Evidence of Grace

VISA IN HAND... the saga!

2012-01-21T12:46:00.000-08:00

*The week before Christmas I applied for my visa to Ghana.

*The Consulate in New York rejected my application because I wrote my address and phone number on DIFFERENT lines (when they should have been on the same line).

*They mailed my passport back and I re-applied just after New Year.

*Again, the Consulate refused my visa because, apparently, my letter of invitation from a Ghanaian govt. official was perceived as "tampered with".

*I re-submitted my letter two weeks before my departure date... cutting it close, but still plenty of time since they were already familiar with my documents.

*The Consulate decided to put my passport aside and simply NOT deal with it; I was waiting for the visa to arrive in the mail while it sat in their office.

*The week of my flight I contacted the Consulate to learn that they were not intending to even look at my application for another week, (unless of course I sent $100 to expedite the process). I have a very firm standard of not giving in to bribes, so I told them I would call back the following day with my decision.

*I decided to expedite the process, but the Consulate refused to answer my calls or return my messages-- for three days. And no courier service would take on the job of picking up my passport from the Consulate unless I supplied a formal release form (which, apparently, needed to come from the Consulate that wasn't answering my calls).

*I cancelled my flight. If the Consulate was true to their word to not even consider my application for another week, I would miss the trip altogether!

*So, FINALLY, yesterday I humbled myself and fasted and prayed about this situation. There is plenty of work to be done if I stay home, but I felt helpless to fulfill my role on the team in Ghana.

*This morning, with no explanation, my visa arrived with a knock at the door. And so, I booked my flight for tomorrow morning (saving $50 in the process because the flight happens to be cheaper than my original AND United decided to waive my cancellation fee!) My flight is scheduled to depart at 7:56am to Accra Ghana via Washington D.C. MISSING NOT ONE DAY OF THE EVENT!

That is a miracle!

The RSA staff headed to Ghana

2012-01-18T04:50:00.000-08:00

Please pray for our Reid Saunders Association team as we split up over the next couple of weeks.

Reid, Carmen, Brett, Shannon, Andy and I will be in Accra Ghana for a pretty fab event! And Karen and Ruth are holding down the fort at home!

A few recent Photoshoots

2012-01-14T06:15:00.000-08:00

Friends from college gave me the opportunity to practice maternity & newborn shoots! Their laid-back attitudes gave us freedom to play and...

... when baby Ainsley made her appearance, we were able to have a relaxed morning in their apartment enjoying her and capturing her cuteness.

Okay, so this session isn't new. I took these pics on the 4th of July in Leavenworth, but haven't yet posted them. Annette lost more that 100lbs and called me to do a little shoot to help her re-create her self-image! What a privilege to spend time walking around Leavenworth with this beautiful woman. She truly shines from the inside, and it was such an honor to be a small part of her make-over process.

One of my highlights of 2011 was the arrival of Otis! My dear friends, Brian & Rainy, opened their home to me during my transition from a life of constant travel to resting and finally finding a place to call my own. During my time in their home they welcomed Otis into the world! Brian & Rainy are wonderful parents, and Otis could not possibly be more delightful. (Here's a lil' blog I wrote about my date nights with him).

One of my favorite sessions of the year was this mother-daughter shoot. S is a mom who made some poor decisions and chose a life of drugs and crime when her daughter was a small child, consequently she lost her girl. At a bottom lower than I can imagine, S met Jesus and He breathed worth and hope into her hard and weary soul. She committed her life to Christ and began the painfully necessary journey to liberation. Today, S has one-hour-a-week supervised visits with her daughter. They meet at a little bagel shop, and slowly-- ever so slowly, begin to build back the trust and connection needed for a relationship. S is patient. She will give her daughter the time needed, and will keep doing the life-work she needs to do. But it was obvious to me, through my hour with them, that the connection formed in the early years is still strong. The love between a mother and her child is powerful. My cheeks hurt from smiling with these two. What a privilege to be able to "capture" their hour together that week!

I med Jeff and Nona somewhat randomly. Two years ago, I was in Arizona and saw these two with their two gorgeous young sons and I introduced myself and asked if I could do a photoshoot of their family. (Some moments you just can't let pass, right?!) During the shoot, I learned that Nona and Jeff had been together for many years, but weren't married. Well, this year they decided to make the commitment! I was so glad they called me to photograph their wedding! I've been to dozens of weddings; and have heard several variations of vows, but theirs was the first that choked me up a bit. Their vows in their entirety: Jeff, "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. We're here now." Nona, "I'm sorry I'm such a pain in the ass." At the reception they invited everyone back next year for their 10-year anniversary!

Thanksgiving weekend I had the chance to soak up some sun during this Arizona wedding! Laura and Jake met as athletes at their Bible college. Laura was a bridesmaid at another wedding I photographed, so when Jake proposed she asked me if I would come take the photos! Of course I would! Jake and Laura know how to have a good time! Their wedding and reception was a ton of fun.

This little guy brightens my day any time I think of him. Jeremiah is the son of my dear friend Amy and her wonderful husband, Patrick! I have never met a happier baby! I can not wait to see how he grows! (Also, I wished I had a video of Amy hopping around like a frog while Jeremiah laughed at her for these shots! Classic!)

Chuck and Sara. These two have been together for many many years, so it was inevitable to hear a lot of "'bout time"s at their wedding. However, after their engagement shoot months before, we sat and talked together. Chuck and Sara were sure for the first time in all those years of being on and off and on and off, they were both ready to give their lives to the other. For some couples it takes years and years, but when the peace is there it is unmistakable. Those are my favorite weddings to photograph! It was a joy to be able to celebrate this wedding day with Sara and Chuck, already seasoned in their love.

My car was dead. (Actually, I had four cars die in 2011, but that's a different point). So this family drove out to my home and let me chase them around the yard with my camera! Their sweet daughter was not interested in me or the camera, so I had the freedom me to wander around them and capture the moment! And look at her adorable curls... so fun to photograph this kiddo! I enjoy meeting young families who are so natural together; it makes me excited about some of the homes the next generation is growing up in!

Hunters and Freedom

2011-09-22T16:28:00.000-07:00

Hunter caught my eye from the dining room window. His mouth stuffed with bird, he was carrying it like a mother cat would carry her young. Except birds don't like to be carried that way.

The yard is littered with carcasses. A squirrel tail here, a bird beak there, half a mouse, mole limbs, part of something that used to be alive. Hunter loves the chase, and sometimes the meals.

It wasn't until I saw him pouncing and swatting that it occurred to me that his mouth-o-feathers wasn't fresh kill, but a living toy. I watched him set the bird on the grass and back up three feet. The bird, motionless. Hunter waited. The bird flipped over to it's feet, terrified to move. Hunter's pupils dilated. When the bird finally gained hope and began to pump it's wings, Hunter pounced again.

I went outside to investigate. There was a margin of chance that the bird could still make it, that a little intervention would set it free from the taunting paws.

Nope.

By the time I invaded the scene the bird's wing was already dislocated and had a gouge underneath. Nature would take it's course. So, I decided to watch and see what I could learn.

I found it easier to relate to the bird than the cat. Not in a victimized sort of way, but understanding that daunting feeling of pseudo freedom.

Insecurity. Depression. Addiction. Fear. All like Hunters toying with us. WE KNOW WE AREN'T REALLY FREE, but we have glimpses-- momentary hope that maybe this time it'll be different and our wings will carry us to safety-- to another chance at life.

The bird was mangled enough to become boring to the cat. When it could no longer flap and fly, but only hobble and cry-- the cat left it to die. (that three-letter-rhyme was not intentional, just poetic residue from the children's books I was reading to Otis this morning).

Maybe on another day, when my teeth are snarling and my claws are out, I'll be self-aware enough to see how I/we also relate to Hunter in this scene. But for now, now that I've just removed a dead bird from the driveway with very similar battle wounds as the one pictured above, I am glad that in our lives. ...In our stories. There is One who intervenes. If we want him to.

We still get wounded in the battle, and we still have to work hard to get away from danger. But, unlike me-- who went inside and grabbed the camera rather than building a wing splint and a safe little bed for birdie rehab, Jesus actually has the authority and the ability to set us free and restore us to life.

And how rewarding it must be for Him to see the redeemed ones flying above reach of the addictions and fears of this world! His words, not mine: It is for freedom I have come, so you can be free!

a few days on the coast

2011-09-19T12:25:00.000-07:00

A big THANK YOU to my good friend Heather, who offered me the keys to her house on the beach while she was out of town! (And she left dark chocolate truffles in the cupboard! mmmm).

Sitting on the beach. Low tide, people walking, silhouettes.
One unsuccessful surfer. Haystack Rock clear and nearby.
Facing the ocean. Watching the moving human forms.
Pants rolled up. Jeans now mid-calf, legs feeling the breeze.
The ocean air cool against my skin.
Goosebumps on my forearms. Sun overhead. Happy.

I love the sound of the tumbling water.
Blue and rolling white and sparkling golden.
The lighthouse. Even the lighthouse is visible today.
Breathe in the sea salt air.
Let my heart play upon the melodies of this ocean day.
These waves are mine. Yet I cannot own them; they are Your possession.
And I am free to Wonder.

(Cannon Beach, Oregon. Sept. 13, 2011)

Quick Tour: August Photo Sessions

2011-09-02T03:25:00.000-07:00

Date Night with Otis

2011-08-17T20:36:00.000-07:00

Date nights these days consist of my housemates getting some time away from the house, and me getting time with their 3 month old babe, Otis. Otis is a sweetheart, and I love our date nights together.

Tonight, he refused his early-evening nap. So we went for a walk outside. As the sun lowered in the sky, ducking beneath the tree tops, a breeze whispered upon us. I removed my slippers and, barefoot, we stood together in the field-- enjoying the wind tickling our faces and rushing through the tall blades of grass.

I reminded Otis that God often speaks to us through whispers carried on the wind, so whenever he feels the breeze against his face he should remember how God loves to be near to us. He sat in my arms, spit bubbles soaking his chin, content. I was content, too. Holding him in the field with the wind filling my shirt and stroking my hair wild.

I grabbed a bag from the house, and Otis' sitting chair and we returned to the yard. I filled the bag with blueberries, plump off the bush. Otis slouched in his chair and every-once-in-a-while made his cooing sounds to let me know that he was happy (a miracle since he was SO TIRED!). Hunter, the hunting cat, bounded after every berry that accidentally fell from my hands, or any bug or moving object that caught his eye-- he's delightful, and also crazy.

When Otis realized that he was hungry, we took another little walk to distract him. We do this often when it's not quite time for him to start the process of going to bed. Sometimes these evening walks are full of tears and kisses (his tears, my kisses). Tonight, though, was calm.

He was glad for a warm bottle, and nearly fell asleep until I stripped him down and gave him a bath. My favorite part of the night... he loves the bath. As I'm bent over him, rubbing baby shampoo all over his tiny body, he looked me in the eyes and smiled so big, making his little "talking" noises with the determined expressions. Smiles and coos. Oh his Mama is a lucky lady! The world melts away in moments like these.

And tonight, after his jammies were on and the light off, I fed him and told him the Gospel story. From Genesis to Revelation. A summary. He sucked on his bottle and listened to the cadence of my voice.

I told him about God's creation and our joyous task to steward it... and then how something went terribly wrong because the man and the woman didn't trust God, believe him and obey him.

Otis kept drinking.

I told him about the Israelites, and God's faithfulness to them even though they, too, didn't trust and obey God. And then the difficult part: their expectation for a king to defeat their enemies. Oh how shallow their vision. Jesus came to a poor, young couple. He came as a baby-- just like Otis.

...at this point we had to backtrack and talk about God's desire for right relationship and the sacrificial system. Otis didn't seem to mind.

Then I told him about Jesus. Otis quit drinking, and smiled. It was precious. Perfect timing. As if he knew better than I do that that this carpenter fellow was the hero of the whole story.

Anyway, we went on with the pattern of God wanting man and being the only real purpose for man's life. And man continuing to lack trust and obedience. We did talk a bit about Revelation. But, honestly, I don't really understand much of that part. I know what a white horse looks like and I know the end of the story is the redemption of the beginning of the story.

