Costa Rica and Toxic Charity

As I scooped my laundry out of the dryer and into my clothes hamper this afternoon, I groaned. I dried my Costa Rica soccer jersey all the way again. Now, where it used to say “SAMSUNG” is just a few random black lines, and “BIMBO” emblazoned across the front is very faded. (Yes, I proudly wear a shirt that brands me as a bimbo. It happens.) But anyway, seeing how faded it has become took me back to my trip to Costa Rica in the summer before my senior year of high school. I went with nine other youth and adults for a weeklong mission trip there. We spent time in a neighborhood that had been built on a landfill. Raw sewage ran along the dirt paths and into a giant river. The breeze tossed around trash and the smell of gang violence, prejudices, and hopelessness. I remember it feeling very apocalyptic until people emerged from their homes into the streets, especially the children whose smiles made the neighborhood seem like a much happier place.

I vividly remember two kids in particular. One was a boy who recently had surgery on his leg. His leg had many stitches running down it, and a metal contraption around his calf kept him immobile. Two of his friends carried him to us so I could paint a bat on his face. The other child I remember was a girl with short curly hair that latched onto me. She didn’t say a word the whole time she was around me, but she became my shadow. I wondered what it was like to live their lives in this place where fathers where a rarity and an armed guard stood outside the nearest ice cream stand.

But then the week was over—it went by much too quickly—and we had some time for a shopping adventure on our last day. Before soccer jerseys were even the cool thing to wear, I wanted one (I might as well just succumb to my fate as a hipster).  And just as vividly as I remember the two children who made me rethink the life I was living in America, I remember my great American blunder in the little store that last day. Several of us were scrambling around trying to find the right size in the coolest jerseys, pulling jerseys out of their little plastic wrappings and trying them on over our t-shirts. We were the only ones in the store except for the shopkeeper and our bus driver Cory. And we caused quite the commotion and mess. Maybe, if you’re an United States-ian reading this, our actions don’t seem bad. We were shopping as only Americans can. But now when I look back on that moment, I can’t help but cringe. We were so loud. We left behind us such a mess for the shopkeeper to clean up. I still remember Cory’s face: he seemed surprised to see the competitive, covetous prey we turned into when faced with souvenirs. Everything we had seen in Costa Rica was forgotten in the high of buying memories.

It didn't register at the time. I felt no shame in what I saw as just another part of mission trips. You raise money, you go, you "serve," you buy some stuffs, you come home, you tell people how awesome it was, you make an album of your killer "pics" on the Facebook machine, and you put it out of mind as life goes on.

I recently read a few chapters from the book Toxic Charity: How Churches and Charities Hurt Those They Help (And How to Reverse It) in my Honduras class (and I'm on the waiting list for the book at my local library).  The section I read talked about the dependency we create when we go into a community and give the people clothes, food, even a well. It sounds very noble, and we feel good after we do it. However, we don't think about the long term effects of our actions. As we discussed this needs-based approach to charity in class, I remembered a picture I saw in a WMI presentation of several Haitian men getting water from a new Water Missions International water pump. The man doing the presentation pointed out that one of the men in the picture wasn't wearing shoes. Apparently, the man could buy shoes—he had the money and there were local businesses producing shoes—but he didn't see any reason to buy shoes when he knew someone would come in and give him a pair for free (ummm...TOMS). This mindset can be detrimental to a developing people and to developing local businesses. Hearing "toxic charity" explained that way was a DUH moment for me.

Naturally, not all charity is toxic. In emergency situations, we should definitely go in and help. I think everyone involved in a church should go on a mission trip at some point in their life (sooner rather than later, though!). Youth, in particular, should spend time serving, painting houses, replacing roofs, serving food at a soup kitchen, doing inventory of supplies in a women's shelter because doing so can reveal a plethora of opportunities for their futures that they never knew existed. And as I told my friend Julia who is studying abroad next semester, I believe every American should try to spend some time in a third world country—not to experience extreme sympathy and not to serve in a way that births arrogance, but to get a new perspective on the way we live.

With short term mission and service trips, I like going in and serving an organization already established in a community that serves the community. In the world of volunteerism, we call that "indirect service." I think it's beneficial to use short term missions as an opportunity to do indirect service because instead of leaving a giant mission trip footprint that crushes the "needy" people you serve, you empower an organization that is already doing good work in the community to continue doing so.

