there above my knee? Those were the work of an overly enthusiastic dog. That one shaped like an ice cream cone/Santa's head/speech bubble is the reminder of the best vacation I ever had. The streak across my pointer finger is reminiscent of touching a hot frying pan.

Physical healing is amazing. Days and days go by of new skin cells forming and overtaking the old damaged ones. Then one day, the pain is gone...no more stinging, itching, burning. All that's left is the faint reminder. And the story.

Emotional pain and scars are a different story. That is a healing process that is very much hidden, not seen by the eye, only felt by the heart. When a heart is broken, it leaves a scar, and that scar tells a story, and that story starts with pain. But the pain needs time to heal, often times more time than an external scar.

The realm of broken hearts is a dangerous one indeed. We would prefer to avoid the pain, speed up the process, and lure ourselves into a false sense of healing. There's one good day when you don't feel the brokenness and you hope against all hopes that it is gone for good. And because you can't see it, you try to believe it. Until the next day when the pain creeps up again, and your heart feels like it's being broken all over again.

Healing is an amazing thing. To be able to look back at pain, and not feel it's sting anymore, but simply acknowledging it's presence and influence on your life. Some wounds seem like they will never heal, but given time and love, anything is possible.
 
In the end, when the pain starts to fade, you are left with an opportunity for maturity and growth, a lesson learned, and of course, a story.

August 19, 2011: A Day in Photos

About two weeks ago, I had an idea.

It was about 11pm, and I was probably looking at some photo blog or another, just unwinding at the end of the day. Then I thought, how cool would it be if I had a bunch of my friends join me in my Photo-a-Day project for just one day. Have everyone take a few photos of whatever they were doing, wherever they were, on one specific day. So I picked a random day the following week, and created an event on our favorite social networking site. I invited all my friends, and waited.

I had, what was for me, an overwhelmingly positive response. I figured that I could probably twist the arms of those in Singapore with me and my family members--I was hoping for maybe 10 contributors tops. What I got was close to 70 yays.

August 19th came and went, and I sent out pleading emails and texts to remind everyone to take and send me their photos.

In the end (including myself), there were 43 contributors representing 9 countries, and a total of 155 photos (more than I could have hoped for!). I'm really proud of everyone who came through!

Along with their photos, a lot of people told me how much fun they had had taking photos that day. That they went on an awesome walk or took photos of things that they do or see every day but had never thought to take a photo of before. Most of the time, we only take photos of special events, to record once in a lifetime things. But if you think about it, there are a lot of little special things that we see or do that we take for granted. From doing a Photo-a-Day, I've learned to seek those things out rather than waiting for them to show up. I am so glad to have been able to share in that similar experience with all the contributors on August 19.

Stay tuned for the next Day in Photos opportunity!!

Ten Years

Ten years is a long time. Babies are born, trees get really big, kids grow up, grown-ups get married, cities evolve, friendships are formed and others dissolve, things change. And yet, we have an amazing propensity to remember those changes as we face them, and we file them away in the form of memories.

I remember August 19, 2001 like it was yesterday. I honestly can't believe that it's been a decade. I won't be able to tell you what the weather was like, or what I ate for lunch, or who I had a conversation with that afternoon. What I can tell you is that that night, my Mom's Dad passed away.

We were sitting in the living room, playing a card game. It was sometime after 9 pm, and my younger cousins were sound asleep in various rooms around the house. When the phone rang, I knew in my gut what it was. Grandpa is gone. Even though we knew to expect it, it still came as a blow. Shoes were gathered, kids carried groggily to the car, and we all piled in. I was sitting in the seat directly behind the driver's seat.

It's funny the details you remember from a day so long ago. I remember sitting in the car wondering why I wasn't crying yet. I even laughed about something ridiculous (and probably inappropriate), but then, laughing has always been my coping mechanism. I remember how it felt like the world had stopped, and that nothing mattered but getting to the Hospice. Then the tears finally came, and I remember wondering why they wouldn't stop.

We all crowded into a lounge type room, my family members, the pastor of our church, and some other people I can't place. My cousin was asleep on the couch and everyone was talking in low voices. And then one of my parents asked if I wanted to go see him. I followed them across the hall into the room that was so familiar due to the daily visits of the previous month. And there he was, but it wasn't him. I remember saying that. It was just a shell, Grandpa wasn't there anymore. I held his hand one last time and said my goodbyes.

It's so vivid in my mind, it could have happened yesterday. We still miss you Grandpa R, but we know that you are having the time of your life with Grandma right now.

First day of School!! First day of School!!

It's hard to comprehend, as someone who has spent the better part of her life as a student, that there could be a better day than the first day of summer. It's the day that screams FREEDOM for a whole 3 months.

But I have found such a day. And it is the first day of school. As they read this, students everywhere are cringing and thinking "Why, why would she say such a thing?!" I never thought I would say it, but it is true.

