Social Media Seeking Justice

I recently stumbled across this very impressive youtube video that communicated the growing world of social media and networking. Using statistics and tidbits of information, it effectively demonstrated in 5 minutes, how social media has changed and is continuing to change the way we communicate. In a nutshell...


"Social media isn't a fad, it's a fundamental shift in the way we communicate."

I couldn't agree more. I've had conversations with people on things such as the pros and cons of facebook, twitter, etc... it's a time waster, it's narcissistic, it's for our own self- esteem, it can get you in trouble, etc, etc. While I agree that these points can be true oftentimes and they must be used with discretion, I don't think we can throw the baby out with the bath water.


Though I've been on facebook for several years now and have attempted to blog for the past year, I recently started a twitter account (I know, I know... I'm a little behind). My eyes have been opened to a whole new world. I never really understood what twitter was capable of until I tried it. I've learned so much in the past week alone about what is going on in the world, about other people seeking justice, missions projects and NGO's, and people simply changing their community and world. And it has inspired me.


Watching the above youtube clip made me quite excited actually. I couldn't help but think of Esther's words in scripture, "And who knows but that you have come to royal position FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS?" Now I'm not equating the potential of social media with a young jewish woman who literally saved an entire race of people, but I'm simply saying God CHOSE when each of us would be born, what generation we would live in, the tools we would have at our fingertips to use for His kingdom.


So instead of complaining about my generation and how horrible my culture is, I want to use the tools we have before us for good and not for evil. The printing press made mass distribution of the Bible possible. Movies made it possible to visually communicate stories. I believe social media can be an effective tool to collaborate with people, encourage other believers, share the gospel, raise money for missions and ministries, communicate stories of redemption... the list goes on.


So long as social media does not overtake the time I spend in God's presence, drawing closer to His heart, I intend to use it as a tool to advance the Kingdom of God. What about you?
Who knows, give it a try.

Piles of Hair

Today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

Did you know that? I didn't. Until today. When I googled it I didn't find many major news sources covering it. I happened to find it on a NY Times Op ed. So what exactly are we remembering today?


"On 27 January 1945, the advancing Soviet army entered the Auschwitz-Birkenau extermination camp complex, liberating more than 7000 remaining prisoners, for the most part ill or dying. Days earlier, the SS had forced nearly 60,000 prisoners to evacuate the camp and embark on the infamous 'Death Marches' in which many thousands lost their lives. In 2005, the UN General Assembly designated 27 January as the International Day of Commemoration in memory of the victims of the Holocaust, the day upon which, every year, the world would mark and remember the Holocaust and its victims." (source) 


Basically we are remembering the horrific genocide of an entire race of people that happened little over 60 years ago. Monuments and museums have been built to remember this atrocity. The world has consistently said "Never Again!" But unfortunately the world has not lived up to their "never again" promise. The opinion piece I mentioned above talks about dangers currently looming in the Ivory Coast as well as Sudan. Not to mention atrocities we've watched happen since the Holocaust, in Cambodia (watch the Killing Fields), Rwanda (watch Hotel Rwanda) and the Balkans. This opinion writer mentions progress made and possible solutions to these looming genocides, including the work of the UN, the White House and NGO's. I agree. I've seen first hand the help that both governmental and nongovernmental organizations can provide. They both have the potential to save lives. However...


When I think about these atrocities taking place and dig deep into the underlying reasons, I ask myself why. How can man take the lives of other innocent human beings, by the thousands, and in most cases not feel guilty about it? It boggles my mind. Holocaust era movies fascinate me, such as Schindler's List and The Boy in Striped Pajamas, because I cannot fathom how this could have happened. 


Then I realized. 


If man places no value on life... if we were not created in the image of an Almighty God, placed on this earth for a reason and purpose... then there is nothing wrong with taking the life of another human being.  It comes down to the sanctity of life. The inherent value given us by our Creator. 


As we celebrated the Sanctity of Life this past Sunday all across America, I thought back to a few years ago when I had the opportunity to visit the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. It was quite the enlightening and emotional experience. Something that stood out to me were piles of shoes that belonged to these precious people. Not only that, but the hair that belonged to them, that was shaved off their heads. 

And then I thought about a new born baby. A baby that is born with a head full of hair. What if we took the hair of all the babies that we have sacrificed because they were inconvenient, and put it in a pile? 50 million to be exact. How large would that pile of hair be?

The world has said "never again," yet we watch genocide happening not only in other countries, but in our own, masked in the disguise of "pro-choice." 