Robert Lupton, author of Toxic Charity, proposes an oath for compassionate service:

Never do for the poor what they have (or could have) the capacity to do for themselves. Limit one-way giving to emergency situations. Strive to empower the poor through employment, lending, and investing, using grants sparingly to reinforce achievements. Subordinate self-interests to the needs of those being served. Listen closely to those you seek to help, especially to what is not being said. Above all, do no harm.

We have to give and serve in a way that empowers others. The best part is that when we do that, we are also empowered. Our actions become more than an album on Facebook, more than a soccer jersey dried too many times, and more even than the inside jokes that inevitably arise out of mission/service trips.

I guess it's really just a matter of deciding what you want to gain when you give: a feeling of pride because you gave that man a pair of shoes or a feeling of empowerment because you gave that man the ability to buy his own shoes from people in his own community.

 

Apples and Oranges

But they're both fruits...

I am awful at idiomatic expressions. Seriously. I just create my own idioms: Take a shot in the dark! That’s a whole different ballpark. This is problematic for me since I am a writer. As Ziva of “NCIS” once said, “Ah! American idioms drive me up the hall.”

What’s even more problematic is that my roommate is also awful at idioms. We don’t even pick up on each other’s mistakes anymore. The other night, she tried to explain how two things were the same by saying, “Apples and oranges.”* If I had been present for this conversation, I would have probably nodded my head and gotten on with life. But no. She was with people who actually grasp meanings of expressions. They laughed…a lot.  It’s okay, though. Now Courtney and I both understand how to use the phrase. See below:

You can’t compare the Harry Potter movies to the books! That’s like comparing apples and oranges!

How can you say pens are more useful than scissors? You’re comparing apples and oranges.

*Disclaimer: “Comparing apples and oranges” is not to be confused with the diametric expression “same difference.” Thank you and have a good day.

Are you awaiting some life relevancy? If not, you can stop reading now. If so, here goes.

Christians love to pray that God would reveal to them His will for their lives. I think they really mean “plan,” but they say “will” and it changes everything. Let’s just say, though, comparing God’s will and God’s plan for your life is like comparing apples and oranges. It doesn’t work.

³ God’s will is for you to be holy, so stay away from all sexual sin. ⁴ Then each of you will control his own body and live in holiness and honor— ⁵ not in lustful passion like the pagans who do not know God and his ways. ⁶ Never harm or cheat a Christian brother in this matter by violating his wife, for the Lord avenges all such sins, as we have solemnly warned you before. ⁷ God has called us to live holy lives, not impure lives. ⁸ Therefore, anyone who refuses to live by these rules is not disobeying human teaching but is rejecting God, who gives his Holy Spirit to you. 1 Thess. 4:3-8

My Community Group leader shared these verses with us a couple weeks ago, just days after I had to make a decision about my summer plans. His wife laughed as realization ran down my face like a raw egg: earlier that week, I'd sent her an email asking her to pray for guidance as I was seeking God's will for my summer. In Community Group that night, we discussed all that God's will for our lives might entail. Then we talked about how it's different than God's plan for our lives. 

Quick differentiation:

God's will: Be holy! This can involve a lot of different things: i.e. the Great Commission, the Ten Commandments, love your neighbor as yourself. But the idea is that God's will is the same for all believers. It's also immutable and set in stone.

God's plan: This is different for each believer. God's plan for my life might involve overseas missions or going to seminary or working at a summer camp (*cough cough*), whereas His plan for Courtney's life might involve teaching in an innercity school or spending her summer at home. This is usually what Christians want God to reveal to them. We know, because of Jeremiah 29:11, that God's plan for our lives is good, but we want to know what it is going to involve. I think we feel apprehensive about this because it seems easily changed and shifting...

I had a miniature panic attack over spring break when I was deciding between India and Camp Longridge for this summer (which was really like deciding between an apple and orange). I wanted to make the right choice, but I wasn't sure what it was. At some point in the deciding process, though, I realized that I am following God's will for my life...or at least trying my best to do so. I also realized that the Holy Spirit indwells me and acts as my counselor. So even if I wasn't feeling some supernatural conviction, the Holy Spirit was still helping me decide.

