V4P Journey

Blow to your head

I remember when I was in University studies in the States, I was assigned to a regional hospital to make the rounds with an ER doctor. I spent one year shadowing one of the most sincere and respected ER medical physician in the region. 
Week after week, the cases that he saw in the ER ranged from various injuries, accidents, medical conditions, drug overdoses, and even some wanting a doctor's permission for a few days off from work. I remember the worst and best cases as those memories float quickly to the forefront of my mind. Inclusive, were, tragically, domestic abuse situations, fatal car crashes, and fatalities related to gang violence. As I sped through the year, with my coursework, and commuting to and from the regional hospital,  I learned so much about the human spirit to survive and thrive through the worst of pain to endure another opportunity to breathe again. 

Regardless of scientific research, I do know that God's presence in the ER certainly changed the dynamics of the patients outlook on the situation. Whether blood was gushing from a chain saw/tree cutting cocktail or the dehydrated flu case, God was always fully present when someone prayed. Regardless, also, of the outcome, whether flat-lined read out on vitals, or discharge from ER, God still remained in the midst of the stormy moments of rain.

I learned about praying for patients while in the ER from my mother. I remember when I had reconstructive jaw surgery, and was wired shut with what seemed like Edward Scissorhand's gloves, there were foggy moments in ICU for few hours recovery. My mom told me later, that my blood pressure and vital signs had gone up substantially at one point, and doctors were keeping a close eye on the situation in case my vitals took a sharp turn. She told me that she came close to my bed, and watched the monitor that was recording my vitals. She began to pray, and she watched my vitals return to normal levels as soon as she asked Christ to fill me with peace.

I guess I could say that it was nice of her to pray. It certainly kept a smooth transition from surgery into recovery. Thanks to God as well who prompted my Mom to pray, and there, within that point, lies the secret... do we listen to that nudge of stepping out "normalcy" to embrace the Christ, who never settled for normalcy.

Who wants to settle for normalcy when Christ Himself walked on water? Peter, wanting to be with Christ, got out of his normal life in the fishing boat to be close to Christ, which, to me, exemplifies the exact place where each would want to be. 

I certainly have a long journey to get to that sweet place, but I know that in the midst of that long journey, is the realization that I will arrive. As Peter must have known, once he looked into the eyes of Christ, that he, one day, would arrive.

Its about where we keep our eyes, I reckon, and where we keep our focus. On what I remember most about my ER boss's lessons were about where I kept my focus. One of my biggest struggles in the ER, working with the physician was the distracting deterrents. Whether it be, as I stated, blood dropping to the floor, eye sockets seeping out fluids, or the mixing screams of bones being placed back in joint with the melting shrieks of the patients voice, I never seemed to rid myself from the attachment. The true blow to the head came one night around 1030pm when a man was admitted for knife wound. 

It wasn't something I hadn't seen before, but what I got to do was something of a first virgin type step for me. My ER boss was dealing with several cases that were slammed in within a few moment's apart. It was Friday night, and believe it or not, yes, much to the strangeness of the myth, a full moon was out that night. 

I wouldn't blame the full moon on the sequence of events, however, it was a full moon, nonetheless. The doctor and I were checking on the knife wound. The man was beside himself with pain. Lidocaine, morphine, and a few other locals were given, and he became a calm and gentle soul. Th wound had been cleansed, wiped out, and ready for packing. The doctor heard screams down the hall. 
"here, pack this up," and handed me the packing tape, gauze, and instruments to allow the open wound to heal up. It was going to be a long night for this guy. I began to pack the wound as it was a nasty hole that needed to heal from the inside out.

I didn't feel so good.

As I hit the floor, like a stiff board of timber that had been hacked by a chain saw, I remember the man commenting on my sudden bolt to the floor as the doctor rushed back in. My head hit the floor, as I remember focusing on, not the packing of the wound, but the man's bloody screams of pain.

 I had taken my eyes off the purpose. I had taken my eyes off the goal and the task, and focused on the distracting winds of stormy rains.

Just the other day, that happened again, except it wasn't a blow to my head, but to my spirit...

I've founded a soccer club in Perû, which allows an opportunity for marginalized communities to rally together in unification projects to promote wellness through sport. Through generous partners that are globally connected, these teams provide a source of safety, hope, and pride for all members. We are currently competing in Copa Alianza en the region of Villa Maria, andour team has secured the first two wins of the first two games.

The blow to the head came within the first 20 minutes of the first half. One of our best players sustained a nasty blow to his head. It wasn't easy for anyone when he hit the ground like a cement block to the sea. I cringed and the coach ran straight out. The medical kit came scurrying down the dirt pile. It wasn't the best place to crack a head open. As people here don't have places to use the toilet, the ground near the stadium is sufficient, and sufficient is the wind that blows through to carry the waste into the air. Highly probable is the landing of bacteria on an open flesh wound. 

 

I ran down to the court, which was enough steps past fecal matter, rubbish, and dirt onto the field. This is what was I ran into. 

Typical blow to the head with eyes rolled back up, with the whites of the eyes filling the visual field. Flickering of eyelids and trembling of limbs stated enough. 