Though the UN, White House and NGO's are doing their best to prevent genocide, the real change begins in ourselves, in our homes, in our communities. When we enter into a passionate relationship with Jesus Christ and see life as he sees it... precious. When we have the courage to go into under developed nations and proclaim the gospel. When we have the courage to go into our own neighborhood and share about the abundant life we have through Christ. 


So on this day, as we remember the hundreds of thousands who were killed during the holocaust, let's not sit back and do nothing. Let's put our words into action when we say, "never again," by petitioning our God on behalf of our families, our community, our country and our world. 

Lessons from an ocean and a moon.

There was a full moon last week.

And of course the most beautiful place to drink in the moon is at the edge of the ocean, with your feet in the cool sand, where I feel closest to God.

As I pleasured in God’s creation at the beach, He imparted small tidbits of love and wisdom to me, because that’s who He is.

I wondered why I thought the moon was so beautiful. Scientifically it is a ball of ugly matter that reflects sunlight. Why is it that when we see it, we are consumed with such a sense of awe and beauty? Something so simple. Maybe its not so much the moon itself, but the fact that we inherently know it’s creator. When I look at the moon, I not only take in its beauty, but feel the majesty of the Creator. The moon reflects the sun. Without the sun, it is darkness. The heavens declare the glory of God. This ball of mass declares the glory of God, therefore it is beautiful. How can we not marvel at it, for it points us to the Creator.

I pondered a lyric from a song that I never get sick of… “If His grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.” I dare you to stand at the edge of the ocean, as it reflects the moonlight, looking out as far as you can see, and imagine it as an ocean of grace. I sang the lyric over and over. My mind could barely comprehend it. My heart could barely accept it. Mercy is not getting something we deserve; grace is getting something we don’t deserve. His grace is so rich in our lives, we’re drowning in it. I’m drowning in riches I don’t deserve.  Why? Simply because He loves me. 

I looked at my footprints in the sand as I turned around and backtracked from where I came. I imagined the generations before me, making their mark on this earth as well. Maybe their feet walked in the very same sand I was walking on. The people who have done some of the greatest things, who have changed the world, walked on the same earth I do. They worked with the same materials I have, they used a brain designed just the way mine is. They left imprints on the earth, whether good or bad. Some we know of to this day, some we will never hear of. Parts of the imprints of my small feet were washed out by the edges of the waves coming up. I imagined the line of prints as my life. Some of it will be in the open for all to see, and some of it will be faithfulness lived out in the secret of my sanctuary, just like the prints no longer visible in the sand. The world may never see, but God does.

And finally, I listened. As the sound of the waves rested in my ears, God simply said “Be with me.” Because you see the theme of my life right now, and maybe yours as well, is what am I to do next? My brain never shuts off in trying to plan out my life, like trying to put a puzzle together. I constantly move the pieces around, looking at all my options, trying to make the right fit. I try to figure out what countries I want to go to, what missions I want to go on, the people I want to reach, the man I want to marry, the kids I want to have… and arrange it all in the most logical way.

God laughs.

“Be with me, Michelle.”

Be with Him. When we simply remain in his presence constantly, we can’t help but know the thoughts of His heart. When I’m that close to God, when I’m sitting in His lap, there’s no way I cannot hear him.

So be with Him today. Be drunk in His presence. Drink in the moon. Stand by the ocean. Marvel at his creation. Listen. Sing love songs to Him. Be taken up with Him.

When we do that, things will happen we never dreamed of. Great big things are coming, and instead of trying to figure them out, I’m going to simply be with my Jesus, and partake in whatever He has for me... for us.

“I want to take my passion, and put it in a bottle, just to break it at your feet.

I want to take my affections, put them in a bottle, just to waste them at your feet.”

~Misty Edwards, “Let Me Love You More”

The Missionary’s Plight…

Dedicated to my dear missionary friends.  

If you’ve ever been on a missions trip or lived overseas, whether short term or long term, you are forever ruined. You now see the world in a whole new perspective. You are now in a special “class” of a select people group. Not to say that this “people group” is better than others, it’s just… different. The true test in identifying this group is observing them when they come back home to the good old western world.  

The following are some common identifiers:

1. “Toilet paper? What’s that?”

2. “That food you left on your plate could feed 5 children in the 3^rd world!
In which you may respond, “then ship it to them!”

3. “What do you mean you have to stop at the red light?”


4. “You paid how much for that flat screen TV? You’re definitely going to hell.”

5. Dinner conversation consists of the weird things they’ve had to eat including chicken feet, pig intestines and unfertilized duck eggs.


6. Food poisoning is nothing.

7. Every other sentence begins with, “well when I was in [insert whatever country it was].”

8. They can sleep through any noise, in any position, in any place, including flights where they’re snoozing before the cabin door even shuts.