Feeling paradoxically empowered and insecure, I made my decision...(drumroll please)...and I'm going to be a counselor at Camp Longridge. God's will would have my go either place and be holy: do good and share with others (Heb. 13:16). God's plan has me ministering to kids and youth at Camp Longridge this summer. I'm excited. Aaaand very ready for the summer to get here already!

(They're kissing.)

Ruth's Story, My Story

It begins with Naomi…and her husband Elimelech. They had two sons, and after Elimelech’s death, the two sons married foreign women named Orpah and Ruth. When the two sons died, they left their two widows in a distant land with their mother. Orpah, upon the bidding of her mother-in-law, returned to her home and her family: the rational decision. Ruth, on the other hand, refused to leave Naomi alone: the irrational decision. Because of her irrationality, her kind stubbornness, it then becomes Ruth’s story.

I went gleaning today with Fields to Families. I’ve worked with them once before, and they’re a really awesome organization that I should work with more often. At ten this morning, I met up with a few friends and a few strangers in downtown Charleston to head out to Rosebank Farm on John’s Island. We took a red minivan and a silver SUV…like the cool people we are. We had some adventures trying to get there. RocketVan, as our red minivan became known, made some awesome u-turns, though, and in spite of a faulty GPS, we made it. It was beautiful in that drawling way that the Lowcountry has, with Spanish moss dripping from old oaks that form endless archways over dirt roads. The field where we were gleaning had lines of collards that had burst into little yellow flowers as tall as me, which is impressively tall for a collard green plant. We were gleaning collards…

Fun fact: you can eat the leaves, the stalks, and the flowers of collard plants. And I definitely tried all three parts while gleaning today.

Ruth's story took her to Bethlehem in the early spring—just in time for the barley harvest. One day, Ruth asked Naomi if she could go out into the fields and gather grain behind the harvesters. A relative of Naomi's husband, Boaz, happened to own the field where Ruth went to collect food for Naomi and herself. He inquired about Ruth, and his foreman explained to him how hardworking she was, collecting grain tirelessly and rarely taking a break. 

Anyone at a loss for what “gleaning” means? It’s central to what Fields to Families does. Local farmers with extra crops that they aren’t going to use or that they want to give to others let volunteers come in and harvest the extra. Then Fields to Families take the extra and give it to organizations that feed hungry people who, under normal circumstances, don’t have access to healthy food. 

Boaz went to Ruth and welcomed her to his field, encouraging her to help herself to the water in the well if she became thirsty and inviting her to eat lunch with his harvesters. His kindness confused her, and what she didn't even know was that he also told his harvesters to purposefully drop extra barley for her. 

We worked for a few hours, bent over inspecting leaves and breaking off healthy ones. We filled about ten garbage bags with the green leaves—a little over a hundred pounds of collards. It didn't feel like we were out there long enough. The breeze was gentle and cooling in the warm March sun, and even though the bees were constantly buzzing around our heads, there was something wonderfully relaxing about the manual labor. One of the girls gleaning with us commented on how nice it was to be so connected to the source of our food. It's true. Food looks so different once it's in grocery stores. Most of it is processed, canned, or boxed. Even the produce, though, has a certain degree of "perfection" to it that you just don't see in the fields. After gathering our bags of collards and loading them into the back of RocketVan, we sat in a circle on the ground and reflected, talking about food deserts, the accessibility of healthy foods for people with a lower income, educating children to make healthy choices. I drew circles in the dirt with my finger and thought more about Ruth and the world she lived in.

At the end of the day, Ruth took home half a bushel (I think that's about 20 quarts) of barley to Naomi, as well as leftover food from her lunch. Naomi was delighted, not just at the amount of food Ruth had provided but moreso at the generosity of Boaz.

