One Hope at a Time

(Taken by Yours Truly in Downtown LA, Feb. 2010)

I just posted the following on my other blog, Local Tourist, which documents my adventures in LA and surrounding areas--the new and the new-to-me.

This is the first entry about the revolutionary LA-based organization The Hope Chronicles, which aims to make people more aware of their neighbor, whether locally or across the globe, by asking the simple question: “What is your hope?”

I was admittedly a bit skeptical at how well this idea would work, especially in cities like LA. Is a stranger really going to tell someone his or her hope? And if so, will it make a difference?

Since The Hope Chronicles' recent launch, it has already documented some stirring accounts of hope around the world. It is a refreshing surprise to see people open up, and the more they do, the more it encourages me and gives me HOPE that the cynical world I assume I live in is filled with people eager to share their heart’s desires, some of which are not so different from my own.

We, especially in large cities, often shut ourselves off or substitute false communication for true connection. I think it has really been a ripple effect: We project closed body language and other indicators as a wall to keep out the person next to us at Starbucks or the Metro (yes, public transit in LA), who then does the same to keep us and others out as well, so we create a society of people who rarely think of talking to a stranger because we all assume we are hardened and closed-off. But often a whole other side exists.

Now, I understand the value of privacy and safety, especially as a woman. I also know that talking to strangers usually requires getting out of one’s comfort zone, even if you’re an extrovert. I thrive on being around people, but also enjoy working in a coffee shop alone for hours or taking a solo stroll in the sun. We all need time to reflect and just be.

But we also need to sincerely express ourselves and LISTEN to each other. Not just “like” a facebook status, or say “Hi” to that person waiting in a long line with us, but have an honest-to-goodness conversation. I realize that can’t always happen with everyone we encounter and I believe we can’t have a truly deep relationship with everyone we meet since we only have so much time and emotional capacity, but I’m over-thinking the process. START WITH HOPE.

This simple focus makes The Hope Chronicles innovative because we all have hope, whether we acknowledge it or not. Political thoughts aside, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the current U.S. President ran on a slogan of “Hope and Change”.

The term “hope” is ambiguous, but it inspires and unites people because it knows no bounds. Prosperity. Love. World Peace. There is no end to what we can hope for, regardless of our age, ethnic, social, or religious background and so forth. Maybe it’s just making next month’s rent payment.

We are not asking for something and analyzing whether it is a realistic request or what it will entail. We are hoping. The sky is the limit. And who wouldn’t want to take part in that?

Go to The Hope Chronicles site to read different hopes, see hopes documented on video and find out how to help the movement. You will discover that the face of hope is all around you. What is your hope?

I will be getting more involved with The Hope Chronicles and look forward to sharing people’s hopes as well as what this sometimes-jaded LA girl learns about the community around her.

The Big Picture

I heard an amazing sermon about sin, suffering, and grace tonight. It brought up some of those familiar messages I hear about God being so much bigger than our sin, but it also gave a few new perspectives. Also, I'm a quote person, and the speaker shared a few quotes that pierced my heart (in a good way) about who I am made to be and what I ultimately need. It also reminded me of a poem I wrote a few days ago, so I'll share it with you after I discuss what particularly hit me tonight.

The speaker told us of the paralytic man in Mark 2 whose friends lower him into a house where Jesus is speaking, in hopes that Jesus will heal the man. I've been struck before by this story since Jesus does not go straight to work healing the man, but instead he first says, "Son, your sins are forgiven." It is jarring to read no matter how many times I've read it, since the topic of forgiveness doesn't even seem relevant in the situation. But the sermon I heard tonight affirmed what I've heard before about this story and Jesus in general: He sees the real need. He went on to heal the paralytic man, but first he addressed his soul. He addressed something the man may not even have thought about, since he was consumed with his paralytic state.

There were so many good points and quotes that were mentioned in the sermon, but one that specifically struck me was: "OFTEN WHAT I NEED IS NOT RELIEF; WHAT I NEED IS GOD." Wow. It's not that praying for relief is bad, or that God wants to see us constantly suffer, but how often do I concentrate on my "paralysis" or something that seems paralyzing to me, when what I need is God? All of Him. His conviction, His forgiveness, His love, His revelation. Perhaps concentrating on how much I am suffering is what makes and keeps me "paralyzed" in the first place. Oddly enough, I used the term "analysis paralysis" in the poem I wrote below.