 9. “What? You don’t carry anti-diarrheals in your purse too?”




10. “It’s all gonna burn anyway!”

Okay, so maybe some of these are a bit extreme (sort of), but I’m allowed to poke fun since I’ve had a few experiences myself. However, usually I leave my comments to an inner monologue rather than making the awkwardness known. Though if one of my missionary friends is in the room, it’s fun to read each others minds and know exactly what they’re thinking.  

But in all seriousness, no matter how long the missionary is home, and they become accustomed to the American lifestyle, they will forever have those random flashback moments. You never know when they might occur. Like walking out of a restaurant and automatically looking for a street kid to give your doggy bag to. Or washing the utensils in your kitchen drawers before using them because roaches probably crawled on them. Or all of a sudden freaking out that you’re driving on the wrong side of the road. Yes, we are forever ruined, but I hold these random moments dear to my heart, no matter how weird it is to others. And of course, my all time favorite is…

“Ah dangit, I flushed the toilet paper again!”

Luckily it’s okay, our pipes can handle it here. 

The Work is not Done

Monday, October 4, 2010 - Sitting in the Mumbai airport, trying to hold back tears. There’s been a lump in my throat the whole day, as I made my rounds, saying my goodbyes to some of the most amazing people I know. I did well. Only cried once.

Often in the midst of seasons in our lives, we never fully comprehend the work that God is doing in us. We get so caught up in the day to day activities, that it’s hard to step back and really look at the big picture. Now that I am at yet another transition in my life, looking back over the past year, the picture has become more clear.

If there is one thing that has become the most clear, it is God’s faithfulness.

God is and has been so faithful to me.

My God is a good God. The places he has taken me to this year, physically, mentally, emotionally… I may never fully comprehend or understand. Some of them have been some of the hardest places I have ever been; faced some of the hardest trials I have ever faced. Yet many of these places have been ones of complete joy and satisfaction.

God took me on a grand adventure this year, and it passed in the blink of an eye. Rescuing victims, seeing justice served, showing mercy, loving people I didn’t want to love, practicing patience, writing stories of real people’s lives, gleaning wisdom from justice warriors, learning to just be, humbling myself before others, seeing people’s eyes opened to injustice, dancing, truly surrendering, giving and receiving grace, communing with the body of Christ, traveling, and laughing at our utter humanness.

When I first arrived to do this work, it was all so surreal. It didn’t seem like reality. Yet a year later, it still doesn’t seem like reality. Did this year really happen? It was a year of sacrifice, yet I still feel so honored that God chose me to do the work. I’m not qualified. I’m an amateur. I have nothing much to offer. But I suppose those are the prerequisites to do the work of God.

The things I learned this year, the relationships I formed, cannot even begin to be measured. My romanticized visions of what I sometimes thought it was like were crushed to the ground. I knew they would be, and I’m glad they were. I fully grasp now the gravity, yet difficulty of rescuing slaves, setting people free, advocating for others and the messiness of it all. I saw it firsthand. I was privileged to write their stories. Each story, an individual, single precious life. Each life, precious to God with a purpose and a calling. A life that may have lived in a remote village, somehow ending up in the depths of a brothel in a large city. Yet a team that cares enough to go into the dark places and rescue that life. The individuals of this team have become my heroes and always will be.

Living in this enormous city opened my eyes even more. To extreme poverty, diseases I never knew of, malnutrition, intense idol worship, demonic spirits, slums, pollution, and the vast disparity between the rich and the poor. It’s not the first time of being exposed to all this, but it’s ironic how each city has different kinds of spiritual bondages unique to that place, yet they all yield the same results, the same problems. The lost are lost, and are in need of saving grace.

The person that I am today, is not the same person that I was a year ago. But unfortunately the process of growth never ends, and there is still work to be done. As I leave this city, I have an undeniable sense that I will be back. It sounds cliché to say “I left a piece of my heart there.” But, I invested my heart there, so it is impossible not to leave a piece. A piece that I need to return to someday. And I will. Who knows the plans of God… they are so much higher than mine, and more than what I could ever imagine. It’s been a journey, and the journey shall continue. There is work to be done, stories to be told, people to be rescued... and I will continue that work. 