At 7:30 on the dot, I put Otis in his crib, patted his back, and he was asleep within 5 seconds. Dear boy. Oh, how I enjoy date nights with Otis! And I think his parents enjoy the date nights, too.

(photo below is just after the failed early-evening nap... so Otis was a little grumpy and unimpressed with us staring at the computer screen.)

Photo Season in Full Swing

2011-08-09T00:35:00.000-07:00

So... Donna, I know you asked me to update the blog. And you meant for something written. I'm sorta following direction. Updated blog: check. Written piece: nope.

I'm currently at the beginning of a steep learning curve to teach myself photography. I want to be better behind the camera. I want to be much better in post-processing. So, along with learning to use my editing software, (something I unfortunately hadn't really bothered to do during my years on the road), I'm looking at dozens and maybe even hundreds of photography websites. Getting ideas. Studying the pictures. Putting together digital files for reference.

Like this one of children and family photographs:

Or this one of weddings:

The beauty of learning photography this time of year is that there are many opportunities to practice! Weddings. Family Sessions. Babies everywhere. High School Senior portraits.

Here's an example of a shoot I did a couple of days ago. A senior session at my house. This kid rolled up in a Porche that was passed on to him when his grandfather died. Of course he wanted pictures with it... and I made sure they were taken down the road, so I could get a free ride.

Next week, one of the senior sessions is with a young man who wants to be photographed with his albino python named Wilfred. No doubt that'll be an interesting shoot.

There you have it, Donna. Thanks for your continued interest in the much neglected blog. I'll get more writing on here eventually...

South Sudan Independence Day Coming July 9

2011-07-06T14:59:00.000-07:00

a 25 minute video following one family as they move from Khartoum in the north, to start a new life in South Sudan. a glimpse into the struggles ahead for citizens of the world's newest nation.

http://english.aljazeera.net/programmes/witness/2011/07/2011757451743960.html

New Photography Website

2011-06-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

I'm still tweaking a few things, but it's ready for launch:

www.andrealaurita.com

Smell It Again

2011-06-06T15:00:00.000-07:00

Spring is in full bloom. Trees are dressed, birds sing, mercy unveils and life emerges. The sun's fingertips brush against us. Tulips awake.

The tulips in our front yard are beautiful! The other day I was so attracted that I couldn't resist walking over and cupping one with my hands, attempting to drink the experience thru my nose.

Nothing.

I wasn't so much disappointed as I was confused: how could a flower so vibrant in color and smooth in aesthetic charm be void of aroma? It doesn't make sense.

Two nights ago, a friend invited me to a modeling gig for a photography class. I was glad to earn a little extra gas money, so I grabbed a favorite bridesmaid dress from my closet and drove to Portland. Really, my friend and I were filler models-- giving the students a subject to shoot until the real pros showed up. It was easy enough. Stand, sit, pose, twist, arch my back-- then the other way, look down, look up.

Once the experienced models arrived, we were no longer interesting. I couldn't blame the students; the models were impressive with their flawless skin and convincing expressions. However, Sam was distracted by the lighting on the bridge and determined to capture it. He found a stray pink and fallen flower near the gravel path and plucked it up, handing it to me.

"Smell it," he said, pointing his camera at me. And so I did.
"Smell it again".
And again.
And again.
And again.

I must have smelled that flower for 30 minutes as Sam snapped and changed his settings and snapped and asked me to step six inches to the left and snapped again.

There was time enough for me to memorize each petal, and to appreciate the yellow stamen and receptacle inside. I breathed in deeply, truly wanting to smell that flower. But the flower had no scent. Neither good nor bad, it did not smell. For all that time I was sniffing the air.

That pink, frangrantless flower Sam found was merely a prop in a scene. To be smelled, but not enjoyed. That is NOT how we are created to be. The Spring is here and we are reborn on the branches. It's time to abide-- to wholeheartedly cling to the tree and let life flow thru us, sustain us, fill us. We were made to be fragrant.

I've lived some exciting moments. Color and adventure. It draws people near, curious-- attracted. But when people breathe me, I wonder if they are merely sniffing the air. Is there is a scent? Oh how I hope it is Hope. Perhaps Faith? Or Love!

As a disciple of Christ, I ought to smell of Him. His fragrance. My life, conversation, responses, example, relationships, if I am truly His, should give off the aroma of my Lord.

The tulips in the front yard are a reminder to abide in the intoxicating life of the branch. That the fragrance of Christ in me will be worth smelling again and again.

Boston or Bust

2011-05-06T17:07:00.000-07:00

2011 Boston Marathon
standing at the 24th mile marker
cheering on people from across the world who had come to run
cheering on Team Hoyt as they walked past
cheering on our military troops walking with their boots and packs
cheering on the young
cheering on the aged
cheering on people dressed as hamburgers and gorillas and Spider man
cheering for people in wheelchairs or with artificial legs
cheering for barefoot runners and bearded runners and bandit runners

a wonderful day to sit or stand on the sidelines
to clap and shout and smile
and to be proud of the human spirit

I was in Boston to visit my friend, Jocelyn. Generously, Joce organized several photoshoots for me in the area. We spent hours caching up with her friends and chasing their toddlers around with the camera.

One of my favorite sites in Boston is the Old Granary Burying Ground along the Freedom Trail. This is the cemetery where Paul Revere, John Hancock, Samuel Adams and many other influencers of early America are laid to rest. Next to Samuel Adam's headstone is the grave marker that memorializes the five civilian men killed in the 1770 Boston Massacre, as well as Christopher Snider (or Seider according to some records), the 12 year old boy shot days before the massacre. Snider was the first casualty in the American Revolution, our country's bloodbath battle for independence.

My first morning in Boston, I woke up with this jingle in my head:
"Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows Your name."

That's when I knew that the one place I HAD to see while in Boston was Cheers!

What a privilege to have a few days in Boston-- a city deep in American history, rich in education, scenic and stacked with American culture! Thanks for the tour, Jocelyn!

30 lessons in 30 years

2011-04-01T01:32:00.000-07:00

thirty. Don't agree to play "Hide and Seek" if you have hiccups or a growling stomach.

twenty-nine. true friends are to be wisely chosen, valiantly treasured, and held with open hands.

twenty-eight. invest in a space-heater.

twenty-seven. from out of the heart, the mouth speaks. Pay attention to a person's words and you will know the current condition of his/her/my/your heart.

twenty-six. give ear to people who think differently than you.

twenty-five. dog food tastes better than cat food. dogs taste better than cats. Go figure.

twenty-four. Courage has countless forms, and is found in the most unsuspecting places.

twenty-three. indifference, rather than hatred, is the opposite of love. It is impossible to hate or to love something that has no value or meaning to you.

twenty-two. Vegemite should NEVER be generously spread with the same bread/spread ratio as peanut butter!

twenty-one. tantrums in adults are ugly, but on occasion it can be extremely liberating to cast (oneself) to the ground before a select audience and claim to be having a crisis about any number if miniscule annoyances.

twenty. Be open to learning from anyone: especially observe children, old people, and yourself in the wake of "failure" -- irreplaceable teachers!

nineteen. Mischief is a spice of life. Weigh the consequences and proceed.

eighteen. Setting expectations is a game of flexibility, often requiring trial & error and a healthy dose of humor.

seventeen. People are more similar than they are different. Looking anyone in the eyes with love, compassion, respect, and dignity is one of the greatest gifts you can mutually give to that person and to yourself.

sixteen. grace is the lubricant of all functional relationships.

fifteen. if someone tells you to be ware of his/her nasty-mean dog... that's not code for "here's a good challenge, try to make a new friend!"

fourteen. facial hair happens. It must be dealt with.

thirteen. laughter, honesty, and time: good medicines for grief.

twelve. Not all leaves in the forest are worthy substitutes for toilet paper.

eleven. If you don't have a clue what people are talking about, it's usually better to just admit it. The exception being: wine tasting, the greater your imagination for the nature dancing across your taste buds the more sophisticated you are!

ten. Having been bitten by a Dogfish Shark, gnawed on by a White Lion cub, punctured by a wild Sulfur Crested Cockatoo, nibbled by fleas, inhabited by larvae, kicked by sheep, and snapped at by alligators-- I've decided that domesticated animals are preferred playmates.

nine. flatulence is trapped inside a burka like it is trapped under bed covers with the sheets pulled over (the guilty party's) head. (unexpected experiential learning on the streets of Kabul)

eight. Not everyone will allow you to help cook in the kitchen, but most people will accept help washing the dirty dishes.

seven. Artists, using their various forms of expression, are often more sincere reflections of a nation's pulse than are the nation's philosophers and politicians.

six. Some things are really hard to explain: Pluto the non-planet, Utopian thinking, fairness and equality, any relation between carbon dating AND new earth theory, the train of diagnostic thought on any of the recent House episodes, the purpose of mosquitos, the meaning of double rainbows, the genius of boomerangs, "Sir" Elton John, the excitement of new romance, the depth of weathered committed love, the recent obsession publishers have with vampires, and paying more $$$ for ripped jeans, to name a few.

five. Addictions, idols, and religion are understandable, but they do not give life.

four. if you bring home a new word, and (hypothetically speaking) try it out at the dinner table and get this response, "WHAT did you say?"... the appropriate thing to do NEVER is to repeat the word with greater volume and surety. (a lesson from my younger years).

three. if you get an obvious haircut and people don't compliment your new look, it's probably NOT because they didn't notice.

two. Cats don't like to be baptized.

one. Faith, Hope, and Love are the truest currencies... they transcend all time, status and culture.

Birthday Celebratorious

2011-03-29T15:39:00.000-07:00

March 18th.
Flo arrived and friends in Portland put together a fun party for my birthday.
I didn't capture the evening in pictures, but did feel honored by their love and effort!!!

March 19th&20th.
We attended a wedding in Kent and had an over-nighter in Seattle.
We had the privilege of enjoying dinner with the Pastors who taught me to value spiritual maturity.

Seattle walk through Pikes Place Market and surrounding streets.

We stayed with my cousins, Johanna & Arlo and their little girl!

...and Meredith caught up with us at Gas Works Park on our way out of town.

March 21st.
6am birthday Skype date! Celebrating the anniversary of my parents becoming parents.

Flo surprised me with a road-trip to Bend, Oregon for snow-shoeing

March 22nd.
On the return West, we stopped at one of my favorite hikes, Angel's Rest.

March 23rd.
A beautiful day for a stroll through Portland.
Appreciating signs of Spring.

March 24th.
Flo left town.
Amanda and her friend spent the night, stopping thru on their way to a conference.

March 26th.
Amy, Patrick and Jeremiah came from Seattle for a birthday visit, and their first family vacation! What a treat to get time with them!

Exceedingly Abundantly More than we Ask or Imagine

2011-03-17T19:05:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is Job 1:21. A man who had lived extreme wealth as well as extreme poverty, (including material possessions, relationship, physical health, etc) says, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I depart. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away. Blessed be the name of the LORD."

At the moment, in our family, we are celebrating the Lord's giving-- exceeding our expectations! We prayed for $5,000 for little Aimee to have a wheel chair. Thanks to generous people hearing of this need thru Facebook networking and news coverage from KOMO channel 4, MORE THAN $23,500 came in! What a reminder of the generosity of people and God's power thru answered prayer! We are grateful that it does take a community to raise a child!

The Prodigal Son's Father, March 14.

2011-03-14T18:06:00.000-07:00

This morning I cherish the fog. I tuck into that moment of quarter wakefulness, when the world is a blur of covers and warmth and two slumbering breaths of peace.

Dawn's beauty yawns but once before my pillow morphs into an angry dragon.

He's gone. Like treasures stolen from the shelf, someone I love is missing. The earth spins wobbly in this preconscious sticky breath. A lingering nightmare slips into my bed, clawing at me with its pinions.

Rouse me to wakefulness! I turn, pulling the covers with me, but I can't shake off the dust of these unwelcome dreams.

He IS gone. Reality invades my sleep, not the other way round. My heart resumes it's aching. Someone I love is missing.

A violent invasion, questions without answers. Sleep was God's mercy. But we are bleeding still today.

