tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44110894913395974862024-02-18T22:52:31.297-06:00Wrestling YahwehFor although it is often said that life is a journey with God,<br>the truth remains that my life is a <i>wrestling</i> with God...<br>...and I think He's just fine with that.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-23174461130680577322013-12-10T11:16:00.000-06:002013-12-10T11:16:43.797-06:00Your HelpIt has without a doubt been way too long since I have last posted on this blog, and for that, I sincerely apologize. During my time in Nicaragua, I had quite a bit of time for reflection. As many of you know, I was enrolled in the Mendoza College of Business at the University of Notre Dame until I dropped out in January and switched over to study theology at the University instead.<br />
<br />
When I arrived in Nicaragua, I met a very sweet woman named Lily, who was studying business at a college in downtown Managua. We spoke back and forth for a while about what I wanted to do with my life, and she was <i>shocked</i> to find out that I had left the business school. "Why would you ever leave!? You can do such great things!"<br />
<br />
...to which I responded in a "this should be common knowledge" tone: <b>"Um...because business is evil."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
However, after much talk with Lily and my time at New Hope Children's Foundation, I came to learn that business is not evil, that business can actually help you do a lot. While I was at New Hope, I helped them with their social media and marketing strategies, and it really helped bring in a lot more donations. <br />
<br />
After I arrived back in the States in August, I drove up to Notre Dame with my wonderful grandmother and re-enrolled at the Mendoza College of Business. Obviously, this journey has a lot more depth to it, but that's the basics of it. I've grown very passionate in my studies this semester...so much so that I even gave a presentation at the University entitled <i><b>Why Business IS a Force for Good and NOT a "Necessary Evil"</b>.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Back in my freshman year, I helped start a microfinance institution here at Notre Dame with a few other students. For my first two years, we were a team of 6-10 students and welcomed any and all to be part of our team. However, this past semester, we have changed <i>drastically</i>. We're now a team of 30 students that require applications and interviews for all associates (with about a 35% acceptance rate).<br />
<br />
Our team works to provide loans to low-income individuals in the South Bend community and help them bring develop financial independence. Our main goal is to be an organization that brings people <i>out</i> of poverty, in contrast with helping them <i>manage</i> poverty. We have already given out eight loans this past semester that have all either been paid back or are on their original set payback periods.<br />
<br />
This organization is my main priority at the University, and we are currently in need of funds. We just started our winter campaign and are hoping to raise $8,500 by January. As of now, we are 49% of the way there, which is why I'm asking you for your help. Most college microfinance institutions struggle with finding clients and have an overwhelming amount of money...for us, we have clients calling in daily, and we have to turn them down due to a lack of funds.<br />
<br />
I'm asking you to please consider making a donation to the Jubilee Initiative for Financial Inclusion. We've put together numerous packages such as a signed book by famous Notre Dame President Fr. Theodore Hesburgh (who currently holds the world record for the most honorary doctorates!), and your gift would mean <i>so much</i> to the team. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to email or call me.<br />
<br />
You can donate by visiting our <a href="http://indiegogo.com/projects/jubilee-initiative-for-financial-inclusion">fundraising site</a> or by going to our website at <a href="http://jiffi.org/">jiffi.org</a>!<br />
<br />
Deeply grateful,<br />
JakeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-23672817884187499552013-07-19T18:57:00.000-05:002013-07-23T18:58:24.378-05:00Pizza Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The other night we had the opportunity to try a pizza recipe from Kayla's grandma with all of the kids!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7J7Vg1JrU0bSC290tDVVrVJ4qavqyDgkCIjEAdhqEc3MS16WlmIZh0Yt2747unZBP893W3fW31_81cdhAOp_aK5cTNoOdvfyUHsIqnQgCuKjCgU8NWGU2mkStTWSSPRb3jyUoNfwwfKU2/s1600/IMG_2660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7J7Vg1JrU0bSC290tDVVrVJ4qavqyDgkCIjEAdhqEc3MS16WlmIZh0Yt2747unZBP893W3fW31_81cdhAOp_aK5cTNoOdvfyUHsIqnQgCuKjCgU8NWGU2mkStTWSSPRb3jyUoNfwwfKU2/s500/IMG_2660.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1ET64fJKsyKMo1hTzrQtSo-5KiJeQDxs2trPsYXAJ7q9tzvXh8RJrVB0f5qATjVmu9Qsun4btfx_maY2lDSH-GpwvI59e8gGfIBBQe3qdhIyT479HfFiUvhlME6g20rFXZOs-wHqKvcw/s1600/IMG_2666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1ET64fJKsyKMo1hTzrQtSo-5KiJeQDxs2trPsYXAJ7q9tzvXh8RJrVB0f5qATjVmu9Qsun4btfx_maY2lDSH-GpwvI59e8gGfIBBQe3qdhIyT479HfFiUvhlME6g20rFXZOs-wHqKvcw/s500/IMG_2666.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_IGlEgdx6AC5_bEIhy0WWWKwJmHluINUHD4xsRNkBo-RuujR2yh4vlywhUYqQuQqRQcUdZagdVkvEALmm_uUCsld0ASf-U2z0GTlGVpnYPZ1CLrFkz6fMwjVHDDZ10fP6H8vdTJ8LeohI/s1600/IMG_2690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_IGlEgdx6AC5_bEIhy0WWWKwJmHluINUHD4xsRNkBo-RuujR2yh4vlywhUYqQuQqRQcUdZagdVkvEALmm_uUCsld0ASf-U2z0GTlGVpnYPZ1CLrFkz6fMwjVHDDZ10fP6H8vdTJ8LeohI/s500/IMG_2690.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0rE2cXrX36xz3jT86_xFTnNNSwRVlUSd92MEQCarP6Dh9XEJHzNX0m8DfZjYiFWOxtblXp5nGudGUFtxSk5Kv9ohBUaLgwLe7bjX7B56XIdeRYaGbUx309zZLEicxajpSDjkOudRkf1f/s1600/IMG_2706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0rE2cXrX36xz3jT86_xFTnNNSwRVlUSd92MEQCarP6Dh9XEJHzNX0m8DfZjYiFWOxtblXp5nGudGUFtxSk5Kv9ohBUaLgwLe7bjX7B56XIdeRYaGbUx309zZLEicxajpSDjkOudRkf1f/s500/IMG_2706.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIrtzjL0C8LBMYsoUUajAUPRu5prI0I1hmeSSzfjDs21cqTmhijjH_dL6Lvyei5mipNBTes7-x15AunDz2S-tY1lTXCJP3Fw7rWlp5DVLffzDn-dqLlISLP_1gCV8mfnAKOetQyxZzt4r/s1600/IMG_2709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIrtzjL0C8LBMYsoUUajAUPRu5prI0I1hmeSSzfjDs21cqTmhijjH_dL6Lvyei5mipNBTes7-x15AunDz2S-tY1lTXCJP3Fw7rWlp5DVLffzDn-dqLlISLP_1gCV8mfnAKOetQyxZzt4r/s500/IMG_2709.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56wZencRDjGD9l7fmBRPCGjepANWcwZMAzUJTbQzWQwdcC1bis_QD9omybzOs1p375zQgA6rLOHj68Gf8AXIbjWI9dailn7-QEZbhaZnDF67GPKjPXrMClbG6RpjWZj5plpTmXBpEXNs1/s1600/IMG_2762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56wZencRDjGD9l7fmBRPCGjepANWcwZMAzUJTbQzWQwdcC1bis_QD9omybzOs1p375zQgA6rLOHj68Gf8AXIbjWI9dailn7-QEZbhaZnDF67GPKjPXrMClbG6RpjWZj5plpTmXBpEXNs1/s500/IMG_2762.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
At the end of it, I was even able to make a video of the night:<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Rhx7FudFywU?rel=0" width="500"></iframe></center>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-908468706141890982013-07-16T12:29:00.000-05:002013-07-18T12:31:01.635-05:00Perpetual<i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Back in March for my Spring Break, I went on a pilgrimage with Notre Dame's Campus Ministry. Below is the continued reflection of my journey:</i><br />
<i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></i>