“So faithful

So constant

So loving and so true

So powerful in all you do

You fill me

You see me

You know my every move

You love me to sing to you

I know that you are for me

I know that you are for me

I know that you will never

Forsake me in my weaknesses

I know that you have come down

Even if to write upon my heart

To remind me who you are”

“You are for Me” by Kari Jobe

Endearing

I stepped out the door of my apartment and waited for the rickety elevator to make it up to the sixth floor. As the elevator arrives, I open the two doors, for it is not automatic, and it very slowly, shakily makes it's way down to the ground floor. It's raining, so I whip out my umbrella and make my way down the makeshift brick road, trying to dodge the puddles of mud. There are no rickshaws, so I walk until I find one, past the garbage dump. There are a few children squatting by the trash, using it as their bathroom. I pull out my handkerchief to cover my nose. An empty rickshaw comes along and the driver decides he will take me. The ride is not long, it's actually a walkable distance, but since the hot season and the monsoons, rickshaws are the preferred way of getting to the office. 


I arrive at the office, climb up the stairs to the fourth floor and go into my little room where my desk is. I have about five minutes until our daily office prayer and devotions. We all gather in the largest room in our office and everyone makes their prayer requests known as our director writes them on the board. Someone reads a psalm and we present our requests to our Lord. As someone prays, the sound of squealing goats can be heard in the background. Some of us snicker because it's rather funny sometimes. You see, our office is across from a mutton shop, and we always know when it's slaughtering day. It's kind of an ongoing joke at our office, that newcomers don't believe until they hear the goats actually screaming, breathing their last breath. And see all the jaw bones right outside our office. 


Stillness time is next; 30 minutes to just rest in God, spending time with him, before we embark on the craziness of the day. And then the work starts, everyone doing a different job. Sometimes it's slow, sometimes it's exciting, sometimes it's monotonous and sometimes it's rewarding. Sometimes I want to scream, and sometimes I want to laugh. Sometimes I do little tasks all day, and sometimes I get completely engrossed in writing a story. We all have our little offices, but we visit each other throughout the day. The office I share with Jamie and Mervyn has a comfy chair we call the special chair. It is notorious for being the chair people come and sit in and bear their souls to Jamie and I. Frustrations, stress, joy. Many good conversations have come up out of that chair. 


Lunch time arrives and we all gather in our normal little groups to eat together, or catch up on the news online. Then time for a twin brothers run. Twin brothers is the little stall right down the street where we can find diet cokes and all kinds of tasty goodness. We don't know if the two old men with missing teeth are actually brothers, but we are certainly convinced. We love them. We think they love us too. Or at least the business we give them. I will make cookies for them one day soon. 


The afternoon passes by, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. And then it's time to go home. No rickshaws home, it's usually impossible to find one at this time. I walk home on the main road, ignoring the stares from people. Yes, my skin is white, thanks for noticing. I turn onto the little road to my apartment and the kids are all just getting out of school. They have their cute little uniforms on, the girls with two braids in their hair and they all have backpacks often way to big for their small frames. The two little half naked boys that live right outside our complex are tormenting our gatekeeper. Again. They like to run into the parking lot and throw things at him. He runs at them with a stick and they run away laughing. And this process repeats again and again. Home sweet home. Auntie arrives soon, vegetables from the market in hand, and cooks an amazing indian dinner for us. Before some of the other girls left to go back to the US, we all used to eat together, debriefing about our day. The feelings expressed usually span the whole spectrum of the emotional grid. I love this country. I hate this country. 

Not every day is like this, but most are. I wish I could come up with an adventurous, thrilling story to share, but I have none right now. So when they do come up, they are dear to me even more. Seeing girls rescued from horrendous abuse, watching the perpetrators getting convicted, seeing the same girls graduate school and laughing and dancing. Or learning and performing Michael Jackson's "Thriller" for some of our girls at an aftercare home. Now that was fun. And fulfilled the lifelong dream for some of us to learn that dance. What can I say, we dream big. But I hold these events close to my heart. And so many of the little things in my life here have become endearing to me. 


Despite my day to day routine, God has taught me more this year than I feel like he has ever squeezed into one year. Contentment, perseverance, submission, sacrifice, humility, trust, relationships, being selfless, loving other you don't want to love, the list goes on. It's been extremely tough at times. Really tough. And then other times I feel like I'm not sacrificing enough, I should be giving up more. I must have needed these lessons. I know I needed it these lessons. So many ugly things have emerged out of me. Like a thick muck, rising out of a drainage pipe full of sewage. Some of it I took care of, and some of it is still being worked on, only by the grace of God. Oh how we stubbornly hold on to our disgusting waste, and sometimes don't even know it. It's like we walk around with poop splattered on us and have gotten so used to the stench that we don't even realize it. That's what sin is like. Thank God for his incredible mercy, grace and redemption. And the blood that cleanses us of our waste.


What's next? I don't know. Several weeks still remain. I can only hope that they hold a few more adventures in this dear land that I have mysteriously come to love. 