The rising sun races me to my open field. From here I watch for him. Day after day after day, I wait for him. My bosom is his cradle. My heart belongs to him.

Wherever you are. Whatever you've done. You're obviously hurting, and void of believing that you are loved. Come home. Come home. These imperfect arms are open wide. Please just come home.

"A Little Girl with No Strength, Providing the Strength for a Whole Family"

2011-03-07T19:04:00.000-08:00

KOMO News Channel 4, one of the major news stations in Washington State, covered a story about my cousin, a need, and the way the community is responding! To find out more and to be involved in helping to meet these medical needs, read the previous blog post... and take a second to watch the quick news coverage below! Please join our family, photographer Erin Cox, and a community of strangers reaching out to care for a beautiful, special child!

Thank you.

A Reason to VOTE!

2011-02-28T15:42:00.000-08:00

Hey, if you have a cute kid... I mean, I REALLY cute kid (3 yrs. old or younger) you should enter a picture of your cutie in this PHOTO CONTEST FUNDRAISER! Today, FEBRUARY 28TH is the last day to enter a picture. Then the voting begins! Votes cost $1 each. ALL the money goes to help my cousins and their beautiful little girl, Aimee.

If you enter your kid, let me know, and I will gladly join the throngs of people who will be voting for your little one. (You might have to let other people know, too. That's kinda how these things work.)

If you don't have a kid, but, like me, you're confident that IF you did everyone else would have to plead no contest, then please check out the adorable faces and place a few votes anyway. Please. The voting lasts thru Saturday, March 19th. If everyone commits $10... that'll go a LONG way, for a very special family whom I happen to dearly love!

Check out the competition!!! Take a couple of minutes to get the picture entered TODAY, February 28th, then you've got three weeks to rally the troops for voting!

February "Family" Reunion

2011-02-24T00:26:00.001-08:00

Ten years ago we lived together on a floating, metal box called the MV Logos II.
Somewhat randomly, this month, a few of us former shipmates reconnected!
Marco and Johnny were each in town for the weekend. And we visited with Sarah and her husband, and Josh and his wife here in the Portland-ish area. We laughed together over memories of the crazy antics of a decade ago. And, we met again as adults with smile lines added by recent years, forging new and different paths than any of us dreamed when we left that ship seasons ago. We were an eclectic group onboard, and our time together recently reminded us of the uniqueness of our bond-- considering our vast differences. The time together also reminded us of the undeniable common thread of gratitude for those years onboard. We became family with shared holidays, shared responsibilities, shared context. This weekend was a small family reunion of sorts, hanging out with Johnny and Marco and feeling thankful for friendships born ten years ago!

Our Holocaust

2011-02-10T12:27:00.000-08:00

My eyes are so blurred right now, I can't really type this.

Here's another video about the sex trade. ...another one. I'm sure you've seen many; it's the latest blitz buzz in social justice. This video is well done, as are many others. This one ends asking "What will you do" without giving us immediate and practical steps to be involved. And we are left to sit with it and feel helpless, again. Sometimes it's easier to not watch. To turn away. Oh, another video on the sex trade, on human slavery, on child trafficking. Watched. Gut-wrenched. Forgotten.

I went to college next to one of the busiest trafficking streets in Portland. For a school article, I had a three hour lunch interview with one of the prostitutes of Portland. She shared with me her story. Her American story. I've talked with prostitutes in Scotland and in Portugal. Women working with the tools they have to support their families. Women, often drug addicted to numb the pain of selling their dignity ten times each night. We aren't made to be commercialized. Our lives, trick by trick by turned out trick are not made for trade or exchange for dollar bills. We are made in the image of God, and we must kill parts of ourselves to live any other lie.

I've been to places where little girls-- LITTLE GIRLS-- are sold for $50USD. For sex. To be used. These girls aren't faces on someone else's video anymore. They're children who thoroughly delighted in kicking my butt at Wall-Ball. They're girls who gave me pause before running my fingers through their hair. Because I no longer knew if an act of love would trigger in them a feeling of being so unloved.

Anyway, my fingers are just typing. I've given this post no premeditation. Tears warm my face and I feel compelled to be impulsive-- at least here, on the blog. But then what? What will I do? That's the question posed by this video. That is a question none of us can dodge. To do nothing, is to choose. We can't strap on super-human capes and go saving everyone of this universal societal evil. This is a perversion so deeply rooted that it's gross income far out-performs those of our combined comforts. And so it will cause a majority of us stepping out of our comforts to fight against it.

I titled this "Our Holocaust" because, though I have given no forethought to the other words on this post, of this I believe: The Holocaust happened because people kept their mouths shut and kept to themselves. Not everyone. But society in general. People didn't ask questions. They allowed themselves to be bullied and gripped by fear rather than standing up together. It happened because people chose to keep their hands clean and to not make a mess of their own situation by polluting it with someone else's problems. And in so doing, they bloodied their hands.

I wasn't there during the time of that notorious little Austrian man and his unchecked disregard for human dignity. I wasn't there, but I do know many German people of my generation (who also weren't there) who still hang their heads low when the history books open. I wasn't there. But I am here.

You are here, too. Today, people with subtle power are getting away with stealing the lives of people whom we don't know and with whom we do not have daily interaction. So, it's not really our problem. Ours, yes. But, mine, no. We each have our own lives to worry about, right? And that is true... for me and for you. But don't believe for a minute that this isn't right under your nose. And don't believe the lie that you can't do anything about it anyway. And please don't think that this isn't deeply scarring our society-- and touching us all, and affecting our children. It's here. And it's not going away on it's own.

There are so many angles in which to attack this beast. And it's in each of our backyards in some disgusting fashion. Many people have given their lives to leading the fight. Many others have lost their lives because the battle is only just gaining momentum. Silence, is a response. But it will not be mine. And my voice is stronger with your voice, and our voices together are stronger still when added to the voices of many others.

What will you do? This is OUR Holocaust.

Vocabulary

2011-01-23T11:49:00.001-08:00

Past posts over the years have been from various countries, and I have felt it necessary to share certain words that I was learning or interesting ways of speaking. I haven't done this from each country, but there have been a couple. Like this, or like this.

Now I'm home. Or, at least the place I come to be with the people with whom I feel most familiar. And I find my vocabulary sluggish and sleepy. Finally, a place where I can speak and be understood without needing to re-explain myself, or use overly-dramatic hand-motions, or wait for the translator to complete the cycle of communication. In this place, more than any other, my clipped vocab. wings should mend and my words should freely fly. Yet this is what my words are often reduced to:

Meh.
Yay.
Bah.
Ugh.
Hmm.
Nah.
Yup.

And the great thing is: people "get" me. It's good to be home.

Pearls. Pearls. Pearls

2011-01-13T12:10:00.000-08:00

On a recent trip to East Asia, I met several young couples who were needing to find creative ways to survive and to continue in work that they felt passionate about, (though not income-generating work, usually). We sat together over lunch and brainstormed possibilities of opening photo-studios or road-side cafes. Everything would need a slow start. Resources were lacking and passions would not be forsaken.

One young couple impressed me with their determination and educational background. They were the kind of people who have momentum! They are just needing opportunity. As we sat together, the idea of selling pearls landed on the table. Two weeks later, a box of pearls arrived on my doorstep.

Without all the properly dotted i's and crossed t's, we are unable to legally sell the pearls. Yet the couple felt it was worth investing all they have to send the pearls anyway. They want to see if there is a market for these pearls in the States, and if so, they hope to begin the legal process of starting a business that might support them.

For now, they have invested. And I have a box full of genuine fresh water pearl necklaces and pendants. Since we did not first create an import/export business, we can not officially sell this lovely jewelry. The East Asian couple offers them for donation only. However, I have some very strong suggestions for what the donations could be.... (what? you might ask! I'd suggest necklaces go for $50USD, and pendants to be $30USD. That would be very very reasonable for our market prices and would help this couple cover the costs of their investment. If you are able to offer more, great!).

So. Pearls. Pearls. Pearls. I have many beautiful pearl necklaces sitting in a box in my room. Pearls are especially beautiful, I think, because they are each unique and formed only through the natural process of time and pressure! That's a good reminder to me to lean into things that are difficult because the refining process brings with it character and beauty. Anyway, that's my tangent. If you are interested in "purchasing" pearls, please contact me. If you are interested in connecting with this couple for the possibility of future support or business, please contact me. If you think I should have taken the time to do my hair and put on make-up before snapping the following mug shots, no need to contact me.

sojourner.arise@gmail.com

All money goes directly to this couple in East Asia. If you would like to include a few extra dollars to help me with any posting/mailing/shipping fees to get the pearls to you, I would greatly appreciate that!

Christmas 2010 & Flo's visit

2011-01-11T16:46:00.000-08:00

Florian Jesske came to visit and share Christmas and New Year in the States with me! Immediately following his arrival, Flo accompanied me to a wedding in Washington. We had the privilege of being part of Sally and Trevor's celebration by capturing the big day in photos! The day was wet wet wet, and the lighting was a bit challenging, but the ceremony was beautifully Christ-centered and the after-party was, as "they" say, EPIC! My camera and I got stuck into the action on the dance-floor, only to turn around at the chants: Flo, Flo, Flo-- and see him gettin' down with the groomsmen!

We blitzed Washington, (thank you Ryan Chisum for the informative, 38-minute Seattle tour!). We were blessed to share each meal with different friends/family during our in two days there.... a big thank you to everyone who made time for us during this quick trip. I love coming home to so many incredible people!

For Christmas, we were with my family in Arizona. I enjoyed watching Flo mix with the family and allow himself to relax and enjoy his time there. One of my favorite afternoons was when the girls ducked out to the Walmart hair salon to get beautified, while the guys grunted and bonded over digging ditches and laying pipe to use rain water to irrigate the garden! Way to go, guys!

We took an overnight family trip to Las Vegas, Nevada. Amanda proved to be a mean $0.05 slot machine "player"! We spent an afternoon walking through the "Body Exhibit" rather than scheming ways to rob the Bellagio. (I was out-voted by the family, who decided that looking at dead people would be a better use of our time...). I loved watching my sister (who is studying Physical Therapy and Athletic Training) gawk at muscle groups and use fancy words to describe how they work together to give us everyday mobility! She was in her element!!!

Flo and me saying goodbye to the fam at the airport!

During the holidays and Flo's visit, we didn't snap many photos. But Flo did pull out his camera for this day trip to see my dear friends Sherri and Thomas. On the way, we stopped at Multnomah Falls. Flo wanted to see the place for the setting of the book The Shack. I had never seen this familiar landmark frozen; it was majestic.

My friend Edith busted-out her camera when we came thru. A highlight certainly was the brief afternoon shared laughing with her family!

In the car... we had a lot of talking time (and the occasional off-key jam-session!) during hours on the road!

The night before Flo left for home, my friend Amber took us to The Rhinelander-- a German restaurant in Portland! After a delicious meal and a break-out session of Edelweiss, which flowed into The Chicken Dance, we moved on. We had an evening of worship together and My Big Fat Greek Wedding, to cap off three weeks of Flo's visit to the States. We are really grateful for the time we had together... don't-blink-or-you'll-miss-it tours of Seattle and middle-of-nowhere-desert in Arizona, and chicken dancing in German restaurants and all!!!

November Photos_ Part One

2010-12-03T00:09:00.000-08:00

November Photos_ Part Two

2010-12-02T10:25:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Oct. 24, 2010: Stream of Consciousness

2010-10-27T10:20:00.000-07:00

Sitting in my car, parked at a cemetery between Hillsboro and Forest Grove, Oregon. The storm outside is hail and lightning and sloppy soaked puddle splashing cars passing by-- completely unaware of me.

Tonight, I have disappeared. Dorothy Fay Knox 1920-1932 is the only headstone I can read from here. Sitting in my car with my headlight affixed to my forehead so I can write. Perhaps this is evidence of my introvertedness. Perhaps sometimes it is good to wander away-- for perspective before entering back in. To be able to disappear is a great freedom. Second to knowing that I am loved and that I am able to respond in love. Tonight, this world feels strange to me. Strange to be.

Headstones in the foreground, cars passing in the background. Again, why? Again, what is the purpose of this?