After seeing a glimpse of <a href="http://www.wrestlingyahweh.com/2013/07/this-heavenly-look.html">the life of Jerome</a>, we made our way through the streets of Bethlehem, walking past numerous different family-owned shops, seeing some pretty intricate carvings along the way...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSFfRmGoESpf9bqDiA4nfmvMhtqJNgHOwDe4w_0n1AqvsfutsifCOsjeuC-a95IyQUqSguTTuyr2J79KitCiADhZLJXEI5RBRRElzNJoczg-6jkj9VdcwRco0z8BRp3yvrpIMm4e0arNs/s1600/IMG_5400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSFfRmGoESpf9bqDiA4nfmvMhtqJNgHOwDe4w_0n1AqvsfutsifCOsjeuC-a95IyQUqSguTTuyr2J79KitCiADhZLJXEI5RBRRElzNJoczg-6jkj9VdcwRco0z8BRp3yvrpIMm4e0arNs/s500/IMG_5400.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
My favorite part about walking through Bethlehem was seeing the shop-owners struggle to determine your nationality. "Hola? Hello? Konichi wa?" They would continue attempting to say hi in different languages until they would get a glance from us, but after they tried speaking Chinese to me...an obvious American...I think they realized that they were not going to sell me anything.<br />
<br />
We made our way to the Milk Grotto, where it is said that a drop of Mary's breast milk dropped on a rock, turning the whole Grotto a powdery white. If you haven't heard of it, don't worry...I'm pretty sure none of the students on the pilgrimage had any idea what it was until we got there.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRe2Wa7dq-81HKzop-7x0TM1r3bidHTTh0f2k95FlBt7wgohsvsSdRjQKjV1K9GuYzY92jtmn8GUnq9JD9B2g7sfCGeyLHVlhbJqgoqoLNXflrv-iPMak0dqFWojfU1Mr4E0vzNgbyZEmI/s1600/IMG_5403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRe2Wa7dq-81HKzop-7x0TM1r3bidHTTh0f2k95FlBt7wgohsvsSdRjQKjV1K9GuYzY92jtmn8GUnq9JD9B2g7sfCGeyLHVlhbJqgoqoLNXflrv-iPMak0dqFWojfU1Mr4E0vzNgbyZEmI/s500/IMG_5403.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Apparently, people come here and take some powder off the walls of the Grotto, mix it with milk or water and drink it, hoping that either they become fertile or that close friends become fertile. In all honesty, even though there is a small room with many different testimonies of the "Grotto powder" leading a woman to have a child, I'm still not too comfortable with this idea...and for the most part, it creeped me out. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Because of this, I didn't spend too much time within the Grotto...I continued walking through and stumbled upon a chapel where one of our leaders said "Perpetual Adoration" would be going on. For some reason, I just understood this as "Eucharistic Adoration", which happens at Notre Dame every weekday. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
For those who are unaware, Catholics believe that during Mass, the bread and wine become the <i>literal</i> body and blood of Christ. This is one of their core beliefs, and many students at Notre Dame go to Eucharistic Adoration, which is praying and adoring the Eucharist. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But when I turned the corner, I realized what she meant by "<b>Perpetual</b>". Before me, a Sister of the Perpetual Adorers of the Blessed Sacrament knelt before the Eucharist. These Sisters adore the Eucharist 24 hours a day, seven days a week. With "shift changes", the Sisters spend about two minutes praying together, before the first sister leaves, assuring that the Eucharist is <i>perpetually</i> adored. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Not attaining to the Catholic belief on the Eucharist, this was obviously quite the interesting experience for me. If the Eucharist does not actually become the Body and Blood of Christ, then this order makes almost makes no sense, other than for the fact of continual prayer occurring in a chapel. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I sat down quite confused and started to journal, but within 20 seconds, it was time to move to our next site.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-23151135739372864232013-07-12T21:00:00.000-05:002013-07-12T21:00:02.343-05:00That Weird White Kid: My Son, MaxDown here in Nicaragua, dogs are not really seen as pets...<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are very few, if any, shelters, so you have numerous dogs running through the streets all the time. There are no leashes, as dogs rarely leave their house, recognizing their house as the only place that they will get food. If you were to take the dog for a walk, or take the dog to a vet, or even buy the dog a bone...you'd be seen as pretty odd.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Allow me to interest you to Max:<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtjay6CKNHhn421rFyg6egtDGz95hRsvG4kXI2vWTtCxqLQUeinWUJggTV4Anp02fhDgYtTkstAaKgRyI5eHsb2GTZjVdZXAfLln6J9yLWv9mVZYLzSl-Ay7qRA0oH5piRAvORwKOjIjd/s1600/IMG_0382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtjay6CKNHhn421rFyg6egtDGz95hRsvG4kXI2vWTtCxqLQUeinWUJggTV4Anp02fhDgYtTkstAaKgRyI5eHsb2GTZjVdZXAfLln6J9yLWv9mVZYLzSl-Ay7qRA0oH5piRAvORwKOjIjd/s500/IMG_0382.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
I know, I know...he isn't the cutest dog in the world. Max is one of those dogs that I like to describe as "cute in an ugly kind of way." Max is from the United States and was brought over to help keep the kids occupied, as well as to help newer children adjust to the new lifestyle here at <a href="http://facebook.com/newhopechildrensfoundation">New Hope</a>. However, Max has yet to live up to his expectations. Most of the kids run around like crazy, jumping on top of each other and wrestling each other...so obviously, Max gets a little hyper, which just makes all of the kids absolutely terrified of him.<br />
<br />
Still, Max does a pretty good job of barking whenever there is a new visitor, so I guess he's useful for something. When I first got here, Max smelled absolutely awful, and he just kind of seemed to be around. My interactions with Max were limited to taking a few pictures of him every now and then.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAopS0x_c9tXNqEE7JTYn2S0FF_KVYAYv9b-D547mlYgXq2fSN_VVbPBA8b6k89twSfvhZjXAyeA0Hxqth0ns3rQ8XZ2T2QcT2ta6tI5ErL2GHtSzzVs8k2UIvuLHctpbxhsEh_FC2XC25/s1600/blogger-image-1655833986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAopS0x_c9tXNqEE7JTYn2S0FF_KVYAYv9b-D547mlYgXq2fSN_VVbPBA8b6k89twSfvhZjXAyeA0Hxqth0ns3rQ8XZ2T2QcT2ta6tI5ErL2GHtSzzVs8k2UIvuLHctpbxhsEh_FC2XC25/s500/blogger-image-1655833986.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
However, for the past two and half weeks or so, Max and I have been pretty inseparable...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJgkovf9GWDEneoROtRKaCFueoAIeqolSD5ID3JzccdLIAFmJygVPM9WpA5Hye4paafKR5ifQ8fOgv_uKu9m0hSPmnDWGXL_iqrEdcug1hetUefxmu63foGUG8B_ZM5WhOguUsLLtqEZo/s1600/blogger-image-1116737915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJgkovf9GWDEneoROtRKaCFueoAIeqolSD5ID3JzccdLIAFmJygVPM9WpA5Hye4paafKR5ifQ8fOgv_uKu9m0hSPmnDWGXL_iqrEdcug1hetUefxmu63foGUG8B_ZM5WhOguUsLLtqEZo/s500/blogger-image-1116737915.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Two weeks ago, I gave Max a bath...probably his first bath in at least a year....I'm not going to lie and say that he smells like roses and cherries, but at least he doesn't smell bad anymore. And because he didn't smell bad anymore, I started letting Max sit next to me when we were sitting around in the living room.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But, being the first person that has given Max even a little bit of attention in quite a while, he has gotten a little attached. As you can see in the picture above, the high school stands fairly large in the center of our buildings. To the left of the high school is the children's home, and to the right of the high school is the mission center, where I have all of my things and where I sleep when I'm not sleeping at the children's home with Frankie and Leo.