This is not to say that we deny our suffering. God wants our laughs as much as He wants our tears. I believe suffering teaches us a lot about ourselves and God and can lead to amazing growth. But another brilliant quote from tonight was, "It is easy to want things from God and not God Himself." Again I was confronted with how well God knows me and how freeing it is just seeking Him with no agenda. Do I still suffer? Yes. But understanding God's incredible gift of grace, not just accepting it speedily and moving on to ask Him about my secondary suffering, can put things in perspective if I allow it to.

Only God can look beyond my paralysis and heal me where I truly need it. Only He knows what the pieces in His infinite jigsaw puzzle will create.

This well-known verse comes to mind as well to illustrate how I sometimes seek relief or trivial things before I seek God:

"So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?'For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." -Matthew 6:31-33

I get impatient, confused, angry, hurt, and lonely, but I wrote this poem last week to remind me that someone sees all that, knows all that, and loves me anyway. It is easier said than done to fully grasp and know this. But the more I seek Him, the more it sinks in. And I look forward to continually getting up, taking my mat, and walking it out.

"Only You"

Only You know what makes me happy

Only You know what makes me laugh

Only You know when that laugh is hiding tears

Only You see when I truly give in to my fears

Only You know when I feel at the end of my rope

Only You know all the ways I try to cope

Only You get who I am and don't try to change my quirks, but improve me out of perfect love

Only You know why I limit myself and all that I'm capable of

Only You genuinely appreciate my adoration

of food, dance, comedy, and real conversation

Only You know how fiercely loyal and loving I can be

when someone steps out onto the limb with me

Only You know how many tears I've cried

over hopes that were dashed and dreams that have died

Only you know how hard I try every day

to move forward with a smile, though I don't know the way

Only You know how guilty and ridiculous I feel

for dwelling too long in pain when others need to heal

Only You know how much time I spend in my head

when I could just start moving toward something instead

Only You know what is ultimately best for me

and how patient or frustrated I am while waiting to see

if you'll unveil another step of your plan to me soon

or if I should just stop thinking about it and shoot for the moon

Only You know how much time and emotion I invest

trying to figure out when to take a step and when to rest

Only You know how burned out I get with life's uncertainty,

how I can't let myself return to depression so I try to keep the glass half-full, desperately

Only You know all I will encounter and all the mistakes I'll make

Only You know what triumphs and falls will result from the risks I take

Only You in the end are the one who knows me, better than I know myself

Only You know when my book of life will end and retire upon a shelf

Only You know. ONLY YOU. And it can frustrate me beyond all measure

But those moments when analysis paralysis ceases, my surrender evokes a calm, clear pleasure.

Only You know how long that feeling will last and what other mountains I'll have to climb

But Only You have infinite patience and love and, thankfully, infinite time

I can tend to procrastinate or other times rush to figure out the whos, whats, whens, wheres, and whys

But when I truly get that it's a millisecond on Your eternal calendar, my anxiety is dwarfed by Your size

Only You are what I need

Only You will remain

May I step into that big picture and not paint my own canvas in vain

Writer

Written last week, during an all-nighter working on an article.

Donning a robe. And eventually slippers.

Making frequent trips to the kettle on stand-by to get my black tea caffeine fix

Hair in a messy bun

Not having a concept of when to go to bed

Being perhaps too much inside my head

Even stopping to write this instead

Damn I’m a cliché.

Logging Time

I started writing a freeform poem last night after being convicted of a few things. Just when I start to be proud and happy about big areas where I've grown in my life, God reveals more. It's often an emotional roller coaster being in the thick of it, but I know it's necessary.

I use "speck" and "log" as references to the popular Bible verses below:

"How can you think of saying, 'Friend, let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,' when you can't see past the log in your own eye? Hypocrite! First get rid of the log in your own eye; then you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend's eye." -Matt. 7:3-5 (NLT)

However, I mostly use "log" to refer to myself and other ways I affect others, not necessarily an agenda of trying to remove a speck from someone's eye. I could discuss endless angles of this, but I'll just let it speak for itself. Perhaps it will mean different things to different people and I don't think that's a bad thing.

"Logs"

I see a speck in the distance

I am fixed upon it

Wondering what it is

What color is it?

Is it attractive?

It is ugly

It is annoying

It is different

I draw closer to look upon it

To discuss it

But not necessarily to know it

Or respect it

I assume it’s a certain shape, size, color

I take a step closer to the speck, still transfixed in my gaze and mind

My foot hits something.