An ambulance in the distance. The chasm between foreground and background blurs: it is just a moment, a decision, a breath. Life is resilient, gracious and forgiving-- but it is also temporary here. The ambulance is in view; it passes now-- siren, flashing lights-- the cemetery holds its breath.

It's over for them now. Here and now, anyway. They have had their turn, and in turn we are here. Dorothy Fay Knox, age 12. Who was she? Why was she here? The question binds us. Who am I? Why am I here?

Without vision, the people perish. Seems perishing is part of the cycle irregardless of the vision. Or is it?

What if Dorothy Fay Knox had a purposeful life? What if her life impacted other lives, as I'm sure it did. The question becomes at once relevant: Who was she? Why was she here? We are, in fact, bound to each other. The foreground and background are blurred together. Dorothy Fay Knox 1920-1932 was here. Her existence mattered. And in the same way, so does mine.

The contrast between silent gravestones and hurried traffic is obvious. But both are routine. Both are ordinary. Yet, somehow, the question is personal. The answer isn't found in row after row of plotted land, or light after light of rolling cars. Who are we? Why are we here? Why does our existence matter?

As a culture, as a generation, as a timeline in history, we will somehow give an answer. But as individuals we will each, also, give an answer.

Andrea Dawn Laurita. Age 29. I want to live my days on purpose. I want to search out and live out the heart of the One who breathed us into existence.

Sometimes it feels good to disappear; to participate in neither the foreground nor the background-- to catch my breath and momentarily fade into the blur. The rain outside is pounding harder now. Hail slapping at my car all around. It doesn't touch me. I am hidden, protected, held. Without vision the people perish. Tonight, in the blur, my eyes regain focus. Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart. In You I find purpose for this existence. In You, I cannot perish.

Adventures with Donna

2010-10-07T18:59:00.000-07:00

For the second year in a row Donna, a friend from Down Under, has spent her holiday visiting the Northwest. Last year, we ventured to the mountains and to the ocean. This year, we did a little more city siting. Besides driving her to Seattle on tires that should NOT have been on the road (I didn't know... but God protected us and we got 'em replaced), we've been having a good ol' American time. It's fun to show off one of the most beautiful places on earth. And everywhere we've gone, people have been warm and friendly! So many reasons to give thanks! Donna, it's been fun to have you out here again!

Klamath Falls/Crater Lake:

Seattle:

Donna and my friend Amber met in 2009, when I was living in Sydney and Amber flew down to visit. So, we had a little reunion on this side of the world.

And, finally, the condition of one of my tires. EWWWW. Both back tires were in awful condition, but this one was ridiculously dangerous. Thank the Lord for keeping us safe! So thankful for the car! (and thankful to God for providing the money for two new tires when we needed them!)

SCTnow (it's not too late to give!)

2010-10-07T17:12:00.000-07:00

My housemates recently completed a marathon. They do stuff like that.

I live vicariously through them. Tingling with jealousy when they come home drenched in sweat and surging endorphins.

Sigh. Some of us weren't made for marathons.

However, two weeks ago, runners-envy overpowered me. I double-knotted the laces of borrowed shoes and bounded out the door. Mile one was delightful. The steady rhythm joined me like an old, familiar friend.

Minute 18, when feelings of invincibility and humility begin their waltz, my knee gave up. Predictably. I hobbled home.

I've finally accepted that membership in the "I've run a marathon for a good cause" club is too lofty for me. Some of us won't check that box. And, although marathons are out of reach, there are still endless ways we can fundraise.

On Saturday, October 2, a few friends and I did a little walk with Stop Child Trafficking Now (www.sctnow.org). SCTNow tackles child trafficking, fighting for the 2 million-plus kids currently enslaved- in the USA and globally.

What I like about SCTNow is that they focus on funding and facilitating a bold approach that addresses the demand aspect of child sex trafficking. This organization targets buyers/predators for prosecution and conviction. By partnering with local authorities, many of the trafficking "businesses" are crippled, forced further underground or eliminated entirely.

Last year, when I was in Cambodia, I met several girls who had been "rescued" from sex slavery. The most powerful story I heard, though, was of Mom. Mom's mom sold her for $50USD to a neighbor who had promising contacts for a waitressing job in the city. Her mom, illiterate, signed the papers without question. Mom traveled to the city in her school uniform, the finest clothes she owned.

The story takes a predictable turn. Mom, the little girl from the poor family in the slum, is fed and trained by her new employers. She never once worked a waitressing job.

However, someone snitched on Mom's boss. An organization pressed so hard that the police finally raided the brothel. Mom became a rescued girl.

Today, Mom is a trained social worker committed to helping the families of her slum community.

Please participate by giving financially to SCTNow.

My goal is to raise $1,000. I'd like to finish the fundraising efforts by Oct. 9th.

From Cambodia, Mom and her husband function as the only dental practice available to several communities in the Phnom Penh slums. Mom continues to teach classes for children and parents... sharing knowledge that will actively prevent the cycle of child trafficking.

Please join me in this opportunity to fundraise for SCTNow and help with their effort to fight child sex slavery. You can donate by going to my donation site. (There you'll see a pic of Mom!)... or by writing a check to SCTNow. This is a worthy cause.

If you want to send a check:
payable to SCTNow, write "Andrea Laurita" in the memo line, and mail to SCTNow, 414 West 51st Street, Lower Level, New York, NY 10019.

It was a privilege to be able to walk... more-so to be able to join with others in stepping to the heartbeat of justice for more than 2 million kids in sex slavery. It was a short walk. $1,000 is a small goal. But this is something we can do!

Thank you for your support.

Andrea

some of the walk crew!

Rose

2010-10-07T16:11:00.000-07:00

A few pics of a woman I love. She's just turned 91 years old, and is going strong. She can whip up a mean Italian meal. She can hold her own at cards. She can make me laugh. She's beautiful. She's my grandma. And I'm proud of her!

Backpacking the North Cascades

2010-07-29T21:11:00.000-07:00

Meredith and I scurried through the foothills of the beautiful North Cascades National Park this week. She has done nearly 20 backpacking trips near Yosemite, and was itching to go again. I had never been backpacking, but had always wanted to go. This trip was a bucket list check off. A dream come true. We set up camp at Thornton Lake, and awoke each morning at 4am to climb for a view of the yawning sun arise and stretch out across the mountains. Majestic.

As we hiked, I asked God to teach me. These are a few lessons I'm bringing home:
1) sometimes it's essential to the journey to STOP and lift your eyes to take in the whole view.
2) God rarely screams or shouts, His is a still, small whisper. Those who really want to hear from him will quiet themselves and listen. This, too, is where freedom lives.
3) We all hike the journey differently, for various reasons. I charged uphill, but limp down-- because of the tendonitis in my right knee. Meredith plows downhill, but inches her way up-- because she had a bit of a cold and her lungs weren't 100%. This parallels life. Be slow to criticize and quick to understand. We're all made for the hike; and for each of us it will present its own joys and struggles.

Without further ado-- backpacking pictures:

Paris in 48 hours

2010-07-13T18:34:00.001-07:00

So... I was gnarly sick in Paris. But still managed to see a few things with my wonderful roommates. We didn't get any pictures of me laughing at the floor on the crowded subway, but we did get a couple of snaps of the sights.

Eiffel Tower! If I wasn't trying to keep my stomach in, I would have wanted to climb up. That's the stuff Bucket Lists are made of!

Watching the Germany vs. Spain World Cup match. R & B decided to stay with me in the hotel lobby rather than go watch it on the big screen at the Eiffel Tower with the crowds. Good friends.

French cheese experiment.

crowded into our little elevator. Three people, 250 kg limit.

The Louvre

Notre Dame

Le Arc de Triomphe

From my limited experience, French people are kind and helpful!!!!

V + E

2010-07-05T15:58:00.000-07:00

You know there's a special connection between people when they can go eight and a half years apart and pick up as if they had seen one another last month. Vicki and Emmanuel weren't married last time I saw them. They had plans to marry, but in January 2002, they were still just an English girl and a French guy hoping to make a life together. That's when we saw one another last. And there hasn't been much contact between then and now. Today, they have two children together-- two beautiful boys. Emmanuel's thick French accent is accented by a strong British intonation and pronunciation. And Vicki is still fluent in French, of course, (as well as English, Dutch, Italian, and German).

I've only had a couple of days to enjoy their family. But it has been an absolute treat to catch up. Funny thing is, though we look through photo albums and share stories from the last 8+ years, it feels like we haven't really lived apart. There's a special connection, a bond many of us from the ship share, that has graciously carried us on parallel paths to bring us into a renewed friendship regardless of the days and months and years and distances that have separated us.

Vicki and Emmanuel. Being with you again has been a pleasure. Thank you for the connection that makes it possible to feel like family, to feel like a special friend, even after so many years apart.

Five Minute Celebrity in Paris

2010-07-05T14:36:00.000-07:00

Getting to my destination in the south of France proved to be the second craziest travel experience of my life, (the first remains fairly untouchable in comparison... that is another story entirely).

I'll spare you the play by play, but due to an hour delay and then the train I was on not finishing it's route and me (everyone onboard) needing to switch trains in Germany to get to Paris-- I missed my connection in Paris. So, once I got to Paris, tired and sweaty (as the air con wasn't working on the train and this is July) I learned that my new connecting train was at a different station. I actually love these situations, where nothing goes according to plan and I get to learn something about my own character. Fortunately, Flo had lovingly packed me a sandwich for the journey, so I had some strength to carry my own body weight (no exaggeration) of luggage (books for learning German and my fat camera were the bulk) up and down a bazillion flight of stairs.

Anyway, I didn't know how to get to the metro to catch a ride to the new train station. (Though I did meet a lovely American couple who gave me their day-pass metro tickets for free). Three French dudes wearing fatigues and clutching guns were chatting outside. With nothing to lose, I approached and asked for their assistance. They tried to explain the directions to me with limited English vocabulary. One was pointing this way and that, but not finding the words to put with his gestures. Another gave up. The third made a decision and with a grunt they agreed. Moments later, they these armed men were escorting me through the crowded station and down the street. Two walking silently in front of me, and one gripping his gun as he walked behind me. People stared, but didn't recognize me (of course). All four of us found it amusing, and these gentlemen were happy to pose for a picture once we had arrived at the metro.

That wasn't my final destination for the day. The travel saga continued and in the end I hopped on yet a different train that I had no ticket for and hoped they wouldn't throw me off at some random stop along the way south. I arrived just fine, but only after having been treated like a celebrity (or criminal, but I prefer the first option) for five minutes in Paris!

General Germany

2010-07-04T16:54:00.000-07:00

(not all photos taken by me)

next few pics of remaining sections of the Berlin wall (with the ends covered in chewing gum). When I was in Berlin in 2001, there was a distinct difference still between east and west of the wall. West being skyscrapers, east being quaint & village-esque. Today there is no notable surface-level difference; sky scrapers are being constructed and already dominate the skyline where the wall remnants serve only as a mark of history.

Go with the Flo

2010-07-04T15:13:00.001-07:00

Three weeks in Germany. Making memories with my friend, Florian!

Remembering Peter

2010-07-03T05:44:00.000-07:00

Some people are stickier than others. My 10-year high school reunion, for example, was full of meeting people all over again. Vaguely familiar faces floating like a fog through the room, names to re-learn after a decade of forgetfulness-- just for the evening and to be forgotten again.

I met Peter after high-school, while we were living on the Logos II. Peter was no fog. He was a beaming light. I don't just say that because he's now gone. I would've told you then, when we were friends. But, if you'd have met him, you would've known it too. He was sticky. A self-professed "waffler". He could talk for hours, with great enthusiasm, about just about anything. Expressive blue eyes, thin wavy blondish-brownish hair, hands that couldn't stay in his pockets for very long. He loved people. I was 19. He was 34. I was 20. He was 35. I was 21. He was 36. And somewhere in the course of time and random conversations, which lasted far longer than either of had intended, I knew that he loved me-- simply because I was a person.