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Since the kids are currently on break from school, there's really no organized activities on this week, so <i>clearly</i>, I had a duty to start Boot Camp with the kids. On Monday, we ran back and forth down the street for quite some time, and by the end of it, you could say that I was a <i>little </i>drenched with sweat. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Anyway, I took the girls back to the children's home and then walked back to the mission center to shower. I walked to my room, shut the door, got my towel and everything, and then started hearing a noise by the door. I opened my door to find Max outside scratching it...this might not seem like a big deal, but Max never goes in the mission center. Furthermore, the mission center has 14 different rooms...<i>and</i> my door was closed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Either I <i>really</i> had some body odor, or Max <i>really</i> wanted to find me....or most likely, both. Now, Max follows me absolutely everywhere I go...to my room, to the kitchen, to the dining room, to the backyard, to the field...and because I actually pick him up and pet him, the people here have started referring to Max as "my son".</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4TiUsvb0-GGiuYlrehWFfDWYT1CeOI0DaIi1Vba5j8hBqoOaHHEEqbj6KW0K85DzoAmHfhyphenhyphenaKxYt2REr2Y6SLs7dYTREMvzxX9USubpeFlkqGs87kZygGzrjw71DR75wcfsq5Uc_vXBx/s1600/blogger-image--503843824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4TiUsvb0-GGiuYlrehWFfDWYT1CeOI0DaIi1Vba5j8hBqoOaHHEEqbj6KW0K85DzoAmHfhyphenhyphenaKxYt2REr2Y6SLs7dYTREMvzxX9USubpeFlkqGs87kZygGzrjw71DR75wcfsq5Uc_vXBx/s500/blogger-image--503843824.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like father, like son!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In fact, whenever Max does anything bad...chews up a diaper, has a toy in his mouth, jumps on a kid...I'm <i>always</i> blamed. "Jake, your son is causing trouble again!" "Jake, do you know how to teach your dog manners?" The list goes on and on...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2VHRO8uLTRKAgFFpyu6iS6-l5GifvjV190jDadyt68Vv3vQJupTfW40wsJJ8O-wym7a1r6rwOkSq9pcj_TGFX5UIvkM4GbDSh5Jr43NJ4wOWGmQYGp_PlOlqaps5N5wjKmM3yw24U3C1/s1600/blogger-image-411033670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2VHRO8uLTRKAgFFpyu6iS6-l5GifvjV190jDadyt68Vv3vQJupTfW40wsJJ8O-wym7a1r6rwOkSq9pcj_TGFX5UIvkM4GbDSh5Jr43NJ4wOWGmQYGp_PlOlqaps5N5wjKmM3yw24U3C1/s500/blogger-image-411033670.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
I just gave Max a second bath today, and now I'm wondering how he's going to be after I leave...as I'm leaving in <i>less than three weeks</i>! The director down here said that she's thinking about trying to find a family for Max that actually takes care of its pets...which, as I said, is quite rare down here. And sadly, <i>el gringo raro</i> can't really help out with this problem. Although I love Max, Notre Dame does not allow dogs in our dorms.<br />
<br />
Regardless, Max is still an awesome dog, and as long as I keep taking care of him as much as I am, I'll still be seen as quite odd for treating the dog like a son...but I think I'm okay with that. :)</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-39366592098660349872013-07-11T13:05:00.002-05:002013-07-11T13:05:42.743-05:00This Heavenly Look<i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Back in March for my Spring Break, I went on a pilgrimage with Notre Dame's Campus Ministry. Below is the continued reflection of my journey:</i><br />
<i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></i>
First of all, I'm realizing that I could be posting <i>a lot</i> more pictures than I currently am for all of these posts, so I'll see how that goes with this post. Also, my <i>lovely </i>grandmother keeps nagging me about how I need to post more about Jerusalem, or just post more in general...so I'll work on that as well. :)<br />
<br />
After we left the Church of the Nativity, we went around to the backside, where we stumbled upon The Church of St. Catherine.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkIy_CcitxodMNe7EyiSLtFNZ4lfXrKDlUd-W8pBaAe6yg2lsXLHen3anm1rD_8ROve4p9Q-0TBBDr45A6hwuC3pZLL_ApIC2dacGYiUI0OSZSGhUBCkCQAKQqNiJDXAnK6Xvtpbd_Mmo/s1600/IMG_5329.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkIy_CcitxodMNe7EyiSLtFNZ4lfXrKDlUd-W8pBaAe6yg2lsXLHen3anm1rD_8ROve4p9Q-0TBBDr45A6hwuC3pZLL_ApIC2dacGYiUI0OSZSGhUBCkCQAKQqNiJDXAnK6Xvtpbd_Mmo/s500/IMG_5329.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvzsLpd2C1T93HMuXoPjKTMqnLPBypor_GdrGS-LGv7uWT9OFwOGjHdIEC0LYumBqhHkWioy3kIgQQ7_CSfnMpXrMsNJtU7u_kxSEolvjS5vxxe8eZvBxQ6J4q3Rao9cWMsmj0pP0gZPj/s1600/IMG_5327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvzsLpd2C1T93HMuXoPjKTMqnLPBypor_GdrGS-LGv7uWT9OFwOGjHdIEC0LYumBqhHkWioy3kIgQQ7_CSfnMpXrMsNJtU7u_kxSEolvjS5vxxe8eZvBxQ6J4q3Rao9cWMsmj0pP0gZPj/s500/IMG_5327.JPG" width="500" /></a><br />
<br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkYxzymXVeXcGPx7PbkiFcpB6IZW2lhvWr9Yf8yKIaK3wZaxVn4tApy9IpJwqSN7JuIjVqhd_DrcIkvvsY5wgD9wSQSEA7q_1rKmmsoV5i7eLPrJvMEPnnhitc5KWWtFH-3LnQD5rk04N/s1600/IMG_5344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkYxzymXVeXcGPx7PbkiFcpB6IZW2lhvWr9Yf8yKIaK3wZaxVn4tApy9IpJwqSN7JuIjVqhd_DrcIkvvsY5wgD9wSQSEA7q_1rKmmsoV5i7eLPrJvMEPnnhitc5KWWtFH-3LnQD5rk04N/s500/IMG_5344.JPG" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2lD4cx7luyE_LMy6sUQt_Q3aWZxdZGlG3b5PH05jYTsv0YTF3maW39MyOUHxESBxmN-__-i2pc9kQGO4C6epbr7U-jbYa86fyMdC0paTPS8HqlQW2ykNGp4cfyK1JzxbjrFMOlo7CqRT/s1600/IMG_5338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2lD4cx7luyE_LMy6sUQt_Q3aWZxdZGlG3b5PH05jYTsv0YTF3maW39MyOUHxESBxmN-__-i2pc9kQGO4C6epbr7U-jbYa86fyMdC0paTPS8HqlQW2ykNGp4cfyK1JzxbjrFMOlo7CqRT/s500/IMG_5338.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLf7FaM4dXSTe6CPh8rdSds9ub4Z4GwZNfFTw1w0RK0Z-qUG1ac5nyjDjktMoYezUF8Uzc4xogL5Is17OLHiGq3kW-hAHPZTKD-66XcuSmoGQ2Rt2DcyqnMpQ9d22vf3g36mR09WRQI7il/s1600/IMG_5342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLf7FaM4dXSTe6CPh8rdSds9ub4Z4GwZNfFTw1w0RK0Z-qUG1ac5nyjDjktMoYezUF8Uzc4xogL5Is17OLHiGq3kW-hAHPZTKD-66XcuSmoGQ2Rt2DcyqnMpQ9d22vf3g36mR09WRQI7il/s500/IMG_5342.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEaJJ_3lywi656qBRRxDzrf1nGHt2237y4pIWK2z3vuSi8C6ZLaoG_yduplSdg_P8h1G6SfjpWXIcpPblf1xaluge-AP7lvNE2BJ53DVAF7fjWHnatvk0VmlWnTJfbYtf1fQhvjXSsDCo/s1600/IMG_5374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEaJJ_3lywi656qBRRxDzrf1nGHt2237y4pIWK2z3vuSi8C6ZLaoG_yduplSdg_P8h1G6SfjpWXIcpPblf1xaluge-AP7lvNE2BJ53DVAF7fjWHnatvk0VmlWnTJfbYtf1fQhvjXSsDCo/s500/IMG_5374.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The courtyard outside of the entrance that connected with the Church of the Nativity gave the place somewhat of a Hogwarts-feel to it, which I thought was particularly cool.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I was <i>so excited</i> to finally walk in a church that didn't look all doom-and-gloom. Light from the huge windows along the upper part of the walls gave the church <b>this heavenly look</b>. However, I will say that I was fairly disappointed by the lack of a 24/7 choir singing Alleluia...that would have been a lot cooler. The sight of that huge organ at the back of the church made me almost want to start learning how to play the organ.<br />
<br />
