Echoes: Frustration.

Daley Hake wrote an excellent post worth reading. Glad to know I’m not alone, although it’s hard to imagine someone that doesn’t struggle with this to some degree. Oh yeah, check his photography too. It’s badass.

I’m trying to love people. I’m trying so very hard to understand and serve those I come in contact with. I just seem to suck so bad at it. Are some of us just not as capable as others? Or is all of this frustration just growing pains that will one day cultivate into a greater heart and understanding for humanity?
I’m on a journey in which I am fighting with myself. A journey towards Integrity and Wisdom. An endless journey.

“I see myself a stranger in one land, and an alien among one people. Yet all the earth is my homeland, and the human family is my tribe. For I have seen that man is weak and divided upon himself. And the earth is narrow and in its folly cuts itself into kingdoms and principalities.
…I stand alone in mourning, listening. And I hear from within me a voice of hope.”
-Kahlil Gibran

I feel insane. I feel right, yet wrong. I feel content, yet disconnected. Disconnected from the way this world works and the people whom embrace the systems at hand. Both the systems proclaiming good…and the systems built out of selfish ambition.

Excerpt from Daley’s blog. Full post here.

Dead.

I was driving home from a friend’s apartment tonight, heading northbound on US-75. Not an ideal time to travel, past midnight on a Friday night on a highway where many accidents occur. I was trying to decide if I wanted to take a toll road home but had just missed my chance to take the cheap way home anyway. As soon as I cursed my indecisiveness, I looked up ahead and noticed a strange traffic jam.

Like I mentioned, there are always accidents on this highway and seemingly moreso during the weekend nights. But as I got closer to the beginning of the jam, I noticed a lot of cars parked on the highway shoulders with their emergency lights on. There was no wreckage. But there were people standing in the middle of US-75.

There were no cops yet, so whatever happened just occurred. A man raised his arms as to signal that we needed to pick any lane, just not the lane they were standing in. I very slowly chose the right lane as the cars around me were full of confusion as well. Naturally, rubbernecking occurred and the traffic was going so slow I decided that I would turn my head to see what was going on just a few feet away from me.

Behind the group of people was a man, laying on the ground. He was on his back, arms sprawled straight out, blood on his face and balding head. His plaid shirt was unbuttoned and I could see his white undershirt. Just white. He was wearing some dark-colored jeans and his boots stuck straight up. There was friction in my soul and my body tensed up. Although I had never seen death before, I knew this man was dead.

I drove on, slowly and carefully as every car seemed to soak it in. It wasn’t until a mile out when my brain put two and two together. There was no wreckage. But the accident was at the intersection of US-75 and I-635, the “High Five,” with five towering overpasses that reach twelve stories high.

He had jumped.

I thought about the odds of me crossing paths with this dead man and why I had those few seconds to gawk at his unmoving body. And it’s strange, I found myself going through a similar process Anne posted last month on flowerdust.net. Why did he jump? What made life so unbearable that he could find no way out? Did he pick out those clothes knowing he would die in them? Did no one know him, did no one think this would happen? Could it have been prevented?

The man looked similar to a coworker of mine so I started to dig more. Do I know someone who might do this? How have I treated him or her? Does my mouth overflow with words of love and hope, or selfishness and darkness?

It was a dark drive home and now I have to try and sleep with this man in my thoughts. As much as I want to completely forget him, I hope I don’t.

Big gulps, eh?

This will be my last post before I head off to East Asia. Sunday will be spent running last minute errands and spending as much time as possible with my buddies so I won’t have much time to sit still.

It’s pretty surreal. I know a few of you may be thinking, “Geez, Nina, you’re only going to be gone for two weeks… heck, less than two weeks! Why so dramatic?” I have this really antsy feeling about all of this. The very fact that all the things fell into place for me to go on this mission trip is nuts. It started with a simple video at church and next thing you know I’m rolling and packing up my shirts, wondering how many times I can rewear clothes until my roommate notices.

Lots of people have commended me for my selflessness, my obedience, and I have to remind them this isn’t me. I’m a pretty selfish homebody that loves routine. There’s a big part of me that wants to jump ship. There’s lots of doubt in my head: I haven’t been on any kind of mission trip before, I’ve never really openly evangelized to strangers, I don’t think I’m as “up to par” spiritually as my teammates… This list really goes on and on.

But I can’t forget about grace. And grace enables. My Lord and Savior didn’t suffer and die on a cross so I can sit at home in fear, quietly typing on my blog about things that could’ve been. Jesus’s sacrifice and ultimately His resurrection spurred the disciples to be BOLD. Read Acts, these guys go crazy - the same guys that denied knowing Christ just a few days earlier, the same guys that never understood the parables, the same guys that started out as simple men with simple lives. My calling is no different than these guys - to be BOLD in His Name!