"If by doing some work which the undiscerning consider 'not spiritual work' I can best help others, and I inwardly rebel, thinking it is the spiritual for which I crave, when in truth it is the interesting and exciting, then I know nothing of calvary love." ~Amy Carmichael 

Eery Peace

We are in the middle of monsoon season here, and though it has been a mild one thus far, when Saturdays roll around, the desire to remain curled up in bed reading a good book while the rain pours down has been overcoming the slight desire to go out and explore the city more. However, this past Saturday, I forced myself to go down to the south part of town and see a few sights I've yet to see. 


The first one I stopped at was one of the houses where Mahatma Gandhi lived for several years. Though a modest little house, I was quite excited to see it. I must admit, other than the basics, I know little of the details of Gandhi's life. But after seeing this once house, now museum, I was intrigued. Knowing how revered Gandhi is around these parts, and for that matter the world, I wanted to dig deeper into this man's life. 


The house is on a street, just like any other in this part of the city, nothing special, though we easily spotted it from the sight of other foreigners standing outside the little house. We walked into the foyer of the old house, greeted by a man at the front desk. No cost to see the place, donations only. The wood floor cracked as we walked in and the walls were covered with black and white photos of Gandhi at different stages of his life. We walked straight down the hallway to the back room, which was converted into a small library with over 50,000 books, many of them related to the life and philosophies of Gandhi. 


We walked up the old staircase as the steps creaked, into a room that told the story of Gandhi's life, giving the main highlights of course. You start at one end of the room and make your way around, following the timeline. As I read, I was still taking it all in, trying to piece together the events of his life, realizing what great things he accomplished. There is no arguing that Gandhi literally changed a nation, and in turn, the world. And I'm sure there are lessons we can learn from his life. However...


As I read more and more of his letters, or quotes, or philosophies he would live his life by, I couldn't help but pity the man. His quotes that were framed on the walls all throughout the house, had an appealingness about them. When you read them, it almost "felt" right, and gave you this eery sense of "peace." But as I stared at these quotes, pondering them in my head, I suddenly realized, "What a screwy worldview!" 

And here is where all the Gandhi fans get offended and stop reading... but hear me out...


I always knew that Gandhi served a different god than I do. I knew he followed a different religion, hinduism to be exact. My obvious difference with him was my belief that there is one God, His name is Jesus, and He is the only way to heaven. However, I wanted to search deeper into this man's worldview.   As I walked through this house, I wondered what it was that drove this man to do these things, these good things? I must say, much of what he actually did, I do not disagree with. His pursuit of peace, equality and doing right unto others are things I believe in as well. His words seemed so right, almost "Christianlike," so where was the breakdown?


It didn't fully click in my head until I came across one of his quotes, framed and hanging in the hallway next to his bedroom. It said:


"True morality consists not in following the beaten track, but in finding out the true path for ourselves, and in fearlessly following it... We must be guided in our policy by our sense of right, not by the lure of winning cheap popularity." 

Therein lies the issue, the underlying theme of much of Gandhi's philosophy. Our "sense of right"? Whose sense of right? Your sense of right? My sense of right? What is right and where does it come from? Gandhi had nothing to base his beliefs on, no foundation. Who was Gandhi to say he was right? What did he base his "rightness" on? He had a selfless philosophy, but if the good he tried to exemplify did not come from himself, in his opinion, then where did it come from? 


I read that at the beginning of his life, Gandhi said, "God is truth," but towards the end of his life he changed it to, "Truth is God." That is a scary belief when you have no absolute truth to rely on and your own version of truth becomes your god. As I walked throughout his entire house, it was evident that Gandhi was always in pursuit or search of this "truth." He lived a simple life, he would fast for weeks, he believed in unity of all religions. The eery sense of peace I described earlier was not peace at all. When our sense of morality and rightness comes out of ourselves, though it may last for awhile, in the end it will always fail. 


I pitied the man because, despite all the great things he did, despite his amazing impact on the world, where is his soul now? I cannot by any means claim to know the condition of one's soul, but I cannot help but wonder... For my Jesus once said, "Small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it." Matt 7:14.


These are all thoughts I am still pondering in my head. They especially intrigue me because of Christian friends I have who admire Gandhi greatly, in fact consider him a hero. There is nothing wrong with that. I appreciate what he did in this world as well. My concern lies in the fact of making sure we don't replace a life lived of good works with the saving blood and grace of Jesus Christ. 


"If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing." 1 Corinthians 13:2-3


How can I have this love if I am not connected to the one who is love. Where does my "sense of rightness" come from? Not from within myself, but from the only one who is love and truth... 
Jesus Christ.