I've never looked at Ruth's story before with a focus on Ruth. I always hear about Boaz and how his role as the "kinsman-redeemer" is allegorical for Jesus's role in saving us. I hear about the romance between Boaz and Ruth, and probably like a lot of Christian girls, I've been told about how incredible it is to have a kinsman-redeemer marry you. I was talking to my dad about my plans to go gleaning today, and he pointed out the connection to Ruth. I jokingly asked if he wanted me to go find my Boaz while on John's Island today. In all seriousness though, I was astonished at how beautiful Ruth's story is. As I was collecting the leftover collards, I thought about her story and her character, and I began to admire her more and more. Ruth was resourceful. She was humble and submissive, not usually admirable qualities in people by the world's standards today, but qualities that I undoubtedly admire in her. She was hardworking and generous. And she had loyalty to her mother-in-law and to godly love that I envy.

At the end of our day, we loaded back into RocketVan and the SUV (that wasn't cool enough to have a nickname) and left John's Island. The RocketVan took the bags of collards to Crisis Ministries, attempting to make some more awesome u-turns in the process ("attempting" here meaning that we tried and just ended up doing a 3-point turn in the middle of an intersection under the pressure of oncoming traffic). My roommate and I went back to our dorm and cooked up some stir fry that featured collard greens and collard flowers. Wow. Trust me when I say food tastes better when you harvested and cooked it yourself. So good.

 . 

 

American life lets me be lazy. I don't work with my hands. I'm not out in the hot sun meticulously picking up the barley harvesters overlooked or dropped. But even beyond that...I am lazy. I'm done with my week by noon on Fridays. Most days, I watch TV or oversleep. I realize it's good to rest and have time to recharge, but I should actually do something worthwhile and tiring beforehand! Forget about anything past Ruth chapter 2, forget about her and Boaz's romance that most Christian girls are ready to swoon over. Ruth was a beautiful, godly woman....even before Boaz (I can hear the gasps of shock now...). Maybe I'm alone in having only been taught Ruth's story in relation to Boaz, but even if you've heard it before, I encourage you to go back to Ruth and look at her life. I spent an afternoon living the life of a gleaner, and I saw Ruth's story come to life. It began in a field on John's Island, harvesting collards and paralleling my life with hers. But hopefully, the connection doesn't end there. 

1,000 Ways (for Your Summer Plans) to Die

God and I have this little joke these days regarding my summers. It goes something like this: I apply for only one program and tell God to call me there. I explain to Him that the program fits in perfectly with the plan He has for me and even makes His job of planning my future really easy. Months later, He tells me that He is not calling me to follow my plans, and I get a nice little rejection letter from my program of choice. I'm upset--not at Him but at myself--for awhile before I get back up, accept that He has something even better planned for me that He planned out without my feeble attempts to help, and look around like a newly born giraffe for options.

I feel like my promise to go wherever God calls me has become a punch line in my life. I make that promise to God and then inform Him where He's calling me. Then I have to make the promise all over again without attaching any strings. God, I will go wherever You call me...seriously, wherever.

Last year, it was SummerSalt. I prayed that God would call me there, and when He didn't, I ended up in Honduras. (See for how God not only did incredible things last summer in Honduras but is also continuing to use me to serve His people in Honduras.)

This year, it was the Critical Language Scholarship. I applied to study Hindi in Jaipur, India, through a fully government funded program for the entire summer. What could be better than God using the U.S. government to fund a future missionary's studies? Well, apparently something. I don't know what, but there is something better awaiting me. Anyway, I got my rejection email and just didn't understand. I told God that He'd missed His opportunity, that I'd made it so easy for Him and He had let my plans fall flat. Ha. My plans always fall flat. Thank goodness!

My college Sunday School class used to go through passages in the New Testament, always asking three different questions: What does this tell us about God? What does this tell us about Jesus? What does this tell us about the disciples? We usually answered the last question with something along the lines of, "They're dumb." Yes, the disciples had some serious dumb moments. They were walking alongside Jesus and following Him on such a literal level that I often find myself jealous of their position. But they were also human. And as humans, we do dumb things. If you want to argue this statement, let me direct you to that television show "1000 Ways to Die." It so gruesomely screams examples of dumb humans. Seriously, what were they thinking?

Seriously, what was I thinking?

I spent two days after picking myself back up completely set on India. I was going to India, darn it, and I would do something even more incredible. My dad and I had a little reality check moment, though, where I realized options were good. I was so open to options that I even considered applying for a SURF grant in biology to do experiments this summer. The way I saw it, I could be a light shining anywhere and I might as well try something completely new while I was at it. I'm just not very good at shades if gray...there's really no in-between for me. Since I really needed to find an in-between as far as no options versus infinite options go, I settled on applying again to work at a summer camp while also pursuing another route to India.