A blow to the head.

The bloody gash was deep enough to see some intense white portion of the muscular tissue that bluntly screamed a trip to the local emergency room. As the medical team began to administer first aid requirements before removing him to the local transport, I had flashbacks to the blow to my head. I kept my eyes off the goal, yet, I was willing to get into the zone to experience the uncertainty of the windy rain of my inner storms. Sometimes, sticking our head out into the danger zone reveals a revelation of God's will for us to be in His presence. Peter definitely stuck his head out when leaving his buddies in the stinky fishing boat, and risked his life. 

Are we willing to risk our lives in sticking our head out to risk a blow to the head ? If it means that we somehow get to experience more of the presence of Christ, is it worth it to you ? 

Part of the human experience, to love, to cry, to invest in relationships, to invest in God's work means a profound walk in humility. We aren't any better than the person next to us, but yet, the only difference is that we have a bleeding head wound to show that we were willing to take a hit for His cause and His purpose.

Advocacy never came without a bloody risk in the face of danger's ugly scream.  

Getting our hands and feet dirty for the cause of hope for others requires a will to risk. As the team wrapped this player's head up, I felt sick to my stomach on 3 counts. 

     1.) This player was willing to risk a blow to his head to win for his team.

     2.) This player didn't worry about what would happen to him, but that he would reach his goal.

     3.) There was a lot of blood.

Feeling responsible, our team loaded him into the NGO's van and risked him to the local hospital about 8 minutes by car. As they floored away, I realized that I didn't pass out from all of the blood, nor did I feel that I was going to loose my ham and cheese sandwich with espresso*2 that I had consumed that morning. 

When I had arrived at the scene of the local hospital, there were literarly hundreds of people waiting to get treated. Broken bones, limbs packed in ice, laying next to the patient's bed, and women giving birth surrounded the local ER. In this marginalized community, a regional hospital was the only place that people could go to get treatment, and people came in from the region's one million resident's to seek medical attention.

This was a blow to the head. I couldn't believe that there were people needing treatment, individuals holding their broken arms, others with blood seeping out of wounds, and others vomiting on the cement but couldn't get treated because they couldn't afford the $2.75 USD admittance fee.

How does that make me feel? Its like a blow to my head.

Getting special treatment, not because of who we are, but because we could pay, our team player got seen straight away. This is advocacy in action. Does someone in the upper %10 of our global wealth have an interest in helping get some of these people into the ER department to be seen? Please... It only costs $ 2.75 USD.

At any rate, as our staff stayed with our soccer player, he received the treatment he needed. Stitches, CT scan, prescriptions for 2 weeks of anti-biotic, pain relievers, and anti-inflammatory were all lined up for him. Another blow to my head. Pity that there are not more individuals that hoard our global wealth who are willing to shell out $5.00 USD for a couple of people to get some medical attention.  Myself included.

This is a blow to my head and to my spirit. Who am I... I can do nothing, but only in Christ's shall I live, move, and have my being...

Total costs...

$32.00 USD.

 What will it take for us to understand our global responsibility to help those in need, aside from the humanitarian compassion to help others who are marginalized...

its what we are called to do by God...

 

they'll know by a few peacemakers

It kind of all blended together in the span of 48 hours, perhaps like an extended special edition of Jack's famous 24 hours that spawned one hour across seasons, which aired on North American Fox networks from 2001-2010. 

I'm always intriguingly and utterly amazed how God unravels portions of his grand plan across minutes, hours, and days, and if we're patient enough to withstand the time, God will show even greater items on His agenda, ( 1 corinthians 2:9)

    "No eye has seen, no hear has heard,
       no mind has thought, of the things
         that God has prepared for those who love Him,"  

In the humble state of realizing what global conflict is concocted of, there are still a few in the community that seek the seemingly backward approach to resolution. When our global society boils at the tipping point of lawsuits, murders, slander, lies, hatred, warfare, both physical & spiritual, and the never ending political pawns of post-modernistic chess, the minority seek painstakingly holistic approach to unification. 

Its quite backwards, upside, and otherwise considered by most, silly, but somehow, through the strangeness of striving for global peace comes from an incredibly emotional, yet logical, worldview.

Love.

And I state that in the most un-smoked, un-drugged, and un-hippied genuine and authentic vein possible.

Speaking to a wise fella last night who put the cards straight out onto the table, (via social media chat) of course. Essentially, the core strengths of overcoming the bad feeling is with the love feeling. Makes, in the eyes of our society, no sense, especially over the fine china of multi-billionaire luncheons where crystal ice sculptures drip away into puddles of captured water which would have given clean drinking water to the above town. Somehow, the humble love outshines any self-opinionated religious guru who thinks that their own mistakes of yesterday were so far removed that the plank in their own eye is just a speck of scars from years gone by. 

This wise fella, who happens to be one of my closet friends, (my Dad,)  shared with me the night before last about the incredible strength that is found in one of the most simple verses written in God's Word, 

Blessed are the peacemakers,
    for they will be called children of God. 

 which is located in the Gospel of Matthew, the chapter 5. Along those incredibly freeing verses, another was spoken during our phone conversation, to which I received his unfailing advice, 

 .." If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone..."

taken from Romans 12.

