To See But Dimly

Today Richard at work asked what school I go to. When I told him Providence Christians College, he asked, “So are you like super religious or something?”

 “Well no.”  Then I stopped to think for a moment.

I knew he was taken aback by my quick answer and I was too. I proceeded to explain myself.

 “I don’t really consider myself religious the way people mean religious when they say that word. It’s not a bunch of things you have to do; it’s a worldview, a way of thinking.”

The more I thought about it, I began to realize that this really is true. When I ponder about how God has changed my life, more than anything, he has changed my mind. Actions always are rooted in previous thoughts, and that’s why he always starts with my mind.

Looking at the world through the lenses of Scripture is unnatural for me, but through the Spirit’s transforming me, it is possible.

Just three months ago I worked with these people at Honey Baked and I was quite comfortable with them. Yet I have noticed since my return, that their conversation topics and senses of humor are now quite different from my own.

I find myself looking down on my coworker for her thought processes concerning her boyfriend, and then I realize that not 6 months ago, I would have thought the same. It’s amazing how God molds me when I’m not even paying attention. Suddenly I realize I have changed. I only realized it because corruption sometimes reveals the straight line.

When I was a child, God was God, and Jesus was a man who died for my sins. I knew of sin, but I didn’t quite understand why sin was sin and what it meant that God was God. As I grew older, by God’s grace (and don’t let me forget that it is by grace alone), he has given me eyes to see, even if dimly.

What I feel now is this sudden awareness of the reality of my new mind. It’s been in the process of formation for years and it still is being molded, but only now am I explicitly aware of it.

“Seek God and he will give you the desires of your heart.” The amazing thing is that God changes my desires, giving me a heart after his own by renewing my mind.

I can hardly fathom it!

Typical

Drive home.

Plug in the Christmas lights, unlock the door and walk inside.

The dog is most excited to see you out of everyone. Others disregard your presence. Kiss the dog and talk an octave higher than your normal voice to the dog, then set it down.

Crash on the couch and watch TV for hours, or pull out your lap top and go on Facebook.

Aimless stalk your “friends” profiles.

Watch a half interesting show on cooking. Do anyone of us actually cook?

Fall asleep on the couch.

3am, you wake up, brush your teeth and go to your bed.

Another day you might be on your bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you drown in the music.

Mouths always shut. Thoughts unrevealed.

Fall asleep.

3 am, you wake up, brush your teeth and return to bed.

Sunrise.

Wake up to the dog sniffing and nudging you to let him outside to piss.

Barely open your eyes and float to the door. Let him out. Start the coffee maker. Stare at the drizzling rain while you wait for the coffee to brew.

Drink coffee.

Shower. Make yourself look presentable.

Drive to work- same route, same speed as yesterday. Maybe light a cigarette on the way.

5pm, drive home.

Maybe you should have gone Christmas shopping before driving home. Oh well, the mall is packed full of angry holiday shoppers. Better to avoid that and sit in the cave.

Time to, repeat.

The Violet Dwindles

It’s a shame that most days are silent here in this cave,

But it’s hard to drill through the ice after so many years of relative stillness.

I just hate this rustling of the norm.

When in actuality, this is the norm;

We just don’t relate to it anymore.

Maybe that’s because my colors have blossomed

And their colors seem transparent now.

Foggy, monotonous, drab.

Is that guilt I feel, pinching my heart? Do I insult?

Well, I love them, dearly

Yet I hate the colorless life I’m sucked into in their company.

Because the violet dwindles in the damp cave,

Which is mute and still, but not untroubled.

She can’t survive there without light and wind

To ruffle the norm. 

An Imaginative Old Man

Daniel always has windblown hair. It’s black, kind of stringy and receding in the front and thinning everywhere else.

I remember the first time I saw him. I thought he looked a lot like my Tata. I always saw Tata in my head as a handsome old man. Then when he visited after we found out that he had cancer, I was shocked. He had aged so much and it was like his eyes had sunk in and his hair had been bleached white.

This is the Tata that Daniel reminded me of. I don’t know how old he is. I guess it’s rude of me to even compare him to that Tata.

At first I couldn’t understand anything he said. He has a very strong Korean accent and he often adds extra vowels, like “u” or “o” to the end of words. One time when Karolina and I ate dinner at the All Nations Community Church on Sunday night, he joked about how Japanese and Koreans have the worst American accents. However, the more I talk to him, the more I understand. Before I used to strain my ears and fiercely read his lips in order to understand.

Daniel is inspiring to me in a way. He never grew up, but he's really intelligent.

Whenever I see him, he is reading a new book. Sometimes it’s a history book and other times it’s something on theology. He reads a lot. He is also in the process of learning Russian and Japanese. (He often asks speaks to me in Japanese, since he learned about my heritage. 

The other night I ate dinner with him though and he closed his World Atlas and we started talking about the food. Our conversation evolved into one about animal rights. He is horrified by the way people treat animals, even chickens before they are slaughtered. (We were eating chicken as we spoke)

He loves animals and believes in something called “Theology of Life”. I googled this and found a book on the topic by  Jay B. McDaniels called Of God and Pelicans: A Theology of Reverence for Life. He probably read this.

He doesn’t even kill the ants that raid his room in the summertime! Then he told me about these cockroaches that were living in his house. He didn’t want to kill them, but they started attacking him, so he chased them out. He said to me, wide-eyed, “They never went to school! But they are so wise!” He also said, “Dogs are my friends, and they know that we are friends!” The convicted way in which he said it made me believe him.

When Providence performed A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream, Daniel was the drama association’s biggest fan. For weeks afterward he searched out every person whose name was in the pamphlet. He went to both showings and took pictures. He recently gave me a picture that he had taken of Libby and I after opening night.

Some people think he's a nut, but he inspires me because he lives every day with a child-like fascination. He is always seeking to learn, whether it be from reading or having conversations with people. He is zealously excited about the world. His heart and mind are so connected! His imagination seems to be so incredibly alive; his mind soaks in everything and his heart is passionate for it all. Daniel is really cool.

The Lonely Gather Like Sheep These Nights

Water trickles down the stone walls and puddles gather, revealing the uneven ground.

I noticed today the yellow leaves and mossy benches along the sidewalk. 

I noticed also how lonely people gather together like sheep in the cold.

I see what could have been.

A cold tear trickling down my face at times

And I know that if I had stayed in that old town, my home town,

I would have fallen asleep.

Grey hairs sprouting, and wrinkles curving their way into my skin.

It’s a place of death. Of lost friends and dreams that failed.

It’s a place where you always wish you were somewhere else, But coming back somehow is a comfort.

Well, in theory it’s comforting, for a while.

Now the rain is falling harder.

The moon is obscured by fog

And the night is black ink.

My senses only capture a lovely sound tonight, swirling about.

People say rain is when God cries and I say not.

It’s a million angels snapping their fingers, clapping and tap dancing.

These past few nights, hardly any of us have slept adequately,

Yet I never felt closer to any of you.

We were gathered at the hardest time of year, pulling each other along.

I hardly know what it means to be awake anymore.

I hardly know what it means to be alone.

A sleep over, heart to heart talks, good coffee, movies and tears.

A long walk in the falling trees under a dripping foggy sky. 

I trip sometimes on the uneven ground, or slip in the puddles.

Currently, my warmest boots are the most wet.

But let’s take a walk anyway, again,

Because lonely people are here today, gathered like sheep.

The rain slows and my bed starts to feel increasingly like sinking sand.

Eye lids slightly falling…