But just when I thought the church was as good as it could get, I noticed Brett, one of the chaperones, walk down a stairway on the side of the isle. Beneath the Church of St. Catherine is where Jerome, the famous theologian and a saint within the Catholic Church, translated the Bible into Latin.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-EYipO7GNBMBZG-PZp_ipoBWithCcEhbaQg42cJyPPjuxz3X6w47WPhuO7bOKmCOgaFOo5eAFbMqp5ZUP19sPqEm9YOdQv6Uufny8-Hye6ehuIdlkNV542whulZa8Z0Ejh_38AnN_FZt/s1600/IMG_5346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-EYipO7GNBMBZG-PZp_ipoBWithCcEhbaQg42cJyPPjuxz3X6w47WPhuO7bOKmCOgaFOo5eAFbMqp5ZUP19sPqEm9YOdQv6Uufny8-Hye6ehuIdlkNV542whulZa8Z0Ejh_38AnN_FZt/s500/IMG_5346.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-0smzB557jXmR3x6gCcBkqjXRd15yXip_aXo0LaWnzbKDxqlh_sAOaRdcoyA49W0F_15ayf-dxo0dZRcOfXcqve6OMIkFV2gd4YhSvPbkU5zdaDJx_5YIZtqQFikgN_905zByYhV6Gl_L/s1600/IMG_5347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-0smzB557jXmR3x6gCcBkqjXRd15yXip_aXo0LaWnzbKDxqlh_sAOaRdcoyA49W0F_15ayf-dxo0dZRcOfXcqve6OMIkFV2gd4YhSvPbkU5zdaDJx_5YIZtqQFikgN_905zByYhV6Gl_L/s500/IMG_5347.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6v8tN2-Qm22Ufp-sT-9xeLjuYLdDm4Rzm22raBb0mrbSiDNLEFnV_1qM4yQdyzqDjUAtvXykFjmhzxIpXVEj3e3F67Z2uoPwcZt_7JgGdinFEtIP3i69jn7hUD2FnxIYkoN5TkdJg6Td/s1600/IMG_5369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6v8tN2-Qm22Ufp-sT-9xeLjuYLdDm4Rzm22raBb0mrbSiDNLEFnV_1qM4yQdyzqDjUAtvXykFjmhzxIpXVEj3e3F67Z2uoPwcZt_7JgGdinFEtIP3i69jn7hUD2FnxIYkoN5TkdJg6Td/s500/IMG_5369.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDZ8rTU81IKsu3_qC82-on-i4v3sANiHyxjdx6Ld1prj42GG1LUc7lzu8rObJmF0fqSfA7I02YTCqw6DClYDKp24egb0yGDLaoyt_hoUq7B6OyBjBhadTKuxi5dHerC0CyL9PkUFGetfI/s1600/IMG_5353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDZ8rTU81IKsu3_qC82-on-i4v3sANiHyxjdx6Ld1prj42GG1LUc7lzu8rObJmF0fqSfA7I02YTCqw6DClYDKp24egb0yGDLaoyt_hoUq7B6OyBjBhadTKuxi5dHerC0CyL9PkUFGetfI/s500/IMG_5353.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9MxbbNnH9Y29Y-3OGVxNux6N1Yn6pT6_YaSVZUPtd18GDX9jG3CqNE1_8ARKq_Z6vFuTwOG4yNXtYjMkM-3BhNK1U3wBIpMqmQgaV2is_Uk7PVluvMcmQI7aNMn7j_XjYLYtR51fJA4Gk/s1600/IMG_5363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9MxbbNnH9Y29Y-3OGVxNux6N1Yn6pT6_YaSVZUPtd18GDX9jG3CqNE1_8ARKq_Z6vFuTwOG4yNXtYjMkM-3BhNK1U3wBIpMqmQgaV2is_Uk7PVluvMcmQI7aNMn7j_XjYLYtR51fJA4Gk/s500/IMG_5363.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Underneath the church, there were many different types of chapels, altars, and Jerome's original "office". Sadly, we could not go into the office as a visiting tour group was celebrating mass in the space. However, we did get to see Jerome's original tomb, shown in the last picture above, where he was originally buried, before his remains were moved to Rome.<br />
<br />
I thought of what it would be like to have been Jerome, to have been composing so many different theological works, biblical translations, gospel commentaries....all within feet of where Christ, the One of which all of Jerome's works revolved around, was born.<br />
<br />
One of my favorite parts of this "underground" house was a pathway in the back that led directly to the place of Christ's birth. Currently, it is blocked off by a wall for conducting traffic, as well as for security reasons (the pathway connects the Church of the Nativity to the Church of St. Catherine). However, small holes appear in the wall, where you can look through and see all of the pilgrims venerating the birth site.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mg0C0hlrK0HhYRn4Mpmw6m_TyImH1SdhccIlX_7JdvqCjHH4F4u06hSutfYReNYoHTYtsZ4TFaRYij-H4JGCfbxcuDYOnjl0NLNA-ZFP4Vai8YxX_rmhaFg4G52E5-WZVZLGI9HGQJNc/s1600/IMG_5368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mg0C0hlrK0HhYRn4Mpmw6m_TyImH1SdhccIlX_7JdvqCjHH4F4u06hSutfYReNYoHTYtsZ4TFaRYij-H4JGCfbxcuDYOnjl0NLNA-ZFP4Vai8YxX_rmhaFg4G52E5-WZVZLGI9HGQJNc/s320/IMG_5368.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjSQ7IXDW0-WY1JgKp_vr6324Gk9uA69j76qDGm2ZMvxno6r56mMVI0HpPrBsq8uKOE8wNLni_f8AW1zWS8E1KdmVKCi7Mn00Y9mJdHFdAY9qTMoxY1-ODlVnzfFNDPkTRmyQGCyIxOGo/s1600/IMG_5349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjSQ7IXDW0-WY1JgKp_vr6324Gk9uA69j76qDGm2ZMvxno6r56mMVI0HpPrBsq8uKOE8wNLni_f8AW1zWS8E1KdmVKCi7Mn00Y9mJdHFdAY9qTMoxY1-ODlVnzfFNDPkTRmyQGCyIxOGo/s500/IMG_5349.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Lastly, I snapped a photo of this "cross gate" blocking off a portion of a cave, which greatly reminded me of the cross at Notre Dame that I see as the perfect place of peace and silence, other than the <a href="http://tour.nd.edu/locations/grotto/">Grotto</a>. I originally didn't have a picture of it. However, being honored to take a close friend's engagement photos back in May, I now have a photo of it!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrCdqC438Zx-0F1CLvS0nhCpUg6xCkqdYghXjYciSmVW7cfLrb5FV0lceAzJs7VH2xu_C3xIRS22mYuxe1CTy_etbBzUc7SEY3voEzDU1tteoylQ4sQZ1E49vf0KIWEUr4Decfcd2GMjU/s1600/IMG_9198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrCdqC438Zx-0F1CLvS0nhCpUg6xCkqdYghXjYciSmVW7cfLrb5FV0lceAzJs7VH2xu_C3xIRS22mYuxe1CTy_etbBzUc7SEY3voEzDU1tteoylQ4sQZ1E49vf0KIWEUr4Decfcd2GMjU/s500/IMG_9198.JPG" width="500" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div>
Seeing the connections between Notre Dame and Jerusalem, such as this one, continually remind me that although Christ walked in the flesh in the Holy Land, we are <i>just as close</i> to Christ where we are right now as I was while in Bethlehem. The same "spiritual reawakening" that I experienced in Bethlehem while in Jerome's cave can be experienced at my home in Chicago, my school in Indiana, or even down here in Nicaragua. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-2540867120624478882013-07-09T16:23:00.000-05:002013-07-09T16:24:18.880-05:00That Weird White Kid: Walking Around BarefootI've been here for exactly six weeks now, and I'm definitely starting to be "defined" in this culture. There are a few different things that set me apart as "El Gringo Raro", which I like to translate as "<b>that weird white kid</b>".<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Gringo basically means "white person" and, in some cultures, is seen as quite the derogatory term, but here, it pretty much is just a matter of fact. You are a white person; therefore, you are a gringo. No different than saying that you are a woman or a man. And while no one actually calls me <i>el gringo raro</i> to my face, most people have difficulty pronouncing my name. The "j" sound is difficult for many people, so my name comes out more like "Yake" or with the sound of the "j" as in Jacques...so I wouldn't be surprised if I was, instead, referred to in conversation like this:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzLi3cJrl6ODTDT6VAD0SJ0TsVMHsom_D2_hSWize869p50oN9ZwoNlefX8Cq1NFnKWQXoYcWt-eSF5vMYjeA2LnKLAqBaI-7pcNZxuc8xR-rT7E4JYMe4h6iGy6U-KvP-nrpkHMqDUNJ/s1600/IMG_5513-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzLi3cJrl6ODTDT6VAD0SJ0TsVMHsom_D2_hSWize869p50oN9ZwoNlefX8Cq1NFnKWQXoYcWt-eSF5vMYjeA2LnKLAqBaI-7pcNZxuc8xR-rT7E4JYMe4h6iGy6U-KvP-nrpkHMqDUNJ/s320/IMG_5513-001.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little bro, Zach, barefoot at the beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"You know...Yake! El gringo raro!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyways, why I'm that weird white kid:</div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now I know that walking around the streets of Chicago barefoot is definitely not encouraged, but would it be all that weird to see a person carrying their flip-flips in one hand, walking around barefoot on a gorgeous and sunny day? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At Notre Dame, I'm pretty sure that I'm already pegged as "That Barefoot Kid" because although some people walk around barefoot on the quad, there are very few, if any besides me, that are comfortable with getting coffee in Starbuck's with no shoes on. Plus, giving every tour with no shoes on, I've already been called "The Barefoot Tour Guide", and of course, it's definitely a weird thing to do. However, I'm quite fond of the name. People think it's crazy, but there's also people that think it's cool.