 This sticks to ones soul like 3M to cotton. The phrase sticks, but the freedom of the capabilities allows one to fly free. It removes the sticky drama of removing cotton from 3M scotch tape. Its not always pleasant, but the drama gets dropped when the authenticity and peace washes over.  Trying to make peace with all of those people around you seems like a lot of work, and certainly one that is seen as a minority in the eyes of our global face. However, somehow, the magical experience of making peace turns resentment into love, which as Paul talks about, is above all, what we have got to be putting on. The freedom comes from the transparent authenticity of being real with those who come to you in conflict with their hands clenched tight. 

Somehow in this incredible transformational process of humbly walking in love, those clenched fists that we encounter will be broken open by the overwhelming soaked emotions of pure joy and love being poured out from the throne of God. 

I find it amazing when one comes, hurtling their insults, judgements, criticisms, and pained expressions of damaging verbal words, our use of prayer, humble walking, and living in peace somehow diffuses the ticking bomb of anger and hatred that bottles up our possibility at living in peace and harmony with one another. The hard road toward glory is challenging enough with the daily rocks that stab into our flesh, let alone, when one walks with pride, criticisms, judgements, and hurtled insults. 

When one takes a moment to consider the incredible blessings that life offers if one is free to receive, then the harboured resentment, bitterness, and hatred begins to flow outward and liberates our preconceived perceptions of how we look at the world. What, truly, are the most important values in ones life? Is it really about getting even? Is it really about being right? Is it really about having the most on your city block? Does the jealousy rise up within when you see your neighbor sporting the latest model of the John Deere super charged grass cutter? While you mutter in your garden with your hand tools, your neighbor drinks down his iced tea, sweetened, and downs the lawn grass cut within 15 minutes. Is it worth a hint of your time to resent? 

That's the small stuff. (I hope). 

A little prayer to open up your clenched fists will allow you to see how much you really have in that palm. 

Your friends have million dollar homes sitting on quaint manicured lawns.

My friends don't have running water or sewage. 

Your friends drink the highest call drinks at the most prestigious watering hole in the suburb.

My friends collect empty drink bottles to attempt to make enough to feed their 4 children that night.

Your friends talk about the latest Mary-Kay product and how that product will change your life.

My friends talk about how they will find $2.50 USD to get their child into the emergency room before dying from head wounds.

Your friends fight over who put out the trash last and why didn't they do it the night before.

My friends use the back wall of their chip-board home as a toilet. 

Regardless of who our friends are, what our calling is, or who we have conflict with, there are still people needing the loving message of Christ, non-judged, non-criticized, and certainly unbiased. Regardless of your pocketbook, humbly walking to make peace will empower all of us to work together to free the marginalized existence and bring all into perfect unity.  

Guess what?

Those, with pocketbooks, or without pockets, they'll know the difference between those who make peace and those who don't... and only with embraced hands will they exchange the unifying words of love. 

backward branding

Did you get branded into it? Did it somehow sneak up behind you and smoke your skin down with the forever etched mark of your life? Did you forever get labeled in one corner of the room at your primary / elementary school that somehow branded you into a category for the remainder of your educative years until the day that you entered University to realize that you weren't what you had been told you were for the previous 18 years? Pity isn't it? We lived the branded life of those who said who we were ? In friendships, love, relationships, and even family ties, we live the branded life of society based on seeking the baited approval of others. Once we bite into the tempestuous acceptance of others, we are bound and doomed into their acceptance policy, which somehow is placed above in priority to that of which God says we are. The scary part is those who choose to place more value in the approval of others in our society than that of those of who their Creator thinks of them. 

Did you go to choose to become a teacher because that is what you felt you wanted? Or somehow, within you, did you choose to become a teacher because others told you that you would succeed and be a great teacher. Who you choose to become will be who you become. 

Regardless of how you were branded and wired, we can still choose an alternate path to success based on the approval of God.

We look into the eyes of innocence and how could we ever think to attempt to brand them into our self-centered opinions of their future.

It's the future that God has for them, and not ours. We only can pray and hope to speak love of Christ into their lives and trust God to guide them through the Power of the Holy Spirit.

If I had ever chosen to seek the approval of others, I would not be walking up and down the hill, seeking the funds from the wealthy to disperse through programs to enable, advocate, and empower the locals. If I had ever chosen not to travel with my colleagues up the hill to the last stop in the most dangerous zone of Ventanilla Alta, I would have never arrived to my spot.

Listening to the advice of others can be dangerous, especially when the best advice comes from God's Word. When I have a struggle, do I see what God says is best, or do I look for the nearest friend or colleague to tell me what the answer is? I only hope that I can continuously seek the face of Christ first, and follow His lead for the next step. To take the next step before consulting God is a prescription for dangerous conclusions of consequences unplanned. 