Camp Longridge: a Christian summer camp for older kids and youth where I would spend a full, intense summer living with and pouring into the campers.

India: an enormous country that has fascinated me for quite some time now where I could do anything a missionary could hook me up with...and maybe then some.

And don't forget to do good and share with those in need. These are the sacrifices that please God. Hebrews 13:16

Because I want to do good and share with those in need, I applied for Camp Longridge and requested help from a former Journeyman in India. In the craziest, fastest turn of events I have ever experienced, I got my application and three references in to the good people at Camp Longridge and got the email address of a young missionary in India. Before I knew it, I had an interview with Longridge and had sent an email to this young career M...

...

Sorry. I promise I'm not building suspense just for you. It's for me, too. I don't know how this one ends, yet. Everything happened so quickly once I got the ball rolling, but now I'm waiting. Waiting...and praying...and waiting...and reading Not for Sale...and writing blogposts...and waiting.

And I'm enjoying God's little punch line for the second time regarding my summers: 

"My thoughts are completely different from yours," says the LORD. "And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9

So now regarding the title of this post: "1,000 Ways for (Your Summer Plans) to Die." Just make 1,000 of your own plans and tell God what they are. Yeah. It'll go over really well.

TO BE CONTINUED.

I'm Going to Honduras...Again!

Good things come to those who eavesdrop.


Ok maybe not. But I did learn in my Fiction Writing class that Wikipedia, staring, and eavesdropping are three best friends for writers (I also learned that creativity arrives through discipline and that I know nothing). Usually when I eavesdrop, I hear random college chatter that doesn't mean much to me. But over 6 months ago I overheard some seriously important information...I was gathered around a bonfire on Seabrook Island with several of my fellow Bonners and our director. As smoke bit at my eyes, I heard something like this:

Yeah, we're going to try to do two Maymester trips this year. One will be to wherever the student leaders choose and the other is going to Honduras. 

How do you already know that one is going to Honduras? 

Dr. Folds-Bennett and Mary Pat are planning that one. Dr. Folds-Bennett has worked with an organization in Honduras before so they'll be working with that NGO. 

Is there a student trip leader for that one yet?

The last question was actually mine. It was one of those moments where your voice speaks without your permission. But I managed to insert myself into the conversation just long enough to hear all the details that had been established so far before I raced up the dark path to the cabins where we were staying. I grabbed my cell phone off my bed and immediately called my parents. If there was an opportunity to go back and work with LAMB (the organization Dr. Folds-Bennett has experience with and the very one I spent three weeks with last summer), I wanted to jump on it fast. I remember standing on the porch of my cabin in the sticky evening air, pacing up and down as I related the details to both my mom and my dad.


What has now become "Honors in Honduras," was once just an idea of a new model where the Center for Civic Engagement pairs up with the Honors College at College of Charleston. Why Honduras? Simply for the reason that Dr. Folds-Bennett (henceforth known as "TFB") had connections there.


I didn't actually agree to be the student leader until I was on the Alternative Break trip leaders retreat. Everyone paired up for spring break trips and the other maymester, and it was apparent to everyone except me that I would be the student leader for the Honduras trip. I may have just agreed by default. I wasn't sure I wanted to go back to Honduras because it was such a hard trip for me, but I certainly didn't want to pass up an incredible opportunity just because my last trip there wasn't bump-free.


So last Wednesday we had our first class...
It was such a strange feeling to sit in a circle (it was more of a rectangle really) and discuss Latin American history and U.S. foreign policy with TFB, Mary Pat, and the other eight students going on the trip with me. All eight students had been through an application and interview process, where the most we could tell them about what we'd be doing in Honduras was that we were waiting for the team at LAMB to decide for us. We were trying to live the asset-based community development model...this is a hard thing to do when you're trying to plan both a class and a three week trip.