Months later came news of his sudden and terminal cancer. I remember taking long prayer walks through the neighborhoods surrounding Multnomah, begging the Lord to heal him. I remember reports of him singing through the pain, as his newly married and pregnant wife stayed by his side. I remember weeping, because I loved him. Because he had loved me. Because I was a person.

I remember him briefly, not for lack of memories, but because each time I think of him my thoughts quickly turn to His Savior. Jesus made Peter Capell sticky. Peter's blue eyes, his whirlwind hands, his generous smile, his clumsy yet gracious way are vividly seared into my mind. Some people are beaming lights in a foggy room. The very memory of them causes us to be stickier people in our own lives. Whenever I think of Peter Capell, I walk a little stronger and with a greater desire to be a woman who loves people well.

http://www.petercapell.com/Peter_Capell/Biography.html

Sea Legs No More

2010-05-15T23:16:00.000-07:00

This season in the Caribbean has come to an end, (for me, anyway... the ship is still there... www.omships.org). But, not before I redefined the term "sea legs". Sure, I can walk around on a vessel that's pitching and rolling. I may look a little intoxicated getting from point A to point B, but it's fair to say I've had some practice. However, during my final voyage of this tour, I decided to use a brand spankin new razor... one of those cheap disposable kinds, rather than the ol-- push as hard as you can and go over the same spot twelve times because the blades are dull dull dull-- kind. During the voyage, mind you. While the ship was pitching and rolling, I went to work on leg number one. And, the result was a new definition of the term "sea legs". It looked like I had been run over by a lawn mower. So, this season has come to an end. Walking on stable ground again. But the scars may last a lifetime!... sea legs indeed.

Confession

2010-05-02T14:39:00.001-07:00

Reflecting on these last three months in the Caribbean, I see what a rich season this has been! I have felt alive day after day. What a privilege to --together-- be involved in this work. Yet, in the midst of the gladness this morning, my heart ached in the way the heart does when compromise has come somewhere along the road. I felt that pinch in my gut that only hits when the grunt of arrogance has trumped the still small voice that calls me "Beloved" and shows me where to step.

And so I must confess that in the midst of all the speaking and radio interviews and connecting and befriending and such, I've missed something so vital.

When I arrived in Jamaica, my suitcase was full of goodies to give and books that had been given, to read and give away. It was heavy! In the first week, I sensed that I was to put these books aside, and focus on the Word--- the Bible-- the text entrusted to us as an authority to submit our lives under and to help us fall in love with the endless heart of God. But I didn't. Sure, I read my Bible routinely. But the hunger, the surrender-- the absolute love affair grew stale. Instead, I've read some fantastic books over the last three months. Instead, I explored the bookshop on the book ship and made a few purchases. Instead, the pile of printed papers representing wisdom and story and insight doubled on my desk.

Reading good books is a good thing. Life is full of good things. But, as I reflect on these three months, and marvel at God's evident grace, I must face the stubbornness of my soul. How is it so easy to proclaim Christ with my lips and not submit to him in my heart. I've read some fantastic books over these months, and I've enjoyed them, but I must now confess that this has been a compromise. I've missed something so vital.

A Day Off In Bermuda

2010-04-25T23:45:00.000-07:00

Wednesday was to be my day off. So, the 10 days in Bermuda leading up to the big off day, I asked loads of local people where they recommend I spend the day. It was nearly unanimous: Horseshoe Bay. The island's best beach, as they said.

So, Wednesday rolled around and my friends Flo and Rosy and I jumped on the bus on our way to Horseshoe Bay.

We got off the bus a few stops too early and found our way to a lesser known beach-- where we were almost completely alone. Below are the pictures of the morning there:

Eventually, we made our way to Horseshoe Bay. As we walked there, I was expecting great things-- we had spent the morning exploring one of the most beautiful beaches my eyes have seen, and apparently this wasn't the best Bermuda had to offer.

We arrived at Horseshoe and laughed:

Last night, as I spoke to a church group, I told them that I had learned one thing about the people of Bermuda: They're clever. They send all of the tourists to one beach and keep the best secrets to themselves. They laughed and gave me a knowing look.

Beautiful beaches, even more beautiful people. Bermuda has been a treat!

And, what would a post from Bermuda be without including this?...
It's not a joke. Bermuda shorts, with knee socks, loafers and a blazer over collared shirt is the consistent office attire. God bless 'em!

Bucket List: Check One

2010-04-17T10:07:00.001-07:00

In December, my friend Amber took me to a performance in Portland called "The Singing Christmas Tree". Overall, it was a great show complete with a fantastic orchestra, and what I was convinced was a sack of flour as baby Jesus. Santa came, talented singers performed, etc. It had the feeling of a gigantic Baptist Church Christmas event. As the show came to a close and the audience sat at the climax of the evening, a startling guest appearance was made by a winged woman floating and flapping above the manger scene.

Amber jumped in her seat. I started laughing. I do believe she was meant to be the icing on the cake, but she was rather unnerving and very distracting from the mood they had worked so hard to create.

Amber took a picture, and I set it as my Facebook profile. Committing myself to someday hang on the stage in front of an unsuspecting audience, but to do it well... with meaning and purpose; this immediately went on my Bucket List.

As of last night, Bucket List item #10: Check!

330 teenagers crowded into a theater for a three hour event. There were well performed dramas, a few dances, many groups, a band, a rapper or two, a few testimonies, etc. It was a good night. My role was to talk about Missions! My spot was near the beginning of the program, as many of the other pieces were to build on from there.

We had such a blast!!!!! We talked about mission, the audience and I. We laughed. We got to know each other a little bit. And then something unexpected happened, the curtain parted. A bosons chair was suspended, and the audience tried hard to follow what I was saying... their curiosity clearly shifted to the plank of wood. I stepped back, sat down, and a bunch of muscled men backstage (deckhands from the ship) hoisted me into the air. From there I talked with them about perspective, and how missions brings new perspective-- when you step out and are willing to try new things. You get to see the world, the Church, the Lord in new ways, wonderful ways. We talked about faith and dependence and trust... and how it would have been a whole lot easier to stay on the ground, on my own two feet, rather than needing and trusting those guys back stage to hold me up. Stepping into missions brings a new set of risks and dangers, and requires a greater dependence and faith than ever before.

I should have taken a picture, the audience was so beautiful from up there!
Afterward, several of the kids sat with me and talked about missions, faith, dreams, fears.

Memorable: check. Meaningful: check.

Thank you, creepy hanging angel lady, for your inspiration!

8:16 Arrivals

2010-04-12T18:34:00.000-07:00

At approx. 8:16, this very morning, we, the crew & guests onboard the MV Logos Hope, bunkered at St. George, Bermuda. And several hours later, full of fuel, we swiftly cruised on to our destination: Hamilton, Bermuda. We made it! The Bermuda Triangle didn't swallow us whole. In fact, late at night, when the salt sticky sky is speckled with endless stars, the sea comes alive with an equally fantastic display. Algae, irritated by the ship, flicker in flashes like florescent fireballs of emerald green! All around the ship, a fireworks show of brilliant green light emerges in quiet crackles on the water's pitch-black surface. Ahhhh incredible. Nearly impossible to capture with the camera, but honestly, I wasn't even tempted to try. Some things just can not be caught.

At 8:16am, Wednesday, March 31, Kenzie Madelyn Damon was born, the first child to my cousins Jennifer and Kirk. She's pretty stinkin' cute if you ask me!!! Without further ado, pictures of Kenzie:

Overcoming Old Fears

2010-04-07T20:08:00.001-07:00

As a kid, I didn't like to read aloud. So, I didn't.

I think it stemmed from a comment made by my second grade teacher. In a parent-teacher conference, (which made it's way back to the house), she named areas where I was exceptional: talking and listening at the same time at the top of that list, to her amazement and frustration. She also rattled off one thing I wasn't: Reading Out Loud. So, I quit. As any self-conscious eight-year-old with perfectionist tendencies would do, right?

For the remainder of my time in school, when it came to reading aloud in class, I'd opt to skip. If skipping a turn wasn't allowed, then I'd urgently have to go to the bathroom right about the turn of the reader two persons ahead of me.

When excusing myself wasn't an option, (and it usually was if I looked desperate enough), I'd do something just before reading time to ensure that I was either in trouble, or playing teacher's aid. Both did the trick. Sitting on the cold floor outside the classroom was just as satisfying as asking the school receptionist to make copies. Either way, I was free from reading to an audience.

My first year in college, at age 21, I made a conscious effort to change. It was ridiculous to allow one constructive criticism from a wonderful 2nd grade teacher to restrict me.

Though slow, I didn't have issues with silently reading. And I didn't dislike public speaking. So, what was my problem????

First, I practiced reading to myself. I practiced and I practiced. From class syllabi to Revelation, I whispered and paced in my dorm room.

Whenever we read aloud in class, well... I wasn't one of the first 25 people to volunteer, but if I was called upon: I read. With sweaty palms and nervous knees, I read. Convinced that I was utterly pathetic. Committed to working through it.

I practiced on safe people. Usually using Bible text, I'd stammer through paragraphs in confined and confident settings. And eventually, I began to raise my hand. It was deliberate. Knocking knees and sweaty palms still.

This week, via e-mail, Captain Pat Tracy asked me to record my voice reading the blog post before this one. He wanted to use it for a presentation to a leadership something something he's involved with soon in Europe. Could I please just read the blog post and send him the mp3 file?

My automatic response to most things is YES. And I usually am happy and eager to do it. But I didn't want to do this. (Sorry Pat, clearly you read these posts.) I thought of how busy my days are, and we're sailing to Bermuda soon, and all the reasons I couldn't do it. And when those seemed truly lame. I thought of all the reasons it shouldn't be MY voice. Wouldn't it flow better if Pat just read it himself? Or, I could ask one of a few people on the ship who would be EXCELLENT at this... (such a little thing, I know, I know).

Then, I did it. This morning. Pat's request was affirming and simple. I woke up and told myself that I must just get it done. And, you know what??? It was so fun! The sound tech guy said that he has some other scripts that he needs read for a few video projects and he wanted to know if I was available. Are you kidding me??? Of course!

All of those stupid after-lunch hours sitting on the cold floor in the hall of three of my three elementary schools seem so silly to me now. But there you have it. It's never too late to step up and face an old fear. You may even enjoy it and find a new strength in the process!!!

Three Hours Easter Morning

2010-04-04T20:42:00.000-07:00

We finally staggered down the gangway at 6:15am, after Brad ran back and ironed his shirt. The sun still missing from the morning sky, bagpipes in the distance played "Amazing Grace". Easter morning 2010. Amazing Grace, indeed.

My insomnia is acting up again, so I had fallen asleep at 4:20 that morning, making it easier to get out of bed at 5:15-- as I hadn't yet achieved a deep sleep.

With Brad's shirt now wrinkle free, we mumbled good mornings to the port security-- mere manly shapes in green fatigues at that hour. We piled into the once white van and drove in what would have been complete silence, with the exception of "Uncle" Randy's enthusiastic story telling at every building passed and bridge crossed.

That's how Easter Sunday began. Randy, a former missionary on the island. Seven members of Logos Hope's drama team. And me, a tagalong with a fancy camera.

By 9:15am we were back on the ship, ready for breakfast before the ship's church service at 10.

We had gone to Atlantis, one of the most luxurious resorts in the world. A place where nightly room fees range from $500 - $25,000USD.

Before the drama group ascended the stage, a local pastor asked those in attendance on the Royal Lawn where they came from. Europe? No one stood. None from South America. Nor from Asia. He didn't even ask about Australia or Africa. A sprinkling were locals. A few Canadians in the mix. The obvious majority were USAers.

The crowd was seemingly expectant of nothing. Face by face, Row after row of limited edition tight polite smiles-- nothing genuine, nothing free.

I grabbed the drama group and pleaded with them, "Prepare your hearts. Today you're going to minister to MY people. And they need to know Jesus." Some smirked, but something shifted. Jitters about performing in front of fame and fortune faded. They saw the desperation in my eyes. When they walked on stage, they were focused. Fantasies of the moment gone, these young people-- each from continents other than North America-- were full of compassion.