So many young people here seek the approval of others and it results in permanent alterations in the journey to their destiny. Some listen to their boyfriends, and end up pregnant.  Others listen to their fellow school mates and end up addicted to hard line narcotics. While, still others, listen to the fellow gangs that roam the streets, and wind up shooting someone and spending 8 years in a Peruvian jail for homicide. 

In a global society, so consumed with public opinion and approval, one will become lost in the swamp of confusion, desperately attempting to find a place to feel secure and safe. Only being founded in the reality that approval is sought from God first, will we seek 100% joy and peace in what we become. 

Forget the branded label you got, and focus on the approval of Christ. It doesn't really matter how you were seen, but what matters now is how you will leave your life with a legacy to the ones you leave behind. 

I peered out among the crowd the other day and realized that the future of our generations and wondered how many of these individuals have been branded by marginalized existence. Feeling the scorching burn of society's grip on their lives, they humbly seek an opportunity to escape into a better journey with more beauty. What concerns me is not that monetary poverty had branded them, but that they feel the pain of being branded and believe that in this scar, they remain forever. 

The catch for me, is that if each of us had listened to God's calling and sought the approval of Him, and not of others, how many lives could we have helped to make sure that they sought the approval of God, and not of others. Depending, one could have helped more of the 700,000 people living among this margainlized community to find out the will of God, and even, before this, to know God. The global acceptance policy will match nothing close to the acceptance policy of Christ. I know that I have wasted years of my life seeking approval of others, and at great costs. Now, as I only seek the approval of God, I realize the depths of joy and peace that fills the heart. The goals, dreams, and visions will be reached not by watching my peers, but by focusing my heart into the eyes of Christ. 

Where do you seek approval ? From people or from God ? Those seeking approval from people will never accomplish the goals that God has placed in our hearts because we only sought the goals of humans.

Seek first ?  

bag the bread and drop the sanitizer

I am not a germ finicky person, although I used to have that quality. I think once you become familiar with your surroundings, experiences, and textures, the entire germ finick-i-ness (intentionally made up word)  goes out the window. Of course, the best way to treat the mental disconnect of germish-y-ness (intentionally made up word) is to carry one of these with you wherever you go. 

The smaller the better. This way, you can secretly whip out the sanitizer, spread it around, and close off the cap in the most inconspicuous way possible. Its not easy, but with training, you can become an expert of cleaning your hands in the midst of a crowded room of people that did not use toilet paper after using the bathroom for the previous week. I am not speaking poorly to the situation, clearly, only the reality. For some, who live off of less than $1.50 USD a day, there are much more important issues than toilet paper...

Water & Food.

I remember the first time in the jungle, (the time when I was exposed to eating chicken soup where the foot of the chicken comes up through the broth), I didn't have the luxury of hand sanitizer, and was left to somehow fend for banana leaves, cement steps, and walls to wipe my hands after any contact with a skirmish type item, (whether they be cockroaches or dead upside down hanging goats that had been slaughtered for lunch.)

However, having been through those challenging moments, the worst "lack of hand sanitizer moment" that left me wishing I had died, was the first night in the jungle, when I had to find my way to the "toilet", which contained only a stall with a hole in the cement. Somehow, I was to manage  the balancing act of using the toilet, a.k.a, the hole,  while holding onto toilet paper, and having my jeans down around my ankles, hovering over a small hole. Now, I get it, for some, that would be easy, however, in the pitch black of night with no lights is the game changer for any of us.  Having no lights to see the walls with, I used my hands to inch my way down into the "crouching" position, and I am not referring to "Crouching Tiger / Hidden Dragon," I am referring to the crafty art of lining up the body with a cement hole in the middle of the night when monkeys and other animals make their night time jungle noises. It was night, there were no lights, and I was desperate. I found my way down to the crouching positions, using my hands to guide my way into the sacred position of release. At this point, I will spare all details, but toilet paper, holes, cement, walls, black, and jeans around ankles is something that all travelers heading to jungles should practice daily for at least 6 months prior to deployment, and I mean deployment to the field, not in the toilet. 
 

To end, the next day, I realized that the walls that I had used to guide myself down into the crouching position with my hands were not just bumpy because of the texture of the wood or cement, but were bumpy because many of the people there didn't have toilet paper to clean themselves, and referred to the walls to remove excess.... I'll leave it there...

Hand Sanitizer.

I have a long way to go, and I make a lot of mistakes, but I know that I have made great strides in the non-usage of hand sanitizer after having been branded from that experience. Yesterday. as I was watching a soccer match, I was discussing my ongoing frustration with the local government's system of handling marginalized communities by promising, but yet, never delivering, and if to deliver, will be generations later. We were talking as the team members were gathering to begin the day's practice. I was sitting up in the bleachers and was engrossed in conversation about local politics. I had just finished sharing with my colleague in our outreach facility, and I was so humbled and amazed to see the generational change shifting among the community. What was once a humble few conversations on cement steps, (non-bumpy cement), with my colleagues has shifted into an community unification project that is now changing the lives of little 3 and 4 year old children attending the NGO's school. 