And so early Monday morning, four of us set out for our little adventure God has called us to. I really have no specific expectations, but I know huge things will happen. And as much as I wonder how my little life will affect the people I encounter, a friend pointed out something… At church, we had been talking about being the salt and light of the earth. How being the salt of the earth means breathing in spiritually and being transformed through Christ and His Word. As I was telling her about my fears and inadequacies, she said, “You know, this trip may be for you… to be salt.” And while I have just totally butchered what she actually said, I know what she meant. When I come back, things won’t be the same. I won’t be the same. I’m scared and excited, much like going up that first hill on the Texas Giant. (But, I promise I won’t cuss like a sailor through the trip!)

I do want to want to leave with words of thankfulness and gratitude. The Lord has shown me great love and has humbled me through His Words, my friends, and even strangers. I have been so encouraged these past few weeks when I have needed it the most. From such big things as huge financial support from my friends to little things like a bag of travel items from my new friends and clients wishing me a good and safe travel — I cannot do this alone, but the Lord equips us with just enough to get by. And He has definitely shown that.

So, on that note… “Big gulps, eh? Welp, see ya later!”

Legalism’s a bitch.

The baptism went extremely well - I had so much support, so much love flowing into me, that when it came time to share my testimony in front of the church, I just felt love flow out. Thanks to everyone who came out and thanks to those who couldn’t, but sent their words of congrats.

I definitely hit a spiritual high, but knew that to every high, there is a low. It’s in the valley where things grow, so although it’s been a trying time, I know I am just being refined.

I grew up in the Catholic church and got the notion in my head that for every bad thing I did, it was a notch — The more notches, the more certain I knew I’d go to Hell for what I’ve done. However, I could go to confession, spill my guts, and the priest would give me penance. Penance was usually the same - Ten Holy Marys and one One Father. After my prayers, my notches were supposed to be wiped clean. But, even in my young age, I had a feeling there was more to life than this.

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Great Wall of Nina.

I haven’t posted in awhile, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking myself into craziness. August was marked as my month to relax and although I did take a week off from work to spend in exotic Lubbock, Texas, I think that’s what spurred the latest bouts of thoughts. It’s amazing how much your mind has to say when you’re not concentrating on work or school and the like.

I’ve got too much to say and it’s bedtime, but I thought it was important to say that these past weeks have been weeks of tremendous growth. Now, here’s where I admit that in these past weeks I also feel like I had a few tremendous falls, but it’s okay. Valleys are just as important as mountains.

So what have I been learning? I’ve always harped on my friends for not being honest, hiding their sins, never willing to really just sit down and open up. Welp. I’m a black pot and my friends are black kettles. I let my guard down a little, a few bricks off my Great Wall if you will, and opened up a big jar of ugly recently. Things I thought I had successfully swept under the rug came out and surprised me and a few of the people who have happened to talk to me these past weeks. I realized that just because I am not dealing with certain issues in my life doesn’t mean those issues aren’t still waiting to rear their ugly heads at me when the time’s just right.

And that’s just the problem. Not only are we black pots and kettles, but we’re great at sweeping things under the rug. I believe that people were created to be in community with each other. You can’t argue with that because hey, obviously there is a reason there is more than one human alive, right? But can community truly exist if we’re keeping to ourselves? Since when did we get so scared of letting others get to know us, to love us?

Pastor Matt Chandler recently said something along the lines of people not needing professional counselors and therapists if we could all just learn how to communicate with each other. Someone said to me, “Duh, that’s why I’m going. I suck at communicating.” Somewhere on everyone’s timeline, we have learned to be scared of communicating. We have learned to fear not being accepted.

I have never, ever met a person (or heard of one) who has opened up a big dirty jar of ugly and had everyone leave them to die on an island alone. So why are we so insanely scared?

In my recent steps to opening up, I have been met with different responses. Most have been caught off guard by the fact that I can actually be the talker and not the listener for once. It’s scary, saying something and grimacing at the thought of awkward silence, ridicule, or total rejection. You’d be surprised though. You’ve be surprised that people just want to open up too. It’s too early to say, but I hope it’s like a domino effect. Like a domino effect and like a fine wine. Just keeps going and gets better as time goes on.

I think it’s only when we do the heavy duty housekeeping when we start to realize how broken we are. I know it’s that way for me. If someone looks like they’ve got it together, they are either great at manipulating others and their own selves into thinking they’ve got it good or they have come to grips that they are broken and in need of constant grace. And until we finally admit to each other that we’re messed up, that we have no answers, community will always be out of reach, friendships will be stagnate, and we will continue being unsatisfied with what we’ve been given.

Why hold back? Why be scared? You want to be loved, so lay it all out there so you can really be loved, every ugly beautiful inch of you.