I now join multitudes of mothers (though I am not a mother quite yet), in their feeling of elation that only comes as their kids leave the house, backpacks in tow, for another year of education. The house is quiet and still, and there is an aura of productivity in the air.

Kids are awesome and fun to have around, but it's hard to beat the ability to clean the kitchen uninterrupted (and for it to stay clean for more than 5 minutes!), to fold laundry without the neat piles being tossed around and jumped on, and to sit on one's backside, responding to emails, enjoying a cup of tea, and playing Monopoly.

Ah yes, the first day of school...

Conversations with Cabbies

Normally a conversation with a cab driver goes something like this: "Um I'm going to the Woodlands near the American school. Do you know Woodgrove Ave?" "Yes yes. Go by BKE or PIE?" "From here? PIE. Thanks. Are you having a good day?" "Yes. Fine" and that's that. You listen to some bad eighties rock or the news in Chinese and then the ride is over. But every now and then you get a driver who talks your ear off about the most fascinating things, dropping little nuggets of wisdom or simply describing an interesting life story.

Once I spent the half hour drive to the airport talking about food-- our favorite things to eat and where to go to get them. Another airport drive was spent listening to a lengthy monologue about why Singapore has so many trees and ended with him telling me to be careful on my trip to Indonesia and to be sure not to get mugged.

Some drivers have inquired about my life, where I work and about my family. When we get around to this they generally ask what my parents think about me living so far away and agree that I'm too young to get married.

Every now and then I get to here a life history. Like the guy who has been driving cabs for just over two years and before that had been charge of inventory at a grocery store chain for decades. That is, until a larger chain bought them out and he was out of a job. And that's when he became a cab driver.

The other day I had a driver who's only been driving taxis for nine months. He retired from his engineering job of 40 years(!), spent a few years traveling, and then decided that sitting around the house doing nothing wasn't cutting it. Apparently his wife agreed. So he started driving cabs. He told me about all the job offers that he's gotten from people riding with him, but that if he wanted to be an engineer again, he would go back to his old company.


One time, the simple question of "Are you having a good day?" got me an emphatic explanation about how we need to take each day as it comes. The driver had been cheated out of a fare the day prior and that day had been inspired by his niece to be thankful for every day that we have and to treat it as a clean slate.



So many times we treat cab drivers like the people next to us on the train--strangers with strange lives, of which we aren't a part of. But we are a part of their lives, and they a small part of ours. There is hardly a better venue to share stories, bits and pieces of who we are, and to bless or be blessed by a complete stranger.

Branded.

It started in High School. My friend Rose, an exceptional artist, had been doodling on my arm during Biology, when I turned to her and said, "Will you design me a tattoo some day?". She looked at me, a little taken aback, and said "Sure!". So a year later, I had her design my first tattoo--a small cross with the "Proverbs 3" written up the side.

I sat on the design for a while and after Christmas in 2006, Rose, my friend Annemarie, and I made an excursion to the Tattoo Studio. Thus appeared the small black tattoo on my right ankle. And my introduction to the world of body art.

A year and a half later, I found myself living in Senegal for a semester abroad. Shortly after I arrived, I decided I wanted to memorize Romans 8. I kept getting stuck on the verses about Creation, and how ALL of Creation was waiting to be redeemed and reconciled to God. And then I started thinking about Colossians 1. "All things were created by Him and for Him, thing in Heaven and things on Earth." and it's connection to Romans 8.

An image came into my head and started nagging at my mind. It was a picture of a globe, with those words surrounding it. For weeks it lingered in my brain. So I emailed Rose, told her what I was thinking, and asked if she would design it for me. And so she did.

I immediately fell in love with the design, it was exactly what I had imagined. It went up on my wall, as a "some day" tattoo. On the back burner it stayed, stewing, for almost 3 years. Until yesterday.

Working on the design.

Working on me.

Final product

Little did I know that the inspired design of 3 years prior would come to mean more than originally intended. It has evolved to not only serve as a reminder that ALL things were created by God and for Him, but also as a more personal reminder of where I have been and where I am going. It's a reminder of my past--living in Pakistan and Senegal; my present--living in Singapore; and my future--going where ever God leads me.

It isn't done yet...In a few months time text will be added to read "All things were created by Him and for Him; things in Heaven, and things on Earth".

And that is the story of how I got branded.

Flying faster than time

Once again, I have made the flight to go from one side of the world to the other. Flying outside of time from one channel of my life to another. My brain handles the change better than the rest of my body. I see Asian people, I smell Asian smells, I see cars on the left side of the road, and my brain is already halfway there.

It's the rest of my body that has issues. Switching the routine of my body from night to day and day to night is not the easiest. My stomach wants to eat lunch at midnight and doesn't want anything during the day. My whole body suffers from the inevitable fatigue of a new sleeping schedule.

So take the internal battle of my body and mix in some jet-lagged children, and what do you get? A house of chaos. One kid awake and hyper, and the other lethargic and crabby. Ten minutes later, it reverses. Meanwhile, I have hardly enough energy to think about unpacking, let alone to run around playing baseball and shooting rockets.