After finalizing our team, we started having weekly meetings to discuss fundraisers, practice Spanish conversation, talk about the alt break components (drug- and alcohol-free, diversity, education, orientation, training, reflection, reorientation, strong direct service), and prepare for an intense honors course in community-based research where we would learn the ins and outs of NGOs, program management, Honduran politics, capacity building for projects, and asset-based community development. Eventually, we will put together an entire project to execute while in Honduras working with LAMB based on what they tell us is their area of need.


That's a lot of technical words, I realize.


All of this is to say that since August, this idea has been unfolding, and now it's happening. It's exciting. It's terrifying (I'm taking eight girls to Honduras for three weeks?!?). It's oddly surreal.

I think about the time I had getting to Honduras last year. It was so last minute and there were so many weeks where I just really didn't know if I was going to be able to go. I took a lot of blind steps, and God showed up in awesome ways to get me there. And now I have the opportunity to go back and to take other CofC students--some who are believers and others who aren't--to this place where God is so real. Again, it's surreal. And I am honored to be a part of it all.

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose!"

Freedom.

This word has been indiscreetly stalking me for the past month or so. If I'm being honest with myself, it's actually been stalking me for much longer than that. As an American, perhaps a reluctant one, "freedom" is a word I casually throw around. YES. I take advantage of my freedoms...in regards to speech, religion, voting, education, you know what I'm talking about. I wasn't necessarily born with a silver spoon in my mouth (that's a thing, right?), but I have been given some of the most incredible opportunities in my life. I grew up well fed and loved. I never worried about where money or meals or rest would come from. I have had the joy of traveling to San Francisco, Costa Rico, Honduras, Puerto Rico, and all along the east coast of the States. And most importantly, my parents raised me to love God and to seek His kingdom first in all things. Why am I saying all this? I think it's to remind myself that I am FREE.

I'm a college student. I feel bound by budgets and homework. I feel bound by the 24 hour day that is always, without fail, much too short. I feel bound by the knowledge that I have and by the knowledge that I lack (Sophomore=wise fool). But I have been set free.

Guess what.
In case you haven't heard, there are more slaves today than at there were at any other time in history. 27 million is the number people keep shoving down my throat. Or attempting to shove down my throat. 27 million is quite a bit to swallow. For me at least. I knew human trafficking was an issue in our world today, but that was just head knowledge until Christmas break. First, an alternative break trip to Puerto Rico made me question where goods I use everyday (particularly coffee) come from. A lot of them aren't exactly rainforest friendly, which was disconcerting to me after spending several days working closely with El Yunque, one of the most diverse rainforests in the world. A lot of them are also not human friendly. For instance, coffee is grown in areas where the rainforest has been cleared so that the coffee plants can get full sun. Much of the coffee produced is harvested by people who are underpaid and ill-treated, many of them children. Coffee is one of the major products that people in the first world can enjoy at an inexpensive price because of the slave labor involved in the process.

A couple weeks after Puerto Rico, I went to a huge worship gathering in Atlanta called Passion. Let me rephrase that: I joined 46,000 other college kids and leaders in overtaking downtown Atlanta, the Georgia Dome, the CNN Center, the Georgia World Conference Center, and all surrounding areas. And in case you haven't heard yet, our focus was freedom. Here's a look at the happenings:
http://268generation.com/passion2012/#!/freedom/
http://thecnnfreedomproject.blogs.cnn.com/2012/01/05/
(Sorry. They refuse to be hyperlinks. Be old school and copy paste.)

Yeah. It was awesome. But it was also heart breaking. I see things in black and white. I firmly adhere to the idea that if you aren't part of the solution, you're part of the problem. So I thought that because I wasn't consuming only fair trade products or working to rescue girls in a red light district, I was enslaving people, stealing their voice, being an oppressor. It broke me. I felt the need to act on my brokenness but didn't know what to do, which just made me feel more broken. I then made the mistake of being too down and out to do anything. Awareness of the problem didn't lead me to bold advocacy; it led me to curl up in a ball and do nothing. Not literally. I am not a cat. But I did figuratively curl up in a ball. I enslaved myself in my inability to save all 27 million. How stupid is that?