It was an eight minute pantomime. By minute 4, I scanned the crowd again. They were focused, too. The man on stage, the one in white clothes, was dramatically getting the snot kicked out of him. People knew it would happen. C'mon, if they were up this early for an Easter service, they've read the story! Not one person shifted in his seat. The crowd warmed. Compassion was rising on them.

Here are a few pictures from those precious three hours before we stomped back up the gangway this Easter morning.

(and six pics on location)

Linda (Sweden)

Lilian (Chile)

Francios (South Africa)

Ripples of Hope Hit Haitians in Nassau

2010-03-29T11:56:00.000-07:00

Last night nearly 400 Haitians crowded into the Hope Theater onboard the ship, Logos Hope. (We're now in Nassau, Bahamas, the most popular tourist destination in the west.) In typical Sunday fashion, they were dressed to the nines. Little girls wrapped in white satin dresses, gloved hands and intricately braided hair. Men suited in three pieces. A room dotted with ladies in big brimmed hats, clutching their Gucci and Coach label purses.

The congregation belted my life's soundtrack hit song "All in All". I bathed in each word as the Creole version poured from the hearts of men and women who have been personally affected by the recent earthquake in their home land. Men and women who have lost family and friends; men and women who have walked the dusty streets of a place I've only touched through prayer. A chorus of men, women and children searching for Answers, or clinging to Promises, or most (most likely) finding footing somewhere in between, sang. "Jesus, Lamb of God, Worthy is Your Name" filled the theater, and tears filled my eyes.

Then we sat and watched the following video. And following the video, the audience erupted in cheers and lifted their voices in unison with the crowds on the screen. There is hope in Haiti! And I felt the ripples of THAT aftershock in a little ship theater, among 400 Haitian immigrants in the Bahamas last night.

Once Upon a Time

2010-03-21T09:16:00.000-07:00

After eleven long years of waiting, once upon a time, a beautiful 29 year old princess named Susan-- and her handsome prince husband, Larry, brought their first little munchkin into the big-wide world. The kiddo came early (the one and only time in her life). There were two reasons for this premature entrance. Scenario: princess Susan and prince Larry were eating chocolate pudding with cousins Annette and Ed, who had just discovered the up-and-coming arrival of their sweet Jennifer.
1) chocolate pudding.
2) excitement about Jennifer's existence (kinda like John the Baptist leaping in Elizabeth's womb?!...)

That was 29 years ago. Today, prince Larry and princess Susan live in the desert. Jennifer is now expecting her own up-and-coming girl (SO SOON!!!). And little munchkin, whom they called Andrea Dawn, hasn't changed a bit... except for maybe a mane of hair on her head... Everyone is living happily ever after...

... here are a few pics from the birthday girl's celebrations today:

my new friend, Megan. She's Canadian, but she lives in Barbados, eh!
She changed her plane tickets so she could stay on the island a few extra days just to celebrate my birthday... fun stuff!

VIP passes to Kirk Franklin, etc...
backstage passes: free.
dancing onstage to "Stomp" in front of 40,000 people: priceless

Thursday, March 11, 2010

2010-03-11T18:46:00.000-08:00

Today, I was bed-ridden. Not because I was too sick to do anything, not at all. But because I was too contagious to be around people. So, I stayed home and slept-- hopeful that 24 hours off my feet would cure me. Today was the last of our 13-hour-plus days of intensive training for potential OM missionaries who have come from across the Caribbean. Most of my teaching sessions were finished, so it was fairly easy to pass off today's final afternoon interview. Still, I would have liked to have finished strong.

The trainees were probably relieved I wasn't there to practice the experiential-learning antics I had prepared for this day. Each day this week, each time I stood to teach, a dreadful sigh hung over the room, yet closer inspection revealed eyes dancing with delicious anticipation... a mixed message I feasted upon!!! Here's a picture of the 16 orientation participants (hailing from 7 Caribbean nations; 7 from Jamaica!):

Speaking of today and being bed-ridden: One of my dearest friends spent her March 11th in the horizontal position as well. After a long and incredible labor, at 7:32am, Cheree Hayes and her handsome husband, D'Arcy, welcomed Miss Miracle DeCelie Denise Hayes into their family. She is absolutely a miracle, a breath-taking "miracle of Heaven".

Thank you, Auntie Amber, for sending these pics so soon!

Also, congratulations to Missy and Chris on the birth of their first, this very day: Caleb Christopher Takano
And to Stacy and Josh on the birth of their first son, also today: Simeon Caleb Mathews

PHEW what a day!!!

People Profiles

2010-03-04T21:03:00.000-08:00

I met Hussain while I was staying in Montego Bay, one of the prime tourist destinations of the island. Our first conversation was about marijuana. Hussain's father is a real rasta... devoted. He hasn't cut his hair in 40 years... dreads down to his knees. Hussain learned to smoke from his dad. It's the first thing both of them do in the morning. Get high. Smoke a joint. Take a spliff. The daily sacrifice to Yah, as Hussain calls it. This is rasta religion, true blood!

I had several opportunities to chat with this soft-hearted, shy, 19-year-old surge of promiscuity. We went to lunch one day and he explained to me why he hates Christians. They're liars and thieves, according to him. But he liked me, so that was good! Hussain is the baby of his family. A Mama's boy, no doubt about it. I snapped these photos in 15 minutes, squished within the hectic schedule I've embraced. Hussain took two busses for two hours, then waited another nearly two hours for me to finish a meeting just for those brief moments. I was shocked when I found out he had come so early and with such effort. His Mama moved to New York that morning, running after her American dreams. And he just needed to see someone.

This is a tender-hearted young man. He runs with the stupidest crowd. The kind bound for nothing promising. And he's a natural follower at that. But this one, Hussain, he's a diamond in the rough. And I pray that one day he believes it!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mike and Alice Watson are from Portland, Oregon. Well, not originally... he gots Louisiana written all over him, but they're from P-town, none-the-less. They've been missionaries in Kingston, the capital of Jamaica, for the past 3 years.

I didn't know the Watson duo before I arrived. We just met. But, they're supported by one of the churches I attended when I was in college, and coincidentally, I was at their commissioning service!

Mike and Alice met in the summer of their lives. He was 41. She was 36. They dated for two months before running off together to marry. That was nineteen years ago. Being a missionary to Jamaica has been Mike's boyhood dream-- sort of. He dreamed of a land that looked like this, it wasn't until he and Alice came to Jamaica for vacation that he knew Jamaica was the place. He fell in love. They came back. And God has been providing for them in big and small ways since. They're working with kids here, trying to capture the hearts of the future of this fatherless land. And the kids are coming- as kids do.

"You're beautiful," Alice says to every girl she meets. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." Mike was quick to remind her of this mantra as we met one morning for a walk in the park, camera in tow.

Each day of the week, the Watsons go to a different neighborhood. Ghetto neighborhood, to specify. They go places where they need the gang-leaders' permission to be. That's where the kids are-- the fatherless, ghetto kids. So that's where you'll find Mike and Alice, three years strong and counting!

Welcome to the world

2010-02-23T12:47:00.000-08:00

Last week, my cousin Johanna and her husband welcomed their first child into the world!

It amazes me how a family can be so complete, and suddenly the capacity grows with a new addition. I've felt this as each of my cousins has married, and now as many of them are introducing the next generation into the world. We are richer-- more full, like a new dimension is added and we open up the circle to embrace each new life, knowing that this life is inseparably woven into ours. The moment she was born, we would never again be complete without her. Welcome to the world, Signe Miller. I can't wait to kiss your little face!

And... that very same day: Congratulations to my good friends Rachel and Patrick on the birth of their 2nd boy-- Amos Daniel. PW and Rach, you are wonderful parents. Hooray that little Amos is safely here!

A Captive Audience

2010-02-21T07:10:00.000-08:00

This is a picture taken of me preaching a couple of days ago:

And these are pictures taken of my audience:

So... on a scale of 1-10, how captivating was my delivery????!!!!
These pics made me laugh out loud when someone sent them to me this morning. I tried to tell myself that these kids are most likely malnourished and live in difficult situations and it WAS after their bedtime... but still...

The Gates of Haven

2010-02-17T20:03:00.000-08:00

Ms. Grant hasn't had a day off in six years.

She directs West Haven Children's Home in Jamaica. A house of 81 severely physically (and usually mentally) disabled "children". The kids are between the ages of 5 and 31 years of age. Each with his own personality. Each with her own story. Nearly all abandoned at West Haven's gate within the first years of life. Ms. Grant, a registered nurse, wanted to make a difference in her world and with her training. She knows every child's name and character, she laughs with them, shakes her hips to the boombox beats with them, scolds them, teases them. She has a staff of 53: Childcare workers, Laundry room queens, cooks, physical therapists, teachers and a day and night gate guard.

Ms. Grant admits that diapers don't get changed as often as they should. They simply don't have the money. Currently, one of the three washer/dryer sets is working, the on-sight school is closed, and she nags her staff to switch off the lights during the day. "The government gives us a stipend," she said, "but because we're a charity, they expect us to bring in our own funds. I will knock on doors until I'm out of breath..." she shrugs her shoulders and lowers her eyes, as if to say 'but I'm only one person'. She turns the conversation and tells me about all of the contributions West Haven does receive; she boasts about the churches investing in the facility. Her office door barely opens because of garbage bags full of donated clothes. She is radiant as speaks of kids who have been adopted, who never spoke a word at the home, now talking-- thriving in their new settings. She stays positive.

She's not at all particular about who comes to visit-- as long as they're there for the kids. Ms. Grant is giving herself to these beautiful lives formed and bound in twisted bodies. She's got fight in her and she's battling for the kids. But, Ms. Grant hasn't had a day off in six years, and she's tired.

Trudy and I are the same age!!!

Compliments from the Rasta Man

2010-02-09T11:30:00.000-08:00

The first week conversations were exciting, educational, invigorating. Even the 50-ish year old guys who proposed marriage stayed a while and we laughed and chatted after I refused them. Everything felt new. Me to this place. This place to me. This week gone felt so stale in comparison. Conversations with people-- not all, but most-- felt numb. Ugh. Perhaps it's because I've been swimming in the shallow end with my heart and God this week. So of course the world would taste a little more stale. Noisy kids would perhaps feel more like chaos and disorder than explosions of beauty and promise. It should be easy to love the 20 year old fellas fetching to get some... they don't intimidate me; they're my sister's age! But I haven't been alert enough to penetrate their sexual advances and call them out: brothers living a few layers beneath their macho shells. Meh. Even writing this blog feels like a purge rather than an extension.

Today, however, I had a moment. Just a small thing, but it was one of those moments that brings perspective.

A new friend-- a Jamaican lady, offered to drive me to Ocho Rios where the waterfalls are. Today we went. As I climbed up the falls, she sat and chatted to her acquaintances.

When I reached the top of the waterfall, my new friend was not in sight. I looked through the Canadians and Americans and Italians and Brits-- white-wrapped people everywhere, no Jamaican friend.
A local guy, who kindly took a photo for me, called to a scraggly, dreadlock-headed guy who was watching the crowd commotion. I had noticed this shaddy-looking man observe the tourists: he had seen me a help lady twice my age and size fumble up the falls. He and I had made eye-contact then, about 20 minutes before. "Hey Rastaman. Where de lady go?" the local man asked as he pointed to me.
"Me dunno" said the Rastaman, as he stood and approached.
"Okay, Okay" I said, so both men knew I was still settled in my skin and wasn't going to start acting like a lost child in a mega-store. "I'll find her."
I headed back toward the carpark-- sure I would find my friend, but preparing myself for alternate options.
"Christian. Hey Christian!" words tumbled after me.
I turned. Through the crowd, the Rastaman was hunting me with his words, but he wasn't in pursuit.
Our eyes met again and we both smiled warm.

That was all. He wanted me to know that he knew my identity. I doubt he knew that he was speaking life and purpose into a weary soul. It was a moment. Just a small thing, but it was one of those moments that brings perspective.

Two Weeks in Jamaica- a few pictures

2010-02-03T21:06:00.001-08:00

I've squished sand thru my toes once already. Wow. Aquamarine blue, warm, salty sea water. Lingering sunsets, (and, of course, hustlers trying to sell anything from hair-braiding services, to marijuana). I hope to make it to the beach at least once per month during my stay in the Caribbean!