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But down here? <b>Walking around barefoot</b> is like walking around in your underwear during a blizzard. People, old ladies in particular (who usually love me!), have no problem with stopping to scold me for not wearing shoes. ¡<i>Dónde están tus zapatos! </i>is an often-heard phrase for me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The other day, we had an evangelization outreach night at a park down the street. If you want to evangelize in the US, you usually would have to get a permit, find a tent company, etc. Down here, you just walk down to an open area, set up a 15-foot stage six feet in the air, bring all your instruments, a dozen stereo speakers, some kids dressed as clowns, and you're good to go. No need to worry about filling out forms or advertising....or more importantly, no need to worry about "disturbing the peace" fines.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJAaSCthxwNDsfExeaimp9ZyrT2rBnu18esZ09T3MzbLzs8rwMgP9DKlOuvWCsOwZ_D4JY-l7J6wifdVlz7zlDJ7EK1E2cpNzwzHcv6z4XsokLtcXVy8R9J1Bihv9C8QMD0h6Jl_2zty8/s1600/IMG_1113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJAaSCthxwNDsfExeaimp9ZyrT2rBnu18esZ09T3MzbLzs8rwMgP9DKlOuvWCsOwZ_D4JY-l7J6wifdVlz7zlDJ7EK1E2cpNzwzHcv6z4XsokLtcXVy8R9J1Bihv9C8QMD0h6Jl_2zty8/s400/IMG_1113.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Honestly, a few clowns and dozens of kids will show up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Anyway, we were walking over to this park from the orphanage, which was about three quarters of a mile away, and when the pastor's wife noticed that I was wearing sandals instead of shoes, she laughed. "¿Estás llevando tus chinelas?" she asked. I looked at her confused, and then found out that <i>chinelas</i> was the word for sandals.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After we got to the park, the pastor realized that he forgot a cord so I had to run back to the orphanage and grab it for him. Now, I already get enough weird looks from people in the street solely because I'm white. So you can imagine the weird looks I got when they saw a gringo running down the street with sandals on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the way <i>back</i> to the park, finding it too hard to run with sandals, I decided to take them off and just hold them in my hand as I ran down the street barefoot. As I ran past one group of teenagers from my English class, they all started laughing. I shouted to them in Spanish, "What? You've never seen a white kid running while carrying his sandals?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In return, I got some really weird looks. One of my better students informed me of what was so funny: having just learned the word for sandals, I accidentally mispronounced it as c<i>hileans. </i>In other words, I told my students that I was a white kid running down the street, carrying all of my "people from Chile".</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They continually ask me where all of my Chileans are now when I see them outside of class. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Although things may be easier with shoes on, I'd just rather not wear them. :)</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-21118747182226573162013-07-03T12:00:00.000-05:002013-07-03T13:12:32.102-05:00Starting to Get the Hang of ThingsNap time has only been going on for five minutes and all four of the kids are already sleeping. All eyes closed. No talking. Peace.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They each have their own stuffed animal. They each have the blanket they want. Each in their respective beds.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The windows are open, but the curtains are shut. The breeze flows in while the sun stays out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And, of course, they have been bribed with being able to eat mangoes if they all go to sleep well, but hey...they're sleeping.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the morning, the boys now get to listen to music on my phone if they actually get out of bed and take showers without complaining or being lazy. And now, we look at the "<a href="http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/">News in Pictures</a>" every morning, but only if they get up fast enough. Surprisingly, we get ready <i>much</i> quicker.<br />
<br />
When the kids aren't in school, we usually just let them play around, but recently, we've been trying to do a few more structured activities like relay races, leap frog, and musical chairs, which occupies them a lot better.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvGyDgebezoewNJ050F8SkA4r4KM0cA47znms1O8HkM1FrrSIgpQFQ2CIAzd5B3D0hHjaUTw0ntveVgMAHDVKtZk4jkM20rTUk_Y3JbDFSVPgVJg81x_iQqv4sz3cI_UGc9z52m-TZSbP/s1600/IMG_2122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvGyDgebezoewNJ050F8SkA4r4KM0cA47znms1O8HkM1FrrSIgpQFQ2CIAzd5B3D0hHjaUTw0ntveVgMAHDVKtZk4jkM20rTUk_Y3JbDFSVPgVJg81x_iQqv4sz3cI_UGc9z52m-TZSbP/s400/IMG_2122.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing Musical Chairs in the Backyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In our Spanish class, Josh (the other volunteer) bought pizza for the winning team (we've been playing a review game fairly often over the past few weeks). And last week, I promised the class that I'd buy pizza for anyone that got an A on their exam that they have this week.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Most of the students know me now, and always ask me where my coffee is...pretty sad that even if by Nicaraguan standards, I'm still seen as the coffee addict. This morning, I was able to preach to all 300 students about my three milestones, and since I knew most of their names, I was able to make it interactive and more engaging. Thank God for that!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For dinner, I've been helping the cook prepare all of the food (which also means that I get to eat a bunch of stuff as I prepare...the mangos here are amazing). And in addition to learning how to cut mangos, make fruit juices, and fry bananas, I've been able to have some really fruitful conversations in Spanish. The cook knows very little English, which has allowed me to really get better at communicating in Spanish.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Usually, when we go to church on Sunday nights (the Spanish-speaking church), I have absolutely no idea what is being said, but yesterday, I actually was able to recognize most of the songs. And for the first time, I actually understood the entire sermon, which is awesome because now I actually understand what's going on!<br />
<br />
I've had a lot of free time during my time here, but recently I've started trying with the marketing for New Hope Children's Foundation. Right now, I'm starting a facebook page for them where I'll be putting up pictures of all of the kids, and hopefully, will be able to start filming some videos! Be sure to like the page! Although, I will warn that over the next week, I'll be putting up <i>a lot</i> of pictures.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<center>
<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" src="//www.facebook.com/plugins/likebox.php?href=http%3A%2F%2Ffacebook.com%2Fnewhopechildrensfoundation&width=300&height=258&show_faces=true&colorscheme=light&stream=false&show_border=true&header=false" style="border: none; height: 258px; overflow: hidden; width: 300px;">
</iframe></center>
<center>
<br />