I'm trying to see shades of gray. Coffee is a social drink for me. If I stop drinking coffee, then I'm less likely to spend as much time talking with my mom, my grandparents, random new friends. But I can spring for fair trade, shade grown coffee. That's action without complete inaction. (Does that statement make sense?) I realize that I can't save all 27 million on my own. Mother Teresa once said, "If you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one." And my beloved suitemate Megan thinks Mother Teresa is one of the greatest people ever, so I'll trust that I can just feed one or, in this case, just free one. Also, I'm not alone in trying to free people. There were 46,000 other people who collaborated to give over $3 million to freedom organizations at Passion with me. That's huge. Even huger (in Charleston, we say that word like "you-gee") is that God is also on our side. Isaiah 58:10-12 have been the driving verses behind my life since spring of my senior year in high school (I did the math just now...that's two whole years). Those verses plus some kept surfacing during Passion--on Rebecca's (my dear friend who likes kittens a lot) and my white flags, during a panel discussion with inspirational freedom advocates, in one of the main talks. God is all about some freedom.

6 No, this is the kind of fasting I want:
Free those who are wrongly imprisoned;
lighten the burden of those who work for you.
Let the oppressed go free,
and remove the chains that bind people.
7 Share your food with the hungry,
and give shelter to the homeless.
Give clothes to those who need them,
and do not hide from relatives who need your help.

8 “Then your salvation will come like the dawn,
and your wounds will quickly heal.
Your godliness will lead you forward,
and the glory of the LORD will protect you from behind.
9 Then when you call, the LORD will answer.
‘Yes, I am here,’ he will quickly reply.

“Remove the heavy yoke of oppression.
Stop pointing your finger and spreading vicious rumors!
10 Feed the hungry,
and help those in trouble.
Then your light will shine out from the darkness,
and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon.
11 The LORD will guide you continually,
giving you water when you are dry
and restoring your strength.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like an ever-flowing spring.
12 Some of you will rebuild the deserted ruins of your cities.
Then you will be known as a rebuilder of walls
and a restorer of homes.

And if God is all for freedom, I should be, too. I found a lot of hope in the last few verses. For a while, I've loved the image of being a "well-watered garden" and an "ever-flowing spring," but I never took the time to read on. In my state of brokenness and despair for the enslaved people of this world, I needed to know that God could use me to be a "rebuilder" and a "restorer." I pray now that I will be broken enough to care, but not too broken to be effective. I want to be a rebuilder and restorer because I have been rebuilt and restored!


So now I have some questions for you:
Have you acknowledged that modern day slavery is happening? Because ignorance and indifference are not options.
Have you enslaved yourself to something?
Are you singing "Me and Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin? If you aren't, you should be. So here you go:
Now to get that song out of your head, enjoy some All Sons and Daughters:

Adventurings in Puerto Rico

A Week in the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle

I was sick almost the entire week. A sore throat drove me to bed early every night and then a cough woke me up early, early in the mornings. I didn't mind so much. I just sat on the little porch at the Evangelical School for the Deaf where we were staying and watched as the wind rolled in off the coast and pushed the dark clouds away towards the lush mountains. And so a new day was born to the sound of Gungor (their new album "Ghosts Upon the Earth" pouring through my headphones) and a gusty breeze.

Puerto Rico: The 51st State

As I prepared with my fellow freshman and sophomore Bonners to travel to Puerto Rico for an alternative break trip, I kept asking what it meant for PR to be a US territory. No one, not even the Google Machine, could give me a satisfactory answer. The realization that, in an almost paradoxical way, PR is its own country while still being part of the United States gradually rolled over me. Alright, mystery solved for me...I doubt I could adequately explain it for anyone else. Perhaps this is mostly because you should go and uncover the answer for yourself! I fell in love with the place. It tasted strongly of plantains, Spanish, and the unique flavors that I love of Hispanic culture, but it was also oddly like home.

"Put your faith in what you most believe in."