My foggy brain has a hard time imagining an end to the vicious cycle of jet lag, but having done this many times before, I have to trust that there will be an end as there always has been before.

Questioning the celebration.

Today, I heard the big news. I mean, seriously, who didn't hear the news?

Osama bin Laden is dead.

I was on Facebook, and all of these posts started popping up. People that I haven't seen active on Facebook for a while are all coming out of the cracks to share the news and voice opinions.

There were tones of celebration, of relief, of vengeance. But something didn't feel right to me. Should I really be happy about this news?

I watched President Obama's speech, a very well articulated narrative of the last 10 years. Starting with a retelling of September 11, and then describing how it all went down. Secret mission. Firefight. Death.

And then, back on Facebook (of course), I saw this posted:

"Through violence you may murder the hater,
but you do not murder hate.
In fact, violence merely increases hate.
...So it goes.
Returning violence for violence multiplies violence,
......adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness:
only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."
-MLKJr

And I realized why I feel so uneasy about all this.

This day will be marked as a day to begin a new era, one free of a tyrant who caused immeasurable pain and suffering around the globe. But this new era was begun by violence. By death.

And I don't really feel like celebrating. All I can think about is how Osama bin Laden was a human. A person like you and me. Someone who God loves. And I am sad to think that this man never got to experience true love, true joy, and true peace. My heart breaks thinking about how he never got to know the Lord.

Jesus teaches us not to throw the first stone. He teaches us that we are to forgive and love our enemies, not gauge out their eyes as they may have done to us. Jesus experienced the most painful death ever--with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was betrayed, spat upon, and treated like an enemy. And when he came back, after overcoming death (!), he didn't do so with vengeance or violence. He came back with love and forgiveness.

Violence truly begets violence. How are we ever going to break the cycle if we justify our violent actions by pointing fingers? I am by no means saying that bin Laden was a stand-up guy (although, I have no idea what he was like in real life), nor am I saying that what he's done was right or excusable.

What are we teaching our children when we celebrate a death like this one? That this death and this violence is okay and something to be celebrated, but the death that happens in our own communities isn't? Since when has any death become socially acceptable?

Jesus didn't put footnotes in his instructions saying "Love your enemy (except when they do something really really bad and make you really really mad, and then it's okay to kill them and be happy about it)" or "I'd prefer you not to throw the first stone, but here's an approved list of misdeeds that are just evil enough that will allow you to throw that stone guilt-free".


Maybe we should think twice before we celebrate violence and death. Otherwise, where is there room for love and forgiveness?

A very Good Friday, indeed.

Happy Holy week! In honor of Good Friday and Easter, a couple my friends (and fellow photographers) and I put together a photo exhibit. Here is an electronic version of the real thing, for your enjoyment.

Artist Commentary:

In Romans 5, Paul says that when sin entered this world, so did death. Death came to all men because all have sinned. These two concepts are intertwined, you can’t have one without the other. And the lives we live on this Earth are steeped in both.

Sin has an amazing grip on our lives, from things that we do and say, things we experience, to things we feel. Feelings of anger, loneliness, inner turmoil, hate, sorrow, captivity, and brokenness are all consequences of sin. In the same way that physical death ends physical life, these feelings and emotions put to death emotional and spiritual life.

THIS is the power of the Jesus. That He, who was void of sin, gave Himself over to the ultimate consequence of sin. He died so that we may have life. He destroyed the enemy that we try to fight powerlessly every day. And now, death has no power over us, no matter how much we deserve it.

He has given us peace, hope, love, joy, and community. He has set us free. He has made us whole. He has brought us back to life and is allowing us to live it to the fullest.

And this is the idea behind this exhibit--death as we know it before Christ and life as we know it after Christ. Thank you so much, Renny, Sarah Mae, Jon, Bryce, and Abby for offering your beautifully emotional selves for this project. And thank you Amy and Izzy for letting me break the teapot.

Peace in Christ,
Amy

 "Broken vs. Whole"

 "Anger, Sorrow, and Loneliness"

"Peace, Joy, and Community"

"Captive vs. Free"

Just me and the boys.

I was home this afternoon babysitting the Monkey and the Mouse. There was a thunderstorm, which normally rocks Monkey's boat pretty hard, but this time just meant we had some good snuggle time. I had my camera to take pictures of the rain, and ended up with a whole series of pictures like the following:

Sunday afternoon jaunt

It's been a while since I've gone on an independent adventure of the exploring/walking/photo-taking kind. So I was very happy to fill my otherwise empty afternoon with an excursion to Arab Street. It's a neighborhood that is exactly what it sounds like: Arab. There are mosques, tons of little stores with carpets, fabrics, and lots of Middle-Eastern-esque items, and lots of restaurants and hookah bars.

It was very hot and very sunny and very beautiful. But I will let the pictures speak for themselves:

Doesn't that building in the background look like it belongs in Gotham City?