<center style="text-align: left;">
And finally, at night, when I put the boys to bed, we have exactly 15 minutes for them to get changed into their pajamas, and any time left over is used for reading them a story. Every night, we seem to have more and more time to read. :) thankfully, we have some longer books here, which allows most nights to end with somewhat of a "cliffhanger" which gives them more motivation for getting changed faster the following night. Like tonight, we will finally find out if Winnie the Pooh actually saw a Heffalump or if it was just a dream. And after reading, we've started praying together, which has proved really fruitful.
</center>
</center>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And after the whole day is over, I've made time for prayer, journaling, and reading, which has been more than a blessing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All in all, I'm definitely <b>starting to get the hang of things </b>here. :)</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-60605224240687468022013-06-28T23:34:00.000-05:002013-06-28T23:35:28.376-05:00Wait...This is It?<i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Back in March for my Spring Break, I went on a pilgrimage with Notre Dame's Campus Ministry. Below is the continued reflection of my journey:</i><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ39ubfBBIyXwLM3LCcGGefQXwR2dns18YPQSr6b5Y4xltZhfivw1n4Gd9KD8j1zbAe1PKO17589lahqigMASqAkgQU7G_p95ygX9NJ6cAp_vYh3DkYRauCPZPDoOa46akwJVjMTSC0VyC/s1600/IMG_5293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ39ubfBBIyXwLM3LCcGGefQXwR2dns18YPQSr6b5Y4xltZhfivw1n4Gd9KD8j1zbAe1PKO17589lahqigMASqAkgQU7G_p95ygX9NJ6cAp_vYh3DkYRauCPZPDoOa46akwJVjMTSC0VyC/s400/IMG_5293.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to the Church of the Nativity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Upon entering into the Church of the Nativity, the believed site of the birth of Christ, I thought back to February of 2012, when I first heard of <a href="http://campusministry.nd.edu/">Notre Dame Campus Ministry</a>'s pilgrimage to the Holy Land...<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I remember seeing "Church of the Nativity" as one of the locations that students would be traveling to and quickly searched the Internet to learn more. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>"They actually know the spot where it happened?" </i>I remember thinking. I mean, I knew there was a spot where it happened, but the fact that the location was known? That there was a spot where millions of pilgrims went to every year to observe that event? Looking back, it seems kind of stupid to think that there wouldn't be a place marking Christ's birth, but at the time, it just seemed so surreal...lie we're talking about Christ...we're talking about God.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now, here I was, walking through the door to the Church of the Nativity, the place where God became man. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Surely, I was going to have a moment here.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiv4vRv6n50TkREYzoSRG7HmKIJMwedt6thDa_L7R2mnxhc95r4H_amXUyQU2EUJisAhrmHN7e6Wij-ZKW4utIDi-IZdjk86oHYtczzsaqJI4RNZA0wDyp4L2sYj0gyt4QKflEvhD5gv0N/s1600/IMG_5286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiv4vRv6n50TkREYzoSRG7HmKIJMwedt6thDa_L7R2mnxhc95r4H_amXUyQU2EUJisAhrmHN7e6Wij-ZKW4utIDi-IZdjk86oHYtczzsaqJI4RNZA0wDyp4L2sYj0gyt4QKflEvhD5gv0N/s400/IMG_5286.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Church of the Nativity from the Back</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhiV4_CLlFUaxnlzLaKAr9uuCwXqgvTdCZweSQtVZItgE7uShX3KTffd4ID0e6kX_sVRQY0xZQ8y3a8Fbz9Pmqe04PSuMRuTz6XeVFPcMEVTRivD9iuYroXv4zTDK9Xd0OboEMY3cW7Gi/s1600/IMG_5309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhiV4_CLlFUaxnlzLaKAr9uuCwXqgvTdCZweSQtVZItgE7uShX3KTffd4ID0e6kX_sVRQY0xZQ8y3a8Fbz9Pmqe04PSuMRuTz6XeVFPcMEVTRivD9iuYroXv4zTDK9Xd0OboEMY3cW7Gi/s400/IMG_5309.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church of the Nativity from the Front</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<b>Wait...this is it?</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not that I was expecting the Buckingham Palace or anything, but the place just seemed so bare, so empty...but emptiness paired with peace. While my eyes saw nothing of importance, there was no doubt that something important was here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We walked over to the back part of the church where we had group prayer. Surrounding a circular table, we all read the Pilgrim's Prayer. I noticed people walking by and just staring us, and realizing that they probably didn't speak English, we probably looked like we were doing some witchcraft over the table or something.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The front of the church was a bit more decorative, where the altar was. We walked towards it and noticed a line along the front right of the church. It wasn't too bad, about a 15 minute wait, which I thought was pretty good. However, as we got closer and I could see down the stairs (the altar was built over the believed site of Christ's birth), I quickly realized that the line was going fast because pilgrims only had 5-10 seconds at the site.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3Df6rTCExeyNktlPcxdkA5oE6EdCTboiWNV2pwm7qcyNr7V0y3LPf16Uv3eCUFZqm5uUXY3HWFSbNEbRyOI9vVUnPjjn9PNLYVNDasXswcPwbSbaCurcSYswILrp5vz-8zfZgJmuNk2f/s1600/IMG_5314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3Df6rTCExeyNktlPcxdkA5oE6EdCTboiWNV2pwm7qcyNr7V0y3LPf16Uv3eCUFZqm5uUXY3HWFSbNEbRyOI9vVUnPjjn9PNLYVNDasXswcPwbSbaCurcSYswILrp5vz-8zfZgJmuNk2f/s400/IMG_5314.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The altar above the place of Christ's birth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
I walked down the stairs, only three people ahead of me, and realized that in less than a minute I would be directly on that spot. I tried to "prepare" for my moment, telling myself that this was <i>huge</i>. This was where it all started!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then the moment came...I knelt down, said a short prayer, and got up...all in about 15 seconds.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYPrsgo3laGkITtHaxVS8tw5kZXefesSBkzf6B3tRF-w2jt5av37KMcf1r-O9btlm0h_HiFEnIPvAaGBb8Zz2S5Th8dTb1MDXWpc_TgKGx2yC-0bpqKPYT5RJq_jdzJMZ2sWUASsNhD4BX/s1600/IMG_5321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYPrsgo3laGkITtHaxVS8tw5kZXefesSBkzf6B3tRF-w2jt5av37KMcf1r-O9btlm0h_HiFEnIPvAaGBb8Zz2S5Th8dTb1MDXWpc_TgKGx2yC-0bpqKPYT5RJq_jdzJMZ2sWUASsNhD4BX/s400/IMG_5321.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hole in the Center where you can touch where Christ was born</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
Well...that was...different than I thought it would be.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was expecting to break down crying, and instead I was just confused. I just wasn't feeling anything. <i>Well, if I'm not having any emotional response, surely no one else is, </i>I remember thinking as I walked back up the steps...running right into my friend, Anastasia, who told me with watery eyes, "Jake, this is the place. Like <i>this</i> is the place where <i>God</i> was in the flesh." You could say that I was a bit jealous of her..<i>.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>God, why aren't you letting me have my moment?</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