The MV Logos Hope (www.logoshope.org) boasts a crew of 400 people from 47 nations. The ship is packed with potential, and has several onboard conferences and programs each port. I've had many nostalgic moments remembering the opportunities and involvements I had onboard a similar ship.

On February 3rd, seventy new crew members joined the ship. Families, retired people, and young adults just out of highschool-- from across the globe-- climbed up the gangway and into the belly of their new home. The current crew lined the quayside and ship decks with their own national flags flapping in the Jamaican breeze to give a proper, noisy welcome.

Please pray specifically for two people with whom I've spent a good chunk of the last two weeks. They seem to tag-team one another, so several hours each day are spent conversing with one or the other. It has been a joy to have the freedom to really connect with these two individuals.
One of my highlights last week was that the young lady chose to spend her Friday evening hanging out with me rather than her usual routine of clubbing and parties. I'm not sure how much of our time together is will stick, but they both continue to show up for conversation and I've really enjoyed getting to know their stories.

Drummers entertain tourists on the quay just outside some of the world's largest passenger ships. Week after week, waves of tourists pour onto Jamaica's shores and flood the shops. This is, by far, the nations greatest economy boost. They rely on the tourist industry-- and though many people have perhaps one-sided ideas about "Americans" or "Europeans", they know that without foreigners rushing to this tropical paradise, (and without any national resources being exported in any significant quantity), their nation would not have the income they've come to depend upon. So, tourism is huge. And the local people bend and bang their drums and dance for it.

Henry. My boss. He's working around the clock to help gather funds and send supplies and capable teams into Haiti. This is his focus, and in the short few days I met him, I saw a great love and tenacity for the people of Haiti. Please pray for him as he concentrates on this endeavor.

my team. With Henry's focus on Haiti, my role here has expanded a bit. One of the best parts of my time in the Caribbean is to try my hand at "member-care". Within my first few days here, we had a dinner onboard the Logos Hope for the Caribbean crew members. This group represents people from seven Caribbean nations. They have embraced me, letting me laugh and listen as they've shared with me their stories, struggles, and very animated faith! It's been fun for me, when I'm onboard, to watch these guys come around me and check in... opening themselves as well as making sure that I'm alright. This is my team. They have my back. And I'm here, perhaps more than anything else, to be an encouragement to each of them.

I've had quite an adventure meeting and conversing with dozens of people each day. Some of my regular visitors are school children. Talking about geography with kids has been one of the highlights of my time thus far. Many of these kids don't yet know where their nation is in the world, and are surprised to see how small it is in relation to the big picture... and yet they often linger over the two-dimensional island on the map with a sense of belonging and pride. Some of the kids are much more advanced, and love the challenge of trying to locate countries as I name them.

Yah Mon

2010-01-18T00:43:00.000-08:00

In highschool, we had a Tolo dance themed: Jamaica Me Crazy!

My 21st birthday was celebrated with a surprise party onboard the MVLogos2, as we sailed to Jamaica.

In less than 48 hours, I'll be on my way back to the land of steel drums and home to Rasta religion.

I feel slightly crazy in these precious, packed hours before departure. Maybe it's a theme.

Hints of Childlike

2010-01-09T23:38:00.003-08:00

Meet Noah.

This week, while I was visiting my friend Hannah and her boys, Noah gave me quick tour of his upstairs bedroom. (The room was still under construction during my last visit). My curiosity about the project was satisfied in a matter of glances. With a pivot, I tapped the light and descended the stairs-- eager to unpause the conversation Hannah and I were sharing.

"Hand. Hand." Noah's small voice spilled after me. I turned to see him standing one step shy of the top, swallowed in the shadow of his room. He wasn't panicked. Not yet. Determination was sliding into concern, but he was far from freaked out. "Hand". I obeyed and retraced my steps. Noah tucked his hand into mine, borrowing balance as we walked together into the light of the first floor. As we did, I thanked God for giving me a teacher, and asked Him to help me learn.

Jesus said to come to him as little children. Quite frankly, I want to seem like I've got things a little more figured out than that. But Noah put a dent in my pride. He reminded me that childlike is the opposite of "having it together"-- it requires trust and demands humility. Childlike is freeing to those of us "I'll do it myself" types. When determination slides into concern, When darkness drips down my back, I CAN ask for help. And since He told us to come as children, I can expect Jesus to respond in love and lend strength. It's okay to have short legs on a tall staircase... that's why we have a voice.

Thank you for modeling that to me this week, Noah.

A Little RAP

2010-01-09T21:13:00.005-08:00

Two of my favorite people welcomed their first child into the world this week. Just thought I'd stand on this little table top in the corner of cyberspace to congratulate them.

Ransom Antonio Pardo Quinlan FINALLY graced us with his presence, weighing in at 9lb.3oz. I stood on sacred ground last night as I observed my friends Ruben and Joy with their little Pardo in arms! What a sweet gift it is to share together in this life.

Pictures in the Pew

2010-01-02T22:27:00.004-08:00

At church in Arizona recently, I sat near a young family and unashamedly spied on the father's attentive interaction with his boys. The pre-school age sons each had clipboards, scrap paper, and pens for art creating. The boys' mom seemed skillfully tuned to the man at the pulpit. As was my own mother sitting next to me. I was happily distracted by the sermon unfolding in the seats next to me.

After the service, I asked for the opportunity to take some pics of the young family. They agreed and we met Tuesday morning. The Thurmans, as I learned their names were, were super chill and a lot of fun to shoot. They sincerely enjoyed being together. As the boys darted from the rocking bumble bee to the monkey bars to the spiral slide to the fireman pole, their father's eyes flashed all around them, compelling them with his adoration. I watched the sunday sermon continue: as we zip and twirl through our days, over and under and around, running fast and waiting still, His eyes steadily cover us with Great delight! Oh how He loves us!

Poetically Put

2009-12-13T23:06:00.002-08:00

Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Than leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

"But we who would be born again indeed, must wake our souls unnumbered times a day."
by George MacDonald in Diary of An Old Soul

"If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world."
--C.S. Lewis

These past few days I've been tossing thoughts in my head, hoping they would ricochet around and somehow descend upon my heart. Beauty and Affliction seem so closely knit. Grief and Joy hold hands in that interdigitized way of lovers. Many of my experiences are a breath (or a breath being knocked out of me) that awakens me to the depths of Alive, followed by hollow moments and more hollow moments of existence. But when I am feeling, when I am most alive, I find there the promise of beauty mixed inseparably with the soul sting of affliction. Our truest relationships prove this... where we are known and loved and most desperately vulnerable.

My most precious memories seem to have caught me off guard-- like stones skipping across a lake-- these are the points of contact, the moments that make me know that I'm alive. Both in beauty and in affliction. in joy and in grief. Like returning from an impoverished country to a Thanksgiving meal, surrounded by familiar and abundance. How does the heart hold such contrast? Like standing over the grave of a dear friend. It wouldn't hurt so deep in death if it hadn't been so true in life. Like a gentle and passionate kiss. The world and all it's demands and details are completely forgotten. Like the sting of frigid air on the cheeks, refreshing the lungs and quickening the legs! Like the attentive discipline of a parent. Like birth. Like old hymns lifted on our lips in the congregation on Easter Sunday. In faith we are grateful, and yet we wait.

The quotes of MacDonald, Frost, and Lewis encourage me. Men who have gone before, calling back over their shoulders that they have been Alive and have also found life to be wanting.

Unedited Thoughts: An American Christian Growing Up

2009-12-13T21:14:00.007-08:00

A few weeks ago I got tired of talking to God. Recently, our conversation was been this: me—“God, I want to grow up. Help”. God—“become like a child. Humble”. Like someone on the fringe of sanity, I ignored the answer and repeated the question—hoping for a new reply—something more in line with responsibility and “maturity” and effort, something heroic, something concrete.

What is grown up in America? Someone who has started a family, is working a job, is loyal to a church—if that’s his/her cup of tea, someone with hobbies, a house, and functioning friendships. Not very childlike. And not really me right now. Maybe that’s the rub with God. So, I grew tired of asking for something that resembled the hierarchy of my culture. And I finally asked a useful question: Lord, show me my idols.

Does a woman say to her husband of 15 years “Honey, be honest with me, in what ways do I not live up to the vows I promised to you at the altar?” “What do I put before you in our lives?” “Is there anything I love more than you?” That is the question I asked the One with greater capacity for romance than we could ever imagine. How far short I fall can’t even possibly be a question.

I anticipated a new conversation unfolding, more pointed than the round and round we had in weeks past. Happily, I distracted myself with thoughts of the American church and our insidious idols. These are my unedited thoughts from that brief journal entry:

“Many Christians take pride in prosperity as evidence that You’ve blessed them. Many take pride in poverty as evidence of a holy life—pleasing to You. Many take pride in their families as a mark of Your good favor. Many take pride in their chastity as a mark of pure devotion to You. Many Christians take pride in their ministries—proof of a life that has served You well. Many take pride in their distinctiveness, either as a life set apart from the world, or as a life who has earned the trust of the world. Many Christians take pride in their traditions, of standing on a foundation we call our own. Many take pride in being radical, of forsaking the errors that are our own. Many take pride in their traumas—evidence that you’ve trusted them with suffering. Many take pride in their innocence—evidence that you’ve protected them from evil. Many are fundamentalist—claiming a hatred of the enticements pursued in pleasure. Many are hedonist—claiming a life enlivened by pursuits of pleasure.

“Lord, we are fools. We forget that we cannot cause Salvation for ourselves. Our only boast is in Christ! May our Savior’s extreme love for us again stir our affections aright!”

We want heroic... something concrete. Well, I do anyway. But I'm learning (again) that "grown up" isn't something I can forge in my own strength. And it isn't a destination I can arrive at by causing myself to be there. He wants childlike... something of simple believing that we are-- and that I am-- truly caught up in a crazy-indescribable romance. Insidious idols aren't welcomed here, for they aren't very grown up at all.

Jade is Dead

2009-12-13T20:48:00.003-08:00

I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it!

Jade is dead.

I'm still in shock as the day's events have unfolded. I knew she wasn't well the past few days, she had been turning black and drooping a bit. But I wasn't prepared for what I found this morning when I awoke. She seems to have just given up. So, as I considered her plight and as I packed today (for Christmas in Arizona and then the next 5 months in the Caribbean on assignment), I had to make a difficult decision....

We've had such a wonderful roommate relationship these past 5 months... she seemed perky, she seemed full. Was it all a lie? She would sit on the counter sometimes when I cooked-- as we together anticipated company arriving for a meal. I would sing and know that she was listening, dance and hope she wasn't too traumatized by the motion. She went too soon... I wasn't ready to say goodbye. Our relationship as roommates was so short-lived. There was so much potential for us, for Jade to grow big and strong and for us to share so many many years together. I wanted to entrust her to someone... you know... just for when I was gone. I wanted to return to her and know that she was happy. But she hasn't been well. And she wasn't getting better. So, I let her go today. Jade, my Succulent Jade houseplant, is gone. And all I have left is the shell that she once lived in... the glazed blue 4" pot. Sigh. It's difficult, she goes in the way of houseplants I've cared for in the past: the cactus, the African Violet, the Ivy-type plant. All gone too soon, withered under my love. And so, too, has Jade.

Here's a picture we took together just this morning, as we shared our final moments together. I was so sad!

Thanksgiving Funness!

2009-12-13T20:34:00.003-08:00

Amanda and I spent Thanksgiving together in her dorm!!! We prepared a full meal with limited utensils: testing our ability to be resourceful, playing a fierce game of Slamwich and watching "The Devil Wears Prada" while preparing the food. We planned to dress up pretty, but forgot... distracted by our tasty turkey and Amanda mourning that "the Office" didn't air that day! Thanks for the great day, Sis.