The interesting thing about Bonner is that the only thing we all have in common is our love of service. We all believe in service, in the power of community. Other than that, we're all fairly diverse. And as far as service goes, we all have our various reasons for even doing it.
But it's what we do. We all get together and serve. On this trip, we worked at multiple service sites, which is always lots of fun. Different people shine in different places, and it's always exciting to see people shine in places that aren't necessarily in their comfort zone. We spent the first two days working at El Hogar de la Serenidad, a home for boys with substance abuse problems that is trying to get off the ground. People scraped paint off the banisters of the many balconies attached to the house, preparing them to be painted (which we did on our second day there). Others cleaned up the outside, using everything from a power washer that sounded perpetually angry to a very sharp machete, the choice of the Puerto Rican natives. I worked with a couple others on cleaning the six bathrooms. Memorable moment from that service site: I learned what a bidet was in a very close encounter while cleaning one. I'll let Wikipedia explain it for you if you're confused.

It's often hard to do what seem like menial tasks that aren't really helping people. So while we were scraping, sanding, scrubbing, and shearing, we smiled but whispered questions as to why this was so important for us to spend so much time doing. Once I read a mini devotional on a mission trip called "Mopping for Jesus." I don't remember exactly what it was about or what the scripture was that accompanied it, but I do know that it asserted that no act of service is too small. Yes, mopping may feel menial, but you can still do it for God and it won't be a waste: With all this going for us, my dear, dear friends, stand your ground. And don't hold back. Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort. (1 Corinthians 15:58 MSG) I was reminded of this while I impatiently painted and had to pause to consider why I was painting. It wasn't for me. It was for God and it was for the people who would be helping the boys. How can a painted balcony or a clean bidet help boys overcome a substance abuse problem? Shoot. I didn't know, but it didn't matter because it wasn't a waste of time or effort. Later, after posing with an inflatable Santa for a group picture at the end of our time there, we discovered that to get the license they needed to really get started, they had to pass an inspection that focused heavily on an absence of chipping paint (lead hazard?) and on a generally clean atmosphere. I'd say that's proof that our service wasn't a waste for them. And our group got fun bonding moments out of it. It was an experience that made me think about the ability of a mini community within a community to overcome problems and birth fresh starts. Why aren't there more homes like that in South Carolina?

Our third day was spent painting the gate to the school where we were staying. Sorry, I don't have a moving motivation behind that task, but it was a way for us to give back to the people that so graciously let us eat, sleep, and play (yes, we played...I realize we're all 18+. So what?) at the school while the kids were on Christmas break. We battled scattered showers and emerged victorious, although perhaps with a little more paint dripped on us than we intended. The afternoon gave way to "cultural activities"...aka shopping at a strip of kioskos and exploring the Puerto Rican beach.

The next day we drove for hours into El Yunque, the tropical rainforest in PR, to work with a native named Ben on rebuilding a trail up the muddy slopes of the mountainous jungle (Is there any difference between a jungle and a rainforest? The jury is still out on that one...). It was messy work, which I loved, but some of my fellow Bonners did not. Whether or not working outside in the mud was our forte, I think we all had fun with it. I learned so much from Ben. He went to school in California to become a teacher, and even though he is working in a rainforest instead of a classroom, he still finds ways to share his wealth of information with those who are eager to learn. There was somethng very satisfying about swinging pickaxes, hailing logs, and squishing around in the mud once we could step back and see the trail we created. It was even more satisfying when we hiked the two miles up to the end of the trail to see the nests of the Puerto Rican parrots that scientists and other specialists were diligently studying. Technically we built the path for the humans, but essentially, it will help the parrots, too. And that's pretty awesome if you ask me.

When we had finished, I was sad to leave Ben and El Yunque behind. As we drove away, I couldn't help listening to this song:



"Christmas time is here..."

I didn't get to spend the first week of my Christmas vacation doing Christmasy things at home with my family. But what better way to spend that week than serving alongside my Bonner family, thinking about how much mankind needs love?

Does anyone know what Christmas is all about?
Linus asked. And we've been asking ourselves that for so long it seems... Many have decided it's not actually about presents and Santa, but instead about more permanent things like family and traditions. And even though family and traditions are very good things to have around Christmas, it's not actually about those things either. It's much bigger than that. It's about celebrating the Savior that came because mankind isn't good enough. I can't serve my way to heaven, but I can trust in the greatest Servant. And as I painted banisters, cleaned bidets, and laid a trail through the rainforest in PR, I was reminded of why I serve: We love each other because he loved us first. (1 John 4:19 NLT) Whatever I do out of love (i.e. serve), I only do it because He first showed me love and taught me how to love.