But then I began thinking...why did God have such a generic site? I mean, if God wanted to, he could have chosen a site that would be known for thousands of years to come, but instead, he just chose random cave. (Side note: we learned Christ was actually born in a cave....not a stable. Sorry to ruin your nativity scenes.) This was the place where Emmanuel was born, where God was <i>with </i>us. But now that Christ has resurrected, he isn't with us more here than he is back in the US. He's everywhere.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Although we revere this location as the birth of Christ, so that we have a place to remember, we shouldn't respect this location anymore than any other location. We shouldn't be holy just in a church...we should be holy everywhere we go. If I would feel odd cussing in a place like the Church of the Nativity, maybe I should question why I don't feel odd cussing anywhere else.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_81EexxXxv6c32nFj5Bdw_vM9eP5XoXvaF0VSrUQtdVK4nWF8jt41JxIf6XupVLaNqHlckn8zu_z3huETPEzi8DxsGxSz7Zm48o2LawX4ItGNquuQQTwtSosCzUVDDIhT8cdFNOqEd-UV/s1600/IMG_5312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_81EexxXxv6c32nFj5Bdw_vM9eP5XoXvaF0VSrUQtdVK4nWF8jt41JxIf6XupVLaNqHlckn8zu_z3huETPEzi8DxsGxSz7Zm48o2LawX4ItGNquuQQTwtSosCzUVDDIhT8cdFNOqEd-UV/s400/IMG_5312.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.stevenfurtick.com/">Steven Furtick</a>, one of my favorite pastors, recently said "Don't let your expectations affect what God wants you to experience." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't think that applies anywhere more than here. If I would have had my "moment" at the a church of the Nativity, I wouldn't have been able to focus on this greater truth:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I need to act the same everywhere as I would here.</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-10009550082058149162013-06-21T12:25:00.001-05:002013-06-21T12:25:52.549-05:00Considering Abandoning the Faith?Doubt...yeah, that's always been <i>such a fun thing</i> to deal with. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not something that's new...it's always been around. And as I mentioned in <a href="http://www.wrestlingyahweh.com/2013/03/god-is-real.html">that milestone</a>, doubt is probably something I struggle with the most.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
These constant periods of 1-3 days when we lose faith in God, when we want to do something our way, when we would rather sin, rather lift ourselves up than others up, rather lift ourselves up than Him up. <i>Why can't I just go make a bunch of money and spend it all on myself? Why can't I just do what I want to do? </i>These thoughts usually stem from the self, as all sin does.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When something like this happens, you <i>want</i> help. You <i>want</i> to return to the faith, and you <i>want </i>to be convinced. Yet at the same time, you don't want to ruin anyone else's faith by talking to them. However, eventually, you get around to it, you attend a church service, a bible study, a devotional...and you find faith in God...doubt is frequent, but pretty simple to overcome.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYWrJGlXg4-gvPkt9CAbdb8xcDTtFoErh98pAid-9_K9FvDbPugnx46VzvD3QWsgkmtg24277OL-yIEGvxoc478O727BI4IQ2CpYGGTAQ9CZTdPa2T7RbMrSwNge_j0AL1XgXgfbhiHOJ/s1600/IMG_8163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYWrJGlXg4-gvPkt9CAbdb8xcDTtFoErh98pAid-9_K9FvDbPugnx46VzvD3QWsgkmtg24277OL-yIEGvxoc478O727BI4IQ2CpYGGTAQ9CZTdPa2T7RbMrSwNge_j0AL1XgXgfbhiHOJ/s400/IMG_8163.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, I wouldn't describe the past two weeks as a <i>doubting</i> of the faith as much as an <i>abandoning </i>of the faith. It wasn't that I was mad at God and didn't want to deal with something. It wasn't that I had some selfish thing that Christ wouldn't approve of.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>It wasn't that I hated a part of Christianity.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
The problem was that I realized <i>how much I loved it. </i>I realized <i>how much I would miss </i>if I ever left the faith. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>That sense of <i>community</i>?</b> Of people constantly praying over you? Holding you accountable? That's hard to find outside of the church. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>That sense of <i>unity</i>?</b> Like when I went to <a href="http://268generation.com/passion2014/">Passion</a> in January with 65,000 other college students that I didn't know and praised the same God? When I meet a random person on a plane who shares the faith and suddenly we can talk about anything? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>That sense of <i>belonging</i>?</b> Being a part of something bigger than yourself? Knowing that some guy-in-the-sky has your back? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>That sense of <i>security</i>?</b> Knowing that you don't have to worry about anything? That you won't have to fear anything?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Community...Unity...Belonging...Security...</i>so many wonderful things, but if I'm only a Christian because of these benefits, only a Christian because it's what I grew up with, only a Christian because that's what my friends are, than something is wrong, and I'm not <a href="http://www.wrestlingyahweh.com/2013/06/my-hands-are-dirty.html">being real and honest.</a> </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>I need to be a Christian because I believe in Christ. </i>Yes. It is that simple. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwqPfHsUt8-h5q0uGx7lgF2tP0aYFJis-QwH8splGL6bVPbE6nKGDzN_Lz_Riv93YYKLqLNcZ_RwybJGz-l3ibleFmtyJF8ekaVaDdGEj2e5ZjdL_PCLUg2hYKQcGNfLaGgk0uBFLRbUC/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwqPfHsUt8-h5q0uGx7lgF2tP0aYFJis-QwH8splGL6bVPbE6nKGDzN_Lz_Riv93YYKLqLNcZ_RwybJGz-l3ibleFmtyJF8ekaVaDdGEj2e5ZjdL_PCLUg2hYKQcGNfLaGgk0uBFLRbUC/s320/photo+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a>Anyway, suggestions for people <b>considering <i>abandoning</i> the faith?</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>1. Get your thoughts out.</b></div>
<div>
Have a journal. Record your voice. Start a Word document. You <i>need</i> to get your thoughts out, or you are not going to be able to process anything, nor be able to see how you've changed day to day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>2. Talk to people about it.</b></div>
<div>
Sometimes, getting your thoughts out in a journal is not enough because you are still the only one that knows. Finally making the decision to tell someone your thoughts makes an <i>unbelievable </i>difference. It takes the weight of your shoulders...it doesn't have to be a Christian, it doesn't have to be an agnostic, it doesn't have to be an atheist. And in reality, it's more important to tell people of different backgrounds in a situation like this. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>3. Ask for prayers.</b></div>
<div>
This one seems kind of one-sided and definitely more on the "this will convince you of Christianity" side, but you're doubting...you're not sure if you are a Christian, and you don't just want to be told reasons why you should be. Asking for prayers, if God exists, can have <i>enormous </i>effects. And if God doesn't exist, it has almost no effect...meaning...<i>it only pulls you towards faith if faith is true.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<b>4. Don't fake it.</b></div>
<div>