I'm so grateful that I didn't check out emotionally or physically in that first year along the bumpy wall of the jungle toilet holes, because if I had, I would have missed the opportunity to see God's great plan in the lives of people today. I could almost declare that it was okay that no hand sanitizer was available. Why you might ask? (or perhaps not), because if I had access to the hand sanitizer, it may have protected me from the harsh reality that serving God is not easy, nor is it always a pleasuring experience. It was as though, I needed to suffer through the bumpy walls of that stall to help me understand that God's hand still reached through into the deep halls of the trees within the jungle depths to touch the lives of people that we will have never met.

On too many occasions, we protect ourselves with hand sanitizer because of fear of what might come, however, it might be in the vulnerability of exposure, does God reveal His great plan and glory.

 Drop the sanitizer, and back to the soccer field. As we were talking, one of the team members came along with a bag of bread. Bag of bread doesn't probably register well in the minds of the majority of our wealthy individuals as important, valuable, or even relevant, however, in a community where $2.00USD is the status-quo, a bag of bread is of great value. These people don't have a lot to eat. 

Regardless of the nearly 13 years that I have been immersed in this beautiful place that I call home, I still drop my cultural ball of sensitivity. The soccer team player offered us bread out of the bag. I have a hidden rule that unless I know where the bag of bread came from, I will not be eating from the bag of bread. Its not a standard rule, mind you, but one that gets played out in my head nearly every time that I get offered a bag of bread, or any other food for that matter from the street. Street food and hospitals go hand in hand, and that's without hand sanitizer. There is no hand sanitizer that will provide comfort for anyone going for street food. The hand sanitizer is equally converted into what I call, the iron stomach lining of experience. This is the only way one can survive the street food. Sometimes, unfortunately if one is not careful, putting your hand to street food and putting it into your digestive system is similar to playing non-sanitized Russian roulette. Risk. 

100% Risk.

Was it worth it ? 

Depends on what chamber the bullet lies. 

Depends on what piece of food does the bacteria lie.

Regardless, he offered us the bag of bread, and I declined with a big smile, rubbing my stomach to suggest that I was full, when in reality, it was that I could have easily been suggesting that it would ruin my week. Looking into the eyes of the person who had offered me the bag of bread, I knew I had made a tactical cultural error. (AGAIN). I then felt the bad feeling. However, my colleague next to me, was so gracious and willingly took the bread, and started to eat it right away. The bag of bread friend made his way down the bleachers, offering others more bread. I was amazed. With so little that some of these individuals have in monetary value, they have so much in the personal ethical and moral value of serving others before themselves. 

I cringed. 

I had just robbed myself of a moment where I could have learned a valuable lesson of receiving from someone when being offered an act of kindness. I had just robbed this person of giving the bag of bread, and I chose not to take the bag of bread, because I feared the result. I was scared for the contents, when in reality, I judged the contents by the cover, and didn't take into consideration what I had learned so many years before, deep in the jungle.

To risk is to live and to live is to experience the fullness of joy and peace found in Jesus Christ. It was the risk of jungle living without hand sanitizer, embracing the risks to see the glory of God revealed.

I should have taken the bag of bread last night, eaten the bread, and taken the risk. In the taking of the risk, I would have engaged the friendship of sharing, giving and taking, and being involved in community. 

I believe Christ came to bring us together, in perfect unity. He showed us the way, dropping all judgements, stereotypes, criticisms, and doubts, (including hand sanitizer), to come to the cross of cleansing. If we had used hand sanitizer to clean ourselves, we may have never realized that we needed the eternal cleansing power of the blood of the Cross of Christ to set us free from our fears and embrace the fullness of life in Him.

I'll go for the bag of bread next time.

I promise.

 

ham & cheese and glass from the trash

I think sometimes I forget the clarity of how sharp reality is. I guess sometimes, those of us that live among marginalized communities become adjusted or become desensitized to the horrors of poverty around us. I'm not suggesting that we accept it as okay, nor do I state that it is a society conflict that I can live with, however, there is a sense that sometimes, we attempt to minimize the reality of the sharp pain that poverty inflicts into the lives of anyone for the mere sake of survival. For example, there is nothing okay or appropriate about this woman who is over the age of 60, sitting amongst the remains of the wealthy, looking for food. 

 

Somehow, in a city of 700,000 people, where the majority of these beautiful people live in conditions such what we see above, we, who serve these communities must come to grip with this reality. We can only do so much in one day and there are only so many resources available because of global greed and ignorance among the top 10% of wealth holders. This evening, I was sitting in the passenger seat, eating a ham & cheese sandwich and drinking a small coffee. At Metro, it costs about $ 3.00 USD for both items. Metro is a grocery store here in Perû that offers discounts and oftentimes food is cheaper than other cafes and even grocery stores. As I was enjoying my ham and cheese, listening on the radio, to Peruvian traditional dance music from the south of Lima. I watched out the windshield as the dark covered the evening sky. Coming up from the street below was a man who, by outward description, had been walking the streets for some time. He came up alongside of the pathway near me and circled around behind the car and headed for the nearby trash can. Pulling open the trash bags that had been placed on the ground next to the large bin, he began to search through the black bags. 
The exclusive statement, "what is one person's  trash is another person's treasure," rings true in my mind as I watch the man salvaging through the rubbish, pulling out scraps of food that had been left by the wealthy. I noticed chicken bones, egg shells, and tiny bits of rice being emptied from the trash bags into his pockets.

The ham and cheese sandwich that I had just bitten into suddenly became thick inside my mouth. I had trouble chewing and felt my throat forming up as though cotton had just grown up from inside my stomach. It wasn't a good feeling. It made me feel somewhat inadequate.

The man, desperately combing through the trash, looking for something of great value didn't seem to come into contact with much. He moved to the second trash bag, slowly opened it up, as not to tear the plastic, and began looking through, with his head deep, peering into the bin.

I remember the first time that I was walking the streets of Lima, along the river RIMAC, close the national capital buildings, the reality of our global pain. I saw children and teenagers, washing their clothes and food in the river, and adults, with their families, sleeping in the culverts underneath the bridges. A few years later, I would find myself handing out bread and milk while joining in worship and prayer in the same alleyways. The 4 and 5 year old children huffed glue in little plastic bags, hoping for an escape from reality into a dream world of chemically induced fog. I will always remember our service projects to the heart of the river city population, and the impact that it had left on our lives.

As I continued to watch this man rummage through the last trash bag, he pulled out a small cup like the smallest one in this photograph below.

It was a dirty cup, with the sides of the cup tainted with some creamy yogert content. The man shook the cup a few times, wiped it out clean with his shirt, and placed the small plastic cup on the ground next to the bin. He continued to scan through the trash bag, and after a couple of seconds, closed the trash bag, and tied the plastic ends back together again and neatly placed the bag back in the large trash bin. He gathered the remains of chicken bones into his pocket and picked up the small plastic cup. He tucked his hat back onto his head to be sure that his eyes were covered from view and drifted away back into the darkness, past the amber street lights of the square block.

My sandwich had lost its flavor as my heart grieved the local reality of poverty knocking at my door.

"Another ditch in the road You keep moving 

Another stop sign 

You keep moving on 

And the years go by so fast 

Wonder how I ever made it through," 

-from Savage Garden's song, Two Beds & a Coffee Machine - 

 

 

gonna break away ?

If you were to break away, what would be your claiming departure phrase,

"I didn't want to seek approval from you," 

"I don't care what people think," 

"I am all about going against the flow," 

"This wasn't what I signed up for," 

One of the most dangerous and infectious contaminants in our global community is a false sense of non-conformity. People declaring that they are fighting against the status quo shallowly demonstrates the grave reality of the definition of going against the status quo. We, who think we are making an active participation in the ongoing struggle to not allow conformity to consume our daily existence must proactively seek to raise the bar of excellence to ensure we are not slipping into the societal buzz of normalcy. 

I never want to be remembered for being one to settle for the status quo, rather, for who I am, with my identity strongly secured in who God thinks of me. In this personal endeavor to become who God wants of me, inclusive of being where He wants me, I find myself daily checking to ensure that my reality is not that following Christ would never be easy. I don't ever remember anyone making radical changes in our society by linking themselves into the status quo and settling for the system's current operation, rather, questioning the normalcy defined by society, and strategically planning how to, humbly with love, share the passion of resisting conformity.

Opposition rises from fear, and those who fear, themselves are insecure. I am marveled & humbled by Martin Luther King Jr.'s letter that was written while he was jailed in Birmingham, Alabama for hosting parades. He wrote with such a burning passion to see equality for blacks, who had been murdered for their ethnicity. In his letter to the city officials and fellow Pastors, he expressed his concern over the recent bombing of a home where five black girls where blown apart. The mistreatment of black people was legal, and it was accepted behavior. Our fellow humankind was greatly oppressed by those in majority, power, and leadership across the United States. For 340 years, these oppressed family members of our global community waited for their rights as human beings in a society where status quo was to segregate, separate, and discriminate ethnicity, furthermore, legally. In the face of Thomas Jefferson's statement that "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal," 

Going against society's acceptance of mistreatment of those who struggle in marginalized existence glares its ugly presence in our global community today. Shockingly true, 3/4 of our global community struggles below the line of poverty, without access to basic needs such as water, food, shelter, education, and medical care, and the top 10% of our global community who controls monetary funds simply turn their ignorance toward how to earn more money. 

How can we accept this as normal? How can I accept this, accepting that a child will die because there was not access to $4.00 USD entrance fee into the local emergency room to treat swelling blood on the brain. 

How can I accept status quo existence of wealthy individuals living in the glory of their self-elevated existence when my friends are murdered by poverty's rampage on local violence and crime. Yet, so many individuals claim they swim against the flow of status quo into the waters of non-conformity, when, in reality, have never stepped out of the boat of conformity that God calls us forward. Into the unknown waters of storms and winds to experience the presence of God will only be achieved by those willing to leave comfortable lifestyles, whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually. How can we settle for normalcy of children dying here in Perû because they didn't have access to the $4.00 USD to get into the emergency room, while the wealthy enjoy their cocktail parties of projected high view of self to impress their neighbors of their enduring wealth. Shelling out thousands of dollars for a festive party with ice sculptures & fine wine is considered acceptable when our neighbors fear their children will contract respiratory infection because of the cold weather and as a result, die from lack of medical access. 

Yet, these individuals wake up in the morning, hung over from too much bourban from the night before, and head out to their local church to proclaim their lives to Christ, living on the edge, to do whatever it takes to spread the Gospel message of Christ to the poor, but not giving $1.00 USD to the local church. They claim that they are proactively fighting injustice, when they pale as white sheets hanging on the clothesline when they state that they advocate as non-conformist. Those who claim to go against the status quo will only prove their words when true risks are ensured. Not conforming to the patterns of this world, as described in Romans Chapter 12, we seek a drastic change to normalcy through individuals like Martin Luther King, Jr. who truly sought change and backed up his beliefs with actions.

Belief without actions never demonstrate authenticity to your belief.  You thought you were making a difference, however, there is so much more yet to go in your difference. False senses of changing the world will remain as false until the reality dawns in your mind. How do we find the truth of reality? 

Experience the opposition. Experience the opportunity to engage the very fear you fear to radically sense the power of God to advocate for change. Martin Luther King, Jr, sitting in jail knew that he could be killed for his ideas of radical change to the legal system. He knew that his beliefs of the unjust law of separation between ethnicity could leave him dead, yet, he accepted it as his calling.

What is your calling ?  What will you accept that you know may end in persecution, ridicule, rejection, and even death, but you will rise up as you know it is what God has called you to do. Becoming who God wants us to become requires us to only seek approval from Him alone. So, in doing so, it may require us to break away from the acceptance of others and rely on the strength that comes from the acceptance from God of who we are. Allowing the truth of our acceptance in Christ gives us the reassurance that He has control, and as Amos stated,

"Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever flowing stream," 

This gives us peace to know that God will seek out those who truly lived, transformed lives, without touching the temptation of conformity, rather, running in the direction against the accepted normalcy of global poverty. When will we become voices for those who have been silenced by marginalized poverty? When will we practice out Proverb's statements of advocating for the poor and needy.

If 3/4 of our global community live in poverty, why does it still remain, when 1/4 of our global community that holds the majority of the wealth in our world continue to spend it on engrossed and exhausted fountains of champagne with chocolate fondue machine spitting out hundred dollar liters of imported sweets, and some of us will remain outside the hospital steps of a local hospital, holding the limp body of a 6 year old child who died in the arms from a head wound because someone could not pay for the $ 4.00 USD entrance into the emergency room. 

How unfortunate it is to realize that the money was spent on one night of entertainment to experience instant gratification in our comfortable dreams when I could have spent that money on getting a kid into the emergency room to save the life. How could I ever trade a Starbucks venti mocha frappachino for the life of a child to get medical care...?

some have vision & some do not. None the less, its about breaking away from the status quo and going for the focus of whats ahead.

beautiful healing found in the ever washing rains of the ocean's tide.

"The tides of night have swept away the cluttered sands of yesterday, and I discover, at the dawn, a fresh swept beach to walk upon."

love mercy

My sister, the eldest one, has a thing for boxers. I don't know what it is about them, but she's had something for them for quite awhile. Whether it be their funky eyes, squelched up nose, or perhaps even the funny breathing habits, she will love a boxer before any other. I remember, one time, after visiting a boxer in a shelter, she came away crying. I knew, at that stage, the love for the boxers was there to stay. 

One of the boxers that I met that she used to love was Mercy. Surely, its a crazy name for a boxer. Who knows of boxers that show up mercy in the ring, but none the less, Mercy was the name of the boxer. 

I don't have a picture of Mercy on file, but I will lovingly demonstrate a couple of her other favourite boxers that she's loved over the years,

 

Pretty easy going friends, to say the least, but I remember a few precious moments of the revelation of Mercy's true self, which was not reflective of her named identity, however, more of her bloodline. The boxer snarl, tense body, and bolted eye to subject revealed Mercy's inner passion to assimilate the world's power into her own possession. I always smiled, maybe with a chuckle in my side to her name, Mercy. I think she was selective when she chose to share her name to the public and reflect its meaning or not. 

I think I do that sometimes also. Living up to our names, who we are, who we've been named, and what have we been named become either a motivated inclination to push through, or a stumbling block to fall over. The labels we receive, either come from our societal pressures or from the expectations of others.

Whether Mercy was destined to be a Mercy, one must look deep within to see the qualities that define her. In reality, in my experience, its Christ that defines me, and that its Christ who says that I am. 

Who are you? What labels did you get based on your childhood?  Who have you become? We all ask those questions as we mature in our journey and in our relationship with God. Some of us have been stuck with a name for years. I know that among the culture in which I live now, nicknames are a common demonstration of respect, however, typically the nicknames reflect the person's characteristics, physical traits, or based on professional talents or trades. The label sticks, sometimes from childhood, and remains. Oftentimes, as I've heard here, its very difficult to escape your labeled nickname, or "chapa" as they call it. 

What did you get called ? What was your label? Did it affect your destiny? Does it currently affect your destiny and purpose? What others think of you, has it become what you think of yourself ? 

I am reminded of Paul when he wrote in Romans about conformity. In the twelfth chapter, Paul writes about not conforming to the patterns of the world, but allowing those patterns to be what they are, and rather, be transformed. 

Renewing our minds. Renewing my mind relates a lot to the labels. Horrifyingly enough, our labels stick hard, and sometimes an explosive blow to the soul is required to remove labels that have been cemented into the deepest pore of our being. I remember getting labeled as a kid, and it was painful. It hurt. Through the years, as they go by, the labels don't consciously raise their ugly head, but I think, in the subconscious, they still reside, ever effectively apart of our decision making process.

Do you do what you do today because of what others told you? Are you who you are today because of the words or actions of others ? 

When I look up into the dusty sand mounds of our outreach, I think, that within myself, I am only required to walk humble in the reality 

When I see the marginalized communities, I realize that they have received labels for years. They have been labeled, poor, outcast, dirty, no future, no hope, and no progress. However, I realize that in the love of mercy and reaching out to the greatest of all, Christ, who wiped away our labels to become what He has us to become, the marginalized communities teach us so much more. Its those humble in spirit, its those poor in spirit, that will see so much more.

So, like Mercy, the boxer, with her great name, I realize that owning the label of my identity is the identity in Christ, who in Him, helps us to become who we are, and in that reality, becomes our hope, joy, and peace. What others sought to label us as, can become a launching pad to set out to seek the approval of only Christ, and in the approval of Christ only, we find our strength...

to keep walking...

in humility...

M6-8

He has shown you, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you..
to act justly, and to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God...

common laws

Never said that I had it right, nor wrong, however, the more humble we remain, the more willing we promote the biblical practice of putting on love. 

"And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity."

        1 Cortinthians 3:14

I believe that self-rightousness that gets into the wrong hands becomes cemented stones of pride, and those are some of us who get it completely wrong from beginning to end. Thats a saddeningly long trip for the one cemented to pride. Somehow, after that's gone down the pipe, we forget why we took the journey to begin with. I'll never forget the times when cemented stones of pride ride along the bumpy road through the jungles of Perû. 

At least, I rode in with those cemented stones in 2001, when I had a speaking engagement deep in the heart of Tingo Maria, Peru, past Huanuco and located in the depths of mist and fog. Pride stood at my back door and pushed me forward. Having what you need and believing what you believe, without doses of reality poured into our senses leaves us numb to the emotional truth that comes to the front door. Pride has to dissolve for humility to build into the core of our being. As I stood on the edge of the abandoned school facility that had been used prior to Shining Path Terrorist's rampage through the region, I realized that my life was changing forever. There was no comfort coming in from any direction and I was left hanging in the center of discomfort's prized winner.

"Right before me the signs implore me:
Help the needy and show them the way.
Human kindness is overflowing,
and I think it's gonna rain today." 

I won't ever forget the countless stories of lives that had been affected by terrorism. Simple lives radically altered by aggressive violence that murdered men, women, and children. Simple lives of people who lived by planting potatoes, corn, and beans had been destroyed by humankind's desperate desire to influence intellectual persuasion. Somehow, my cemented hands of pride began to melt from the tears of those who has suffered the loss of family in front of their very eyes. In the midst of a place where payment was the trading of food and wood for fires, I saw my existance changing from less of me to more of them. 

A little boy, who had not spoken in 5 years because of tragic violence, wept on my hands during a worship service, and his pained heart of grief softened the hardened spirit of my soul. 

Those who presume that their position, prestigue, authority, and previous experience will earn them a lofty seat in the presence of those who enjoy spitting down upon the majority of our global population who live in marginalized conditions will see Scriptures come true.

Proverbs 31:8-9 " Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy."

Mother Teresea stated it best when so humbly, she whispered,

"Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work,"

Through the reality that we are nothing and God is everything, we reach out to love, realizing that our ability to love, is only given from Him. I guess I know that my approval really only comes from God, and all that flows out from under that is logical from Scripture when we seek first God and everything else will be given out. 

Its not a task that is easy, nor one that is one to wave with gratitude from your housetop, however the constant cleansing of pride from one's routine will increase one's ability to love and look into the eyes of Christ for help. I lived for years, seeking the approval of others, and in the end, I came to the startling realization that pleasing others comes 2nd and 3rd to serving and pleasing God. If I manage to please and serve God, then, I will understand that its not in any of my strength to do anything, yet accept with humble peace and joy, the approval of Him and the approval of others will fade away. 

As Brenning Manning states,

     "“My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.” 

So true. common laws of realistic transparency of inward hearts to share the journey make it seem so much lighter. I'll be so thankful to err on the side of humble common agreement that I am no better than the one next to me to more deeply enjoy the precious journey of life, loving and living along the way. There, perhaps, is no better way to live, than a grace filled existance, knowing that we all have passed the pain to enjoy the gain of a beautiful morning rising. Its an aspect of common law, one that so many self-rightous patriots easily assume their right way to justice. 

Who are you ? How do you take the approach ?