Ukraine's Got Talent

2009-11-10T12:54:00.002-08:00

Kseniya Simonova is a Ukrainian artist who just won Ukraine's version of "America's Got Talent." She uses a giant light box, dramatic music, imagination and "sand painting" skills to interpret Germany's invasion and occupation of Ukraine during WWII. Her talent is unique and powerful... it's an inspiring 8min33second watch:

Compassion Connect

2009-11-02T12:06:00.003-08:00

Last night at church, I met Ben. He told me about a local project he's a part of, Compassion Connect. We talked for an hour or so about the impact and the vision of this army of volunteers in the Portland area. The people behind the scenes have made many sacrifices: time, money, tools, love. And it seems that God is blessing them. The movement is getting stronger. More people are giving of themselves, abandoning their "free time" and "pocket money" in pursuit of this vision. I was encouraged as Ben and I affirmed that it was nice to have met each other and wished each other a good week... his passion and community involvement resembled something, stirred up something in my heart: that we are to love our neighbors as ourselves. It's a simple command, a profound vision. Rather than being suffocated by fear or dormant somewhere in the walls of our churches, it seems this love is very much alive-- or is coming to life again in the hearts of God's people here in Portland. If each of us offers what's in our hands-- what God has entrusted to us to use, we can together be a powerful force of love.

Compassion Connect 09 from Daniel Johnson on Vimeo.

Praise You in This Storm

2009-11-01T22:36:00.002-08:00

A friend in Australia recently sent me a cd with some of her favorite music. This song, by Casting Crowns, hit me today.

Praise You in This Storm
words by Mark Hall/music by Mark Hall and Bernie Herms

I was sure by now,God, that You would have reached down
and wiped our tears away,
stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say amen
and it's still raining
as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away.

Chorus:
And I'll praise you in this storm
and I will lift my hands
for You are who You are
no matter where I am
and every tear I've cried
You hold in your hand
You never left my side
and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

I remember when I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to You
and raised me up again
my strength is almost gone how can I carry on
if I can't find You
and as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away

Chorus

I lift my eyes onto the hills
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth
I lift my eyes onto the hills
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth

Chorus

Four Days in Switzerland

2009-10-28T21:56:00.008-07:00

October 22-26 in the land of chocolate and cheese, (and wine at every meal!) Friends Jaquelin and Sarah flew me over to photograph their wedding! The celebration included 500 guests, and by the time I left the reception at nearly 4am approx. 20 guests remained-- dancing the night away!!! The Alps were veiled by overcast skies, so I had to use my imagination a bit, but the autumn colors against a backdrop of vineyards and villages made this land stunning. I was able to take a train to Bern, the capital city, to visit Miriam (a friend from Logos II days), and was also delighted to meet many wonderful people tucked into life in this beautiful, French speaking pocket of the world!

Zurich Airport: Jack and Sarah on the way to their honeymoon, me on my way back home. October 26.

Bern. Parliament building (above). View from behind Parliament building (below).

Miriam.

assistant photographers at the wedding. Pricilla. Jerome.

wedding festivities (above). Motier, the village near the "city" Neuchatel, where I stayed, (below)!

Charity:Water

2009-10-02T17:31:00.001-07:00

2009-09-22T23:13:00.000-07:00

A true role model honored!

2009-09-14T12:26:00.005-07:00

I was a little munchkin in oversized b-ball shorts, droppin' threes from outside the line because I'd get dominated if I tried to drive the lane too often. In those old school days, much like today, there was an unending list of stellar athletes, yet few true role models in sports. Now, I wasn't ever good enough to get anywhere with my game. I was fast and fearless in soccer, but never phenomenal. I was the steady setter in volleyball, bringing hustle and a sense of team to my game. But basketball never really came naturally. I had to push and to practice constantly just to learn the plays and be able to run them as a second-string, varsity point-guard. For years, my neighbors put up with the constant sound of ball slamming against street as a sweaty jr. high kid nailed the backboard over and over under the streetlight on our dead-end road. Those were the tongue hanging days of Jordan-- the man who could fly. The days of Tim Hardaway's unstoppable crossover. And of Charles Barkley's unstoppable mouth. Magic Johnson and Larry Bird had lingering legacy that a new generation of men were attempting to live up to. Among them was one man who I kept my eye on, one man whose example on the court coached me under that street light. A man twice my size, he was quiet force of skill and character on the court. He was a true role model.

This week he was inducted into the NBA Hall of Fame, along with Michael Jordan and others. Though he's no motivational speaker, in his speech he affirmed his kids, honored his wife, thanked his coaches for the foundation and vision they set, and gave glory to God. In his retirement from the game, in his exit from the spotlight, "The Admiral"-- David Robinson, remains one of my role models.

Full Throttle or No Throttle?

2009-08-19T16:34:00.024-07:00

My cousins invited me to join them for a week of riding quads in Coos Bay. Of course I went!!!
It was fun to be with them again and to be able to experience something they enjoy doing together. DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE'S A SUB-CULTURE OF QUAD RIDERS?!

My cousins put me on the machine with the least power. I was by far the least experienced and they wanted to break me in slowly. They padded me with pants, gloves, goggles, and a bright pink helmet.

We had a blast blasting over and around the dunes. I got stuck a time or two (or sixteen). But, fortunately, so did they. They zig-zagged around me as we zipped through the biggest sandbox I've ever seen (with the possible exception of the country of Afghanistan).

Then. I crashed. Only once, but it was memorable. I was flying down a hill in 4th gear on my little Honda250. Wind was whipping. Sand was soft. And my tires were made for mud. I cruised over a narrow ridge going about 30mph, and didn't quite make the quick left turn.

The quad bucked and tipped me off sideways. Then it rolled over me. Three-hundred-and-fifty pounds of hot machine flung itself on my head and back on it's way down the slope.
(helmet check... I was fine.)

A few days later I was still sifting sand out of my eyes, nose, ears. I considered how that quad-riding experience parallels my approach to life.

I like the fast pace. I like the adrenaline. I like to think I've got a handle "it". I like the intensity of trying to keep up, often without taking my limitations and lack of experience into consideration. Somehow that makes the experience feel more real. Somehow that makes me feel more like the real deal. I want to be perceived as capable. Nobody wants to be a poser.

But life isn't sustainable in 4th gear (or 5th or 6th if you have one of those fancy racing quads!) I've never met a life that translates into a long, flat, firm sandy stretch.

Most of life requires a regular shifting between 2nd and 3rd. Mostly Mundane with moments of Exciting. Routine mixed with the unexpected. Rarely Romantic. Temporarily Tragic. Overall, being faithful is more virtuous than being adventuresome. And the ebbs and flows in steadfast commitment by those who have been around for a time replace the peaks and valleys of wavering interest known to the inexperienced.
Racing through life isn't bad. It isn't wrong. I guess it comes down to motive. If I'm driving in 4th gear because I think I need to be something to someone, or I need to prove myself to myself. Without grace. Without acknowledging and learning to compensate for my weaknesses. Without love and consideration for the others riding along with me. Then, by God's mercy, I sure hope to crash. I believe it's His kindness that let's us get bucked off every now and again. And maybe then we'll be better prepared to get up and ride, even if we're a little sore and have sand shoved in all sorts of places.

Pregnancy Brain Sympathy

2009-08-19T15:50:00.002-07:00

Several of my friends are pregnant at the moment... and APPARENTLY that can cause some form of dementia. Today, I misplaced my day-planner. Usually I'm fairly organized. An "everything has it's place" kind of person. So, I looked in it's place... and then in all of the obvious places after that. Retraced my steps. Patted my pockets (not that it would fit, but desperation starts to set in). Finally, it occurred to me (as I stood in my kitchen and peered into my fridge JUST IN CASE somehow my day-planner ended up there) that I MUST BE experiencing sympathy pregnancy brain. There's no other logical solution.

road trippin'

2009-07-12T17:07:00.005-07:00

Grand Canyon sunset, four-wheelin', the Lady-- Miss Liberty, Ellis Island hunt for the Italian ancestors, Washington Monument 4th of July, Skid Row, Harlem, Six Flags' old wooden roller coasters!, Licking Lincoln (respectfully), parking pass at the Pentagon, cousins, friends, calling dad from the Vietnam Memorial, and more.

Self Image

2009-06-08T14:20:00.002-07:00

In February, I spent three days as a stand-in caretaker for a surf club in Sydney, Australia. Each day I woke to the thunder of tumbling waves. By 7 a.m. I had completed morning duties and, with a bowl of Special K in hand and my feet on the coffee table, snuggled into the dusty, vintage couch. Only a one-way mirror separated me from golden sand and waves that indiscriminately toppled wet-suit clad bodies onto Narrabeen Beach—one of the world’s most famous surf shores.

At first surprisingly, and then much to my amusement, surfers of all shapes and ages often caught their reflection in my window. Teenage girls would adjust their swimsuit tops; middle-aged men inflated their chests and gave a flex. Some, men and women alike, diverted from their otherwise b-line route to the sandy sun-soaking extravaganza in order to tame a few shifty pieces of hair. Others, in conversation with unsuspecting friends, merely watched themselves as they casually passed.

No one noticed me, inches away, enjoying an exclusive, Aussie reality show!

It was a child who nearly blew my cover. A young girl of maybe six. She pressed her little face to the mirror, leaving nose and finger smudges. She saw in. She saw the coffee table and potted plants. Had she looked for longer than a second, she would have seen me—watching her.

Early in my journey following Christ, my Pastor said that God will use anyone and anything to teach me about Himself. This has proven true.

As I observed the parade of people, I considered how often I approach a situation-- be it entering a new context or attempting to solve a problem. Do I only see myself in the equation? Oh, I may get close enough to take a good look, but I’m looking only at me. And so I see me, a sliver of the whole.

I remembered David. Approaching Goliath, David didn’t dwell on his scraggly self. I remembered Caleb, urging his people to boldly storm the promised land, focused not on the ability or track-record of the Israelites but rather the faithfulness and promise of God. And Peter, passionate Peter, who declared that his love and his devotion would never fail Jesus. Failed. Later, on the shores of Galilee, after a long look in the mirror, Peter again proclaims his love and devotion—focused this time on Christ.

The curious girl at Narrabeen Beach looked beyond herself and saw what no one else did. She caught a glimpse of the world behind her image. As I slurped my soggy cereal, I was thankful for little finger prints and nose smudges on my window to teach me. We will never see the Kingdom of God unless we come as a little children.

We all belong to one story...

2009-04-26T23:08:00.002-07:00

View this movie at cultureunplugged.com

A birthday present to remember

2009-04-08T18:28:00.004-07:00

My friend Amber came to visit for two weeks in March! We enjoyed a Hillsong conference together, traveled up to the mountains to meet the nice folks in Portland, New South Wales, Australia... and we did a few other things. Most of all, it was nice to just be with a dear friend from home.

Early in Amber's visit, I realized that I have grown used to walking this adventure of life on my own in many ways. I'm no longer used to sharing my schedule, my bed, my tears, my toothpaste... the little, ordinary day to day things that make up life. I remember thinking-- "wow, how easy it is for me to be selfish"... and yet how much better it was to be able to share, to be a team, to slow down enough to really walk together.

Amber adapted so well to life here in Sydney. It was pretty impressive. And when she hopped on the plane and headed for "home" two weeks later, I felt like I had just been given an incredible gift. Her time. Her heart. Her financial sacrifice to come. Her efforts to understand and appreciate my life here. Her willingness to connect with my friends here. But, more than all that... the gift of sharing life-- of walking together, even if it means a few paces slower for a while... it also certainly means that much stronger for the long haul.

We are meant to "do life" together, to belong to one another... as a generation who is perhaps able to reach farther and deeper than at any time before. Relationship is a gift. And incredible gift God has given us in one another.

Thanks for coming, Amber Dawn! Thanks for sparking the reminder that God's agenda is not so much how much we can accomplish individually, but whether we are able to walk together-- sharpening and carrying each other each step of the way!

Gettin Real

2009-03-21T04:26:00.000-07:00

From The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time; not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.
“When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

To the Artists Out There

2009-03-05T17:44:00.004-08:00

... especially the freelance photography community.

Sometimes winter comes. Sometimes we step back and realize we're dry of creativity... and wonder what good snapping a camera does to better the world. Is this a worthwhile contribution? Is it meaningful investment of our short-lived prime? If that's you. If you're there. Here's an honest video from photographer, Zack Arias.(www.zarias.com)