This is probably the worst thing that you can do. Don't "pray" with others if you are not actually praying. Don't lead worship if you're just playing it like any other song. Don't attend church services if you're just going to sit there and say "I don't believe any of this" to yourself the whole time. Don't <i>pretend</i> that you have faith when you don't. That's like being a lukewarm Christian...God wants you <i>hot</i> and fully in the faith or <i>cold</i> and fully out of the faith. And this one makes sense by secular standards as well...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>5. Take a frickin' break.</b></div>
<div>
Lastly, take a day off. This one obviously helped me out the most. I stopped praying, stopped reading the Bible, stopped worshipping, stopped thinking about God, stopping pondering religion and atheism...all of it. And as my wonderful great aunt suggested, whenever a thought about any of that comes into a play, start singing a song and get the thought of your head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was in a position where I felt like I was trapped inside a box called Christianity, that I was tricking myself into believing something that I didn't believe in so I wouldn't have to go outside that box, so I wouldn't have to be open-minded...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But as that same aunt said, <i>believing in Christ does not put you in a box, it's what frees you. Christ is freedom.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
And I wasn't feeling free...I was seeing church as an obligation...and that's the <i>complete </i>opposite of what Christ wants.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm glad to be back.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-12050756171989668162013-06-18T21:54:00.000-05:002013-06-18T21:54:28.853-05:00My Hands Are Dirty<div style="border-bottom: 1px dotted #000000;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I walk back to my room in the dark of the night after another evening devotional with the kids and other volunteers, slowly making my way amidst the dense fog. I pass through the gated door to my room...the rain still trickling from the gutter as I quietly sing "Grace Like Rain". But although my mouth confesses the feelings of grace, I feel far from it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The pastor's voice still ringing in my head...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>"It's like we're putting on a happy face when we are actually struggling....you know what I mean, Jake?" </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Coincidence? Conviction?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yet another day goes by full of laziness, and even if the girls were not constantly declaring,<i>"Jake siempre está cansado." (Jake is always tired)</i>, it would have been fairly easy to tell that I wasn't getting enough sleep.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's not that I was too busy or staying up too late. It's that I <i>couldn't </i>sleep. I was up night after night thinking.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After tossing and turning in my bed for an hour or so, I finally turn on my laptop to read some blogs and ease my mind. The computer starts up and my desktop picture shows:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vJgU-j5la8giUhxTlQ4nRtaLnz9FvoQA7LE8zZAbz7T6cEhkkOuwA2jKeh2Sp7SxLWDyRnNYTaaLfHqlcGi6AoHF0rBHnnrvyfW5CNju61txgRtnf55VpB42abT8OnfHs3jA5ygf25Nu/s1600/IMG_8104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vJgU-j5la8giUhxTlQ4nRtaLnz9FvoQA7LE8zZAbz7T6cEhkkOuwA2jKeh2Sp7SxLWDyRnNYTaaLfHqlcGi6AoHF0rBHnnrvyfW5CNju61txgRtnf55VpB42abT8OnfHs3jA5ygf25Nu/s400/IMG_8104.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>The Cross...Love...Titus 3:3-7</i>...words that continually pierce my heart.<br />
<br />
But now they pierce in a different way...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="border-bottom: 1px dotted #000000;">
<br />
It's not like I wasn't prepared for any of this...it started back in May when that same good friend pictured above <a href="http://thegracetosee.blogspot.com/2013/05/dirty-feet-revelations.html">spoke of words</a> we all needed to hear:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Putting on [a] face is like putting on shoes. We think it's helping. We think others can't see our dirty and gross looking feet. But they are still there. They don't go away because we wear shoes."</i></blockquote>
Then, that <a href="http://www.justifiedgaines.com/2013/05/no-more-hiding-part-1.html">other woman of God</a> gave some amazing advice:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"I think it starts with this: no more hiding. I need to be honest about myself and the places where I fall short with myself and the community that I am investing in. This way, transformation can happen in my heart and I can continue to grow."</i></blockquote>
And finally, just shortly before the "piercing" changed, a <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2013/06/step-one-when-you-feel-like-youre-sinking-fast/">guest blogger</a> proclaimed the truth:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"On a given Sunday, when the depression was suffocating, [my wife] armed herself with honesty and went to church...</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> 'If people ask me how I am doing, I’m going to tell them,' [she said.]</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>She answered each, 'How are you?' with a candid, 'Not well. I’m depressed. Will you pray for me?'"</i></blockquote>
<br />
Again and again, we're told to be <i>real, present, candid </i>with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Yet, we <i>continually </i>act like nothing is wrong...we resist vulnerability. It affects our pride. It can ruin our image. It can ruin our identity. It can ruin <i>our reputation</i>.<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
I closed my laptop, confused and angered by the sight of the picture.<br />
<br />
It pierced in a different way...<i>because I didn't believe it anymore. </i><br />
I couldn't go to sleep...<i>because I didn't believe it anymore.</i><br />
I couldn't find peace...<i>because I didn't believe it anymore.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I couldn't bring myself to find faith in the Cross, in Christ, in Church...I just didn't have faith...<br />
<br />
But what was worse was that I kept the secret inside. Again and again, the opportunity presented itself for me to confide in someone, for me to open up, for me to be vulnerable.<br />
<br />
But I still resisted...because that's what we do. We like doing things our way.<br />
<br />
And the following morning, after another night of little sleep, I open my laptop to see a different picture:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYT4UJBV1woxfVkBz4gIXxrvDkTIwXmdeIQaYyOw42r_hEyGskhf_SxGCjAH6DmdoMTj6S9d-SXIqrZfY6-erRRvfVLBHunAk17fXW4UhIWxh61oeYfVT6vGSJw5LBpAPGiJ9gSNP4O4i/s1600/IMG_8100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYT4UJBV1woxfVkBz4gIXxrvDkTIwXmdeIQaYyOw42r_hEyGskhf_SxGCjAH6DmdoMTj6S9d-SXIqrZfY6-erRRvfVLBHunAk17fXW4UhIWxh61oeYfVT6vGSJw5LBpAPGiJ9gSNP4O4i/s400/IMG_8100.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
A call to present our dirty hands, to present our real selves. So yes, <b>my hands are dirty</b>, and for the past week and a half, I have struggled with my belief in God, but I finally opened up. I finally reached out...I stopped telling lies.<br />
<br />
And since I´m trying not to tell lies...<br />
<br />
I can´t honestly say that my faith has fully returned, but since I opened up to one person, it's gotten <i>amazingly </i>better.<br />
<br />
And as I open up my Bible this morning, <i>truth springs forth...</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpELzcay5NHJHY9IdxzfttpA-3zT0IAZvkJWrij7we4U-Y7UDHmXP0Vsj9H5IUYSvkvxAF0Szm