I shuffle to the left. Blocked.

Right. Stopped again.

I step backward, all the while focusing on the speck.

Another obstruction.

I am frustrated. Hurt. Lonely.

So I start to frolic. Frolic as much as I can within the small space I am trapped in.

It is dark. I can hardly see a thing save that distant speck.

But I jump, laugh, stomp. Distract.

I feel something beneath my feet but ignore dwelling on it. Anything in this space is enjoying me as I am it. At least I assume.

But I get tired. I can’t move anymore. I have tried to flee this darkness. I’ve tried to ignore it. I eventually collapse to the ground in exhaustion.

I decide to try escaping again. But this time I take my eye off the speck. I don’t let my feet jump or skip. I just sit and look around.

But I can’t see clearly. I hurt. My eyes hurt.

I go to brush something out of them—perhaps dust—only to encounter something much bigger. It is heavy, solid and massive. A log? A log. One in each eye.

They’re painful. They’re inconvenient. They’re baffling.

How did they get here? How did I ignore them? How is it that even now when faced with their existence I want to retreat to frolicking again?

I know what must be done. And perhaps that’s the scariest thing of all. Knowing, anticipating, fearing, analyzing how to remove these logs.

So I stay on the ground. Still. Thinking. Feeling. Letting the enormity of the situation sink in.

I put my hands out in front of me to feel one of the logs again. Dense, weighty. No wonder I’m exhausted. And so it begins.

I hit the log. It doesn’t budge.

I clench my fists tightly and strike the log. My punches move quickly and with force I didn’t know I possessed.

I feel chunks of the log flying everywhere. My knuckles throb and I feel them bleeding. Splinters now speckle my hands. This is a battle.

Perhaps I’ve done enough, done all I can. I’ve chipped away some of the log.

But it remains in my eye. Rooted in my eye. I still can hardly see.

So I muster strength and what I know I must do.

With arms wrapped around this painful log, I begin to pull with all my might. Nothing. My whole body aches but I do not let go of this log. Cannot let go of this log. It’s resided here long enough.

I scream, cry, curse, and pull again.

The log dislodges slightly and sharp pain pierces my eye. I want to stop. I cannot feel this.

Can I ignore the tears and bleeding knuckles in favor of finding that speck and playing again? I can. But the log will remain. I will remain practically blind and trapped in this small space.

So I continue.

I have no concept of how long I try to remove this log.

Just when I am ready to lay down, give up and give in to anything else, a large set of hands covers mine. The hands feel my torn knuckles and my sore arms. The hands are gentle yet powerful. This is my log to remove. And yet someone is here. God is here.

His hands bring strength and renewal to mine and together we slowly but surely remove the log. All of it.

My eye is wounded and bleeding. But I can see. I can see!

I can see that there is still the log in my other eye. But God isn’t going anywhere.

So we wrestle with this log. With the pain and the weight of it. It’s not an easy task, but we’ve already eliminated one log, lessening my fear of the unknown.

More straining, pulling, and shifting, and eventually my eyes are free. I am free of these logs.

My eyes squint at first, timid to fully open and experience an unobstructed view. For the first time I see I am surrounded by trees. Trees I bumped into because the logs hindered my vision.

I peer between the trees to see some of my old removed logs in the distance. I see the sun, vibrant green grass and the vastness that lies before me.

“Look down,” God says.

I nervously obey.

I see what I had been frolicking on. What I had ignored.

In my fits of careless skipping and jumping, I had left trampled flowers in my wake.

Some were beautiful and delicate, and others were robust.

Now they were a mess of colorful petals and broken stems at my feet.

“I didn’t know, God,” I say with tears streaming down my face.

But I realize the moment I say it that it’s a lie.

“I didn’t want to know,” I say.

I didn’t want to know or think about where I was trapped. I didn’t want to think about what it would take to get out. I didn’t want to think about how I was affecting anything else.

I wanted to avoid the pain.

“What do I do now?” I ask desperately.

“You’ve harmed these flowers,” God says. “And it breaks my heart to see my creation harmed…but you have not killed them. I created each and every one of them and they can heal and grow, just as you can remove logs from your eyes. With my help.”

I kneel back to the ground, sobbing over each flower; each leaf, each petal, each stem that I disregarded.

I see that their roots are still intact and God is right. We can all heal and grow.

We can all laugh, dance, and play the way He intended.

But I must sit still to painfully remove the logs. With the help of His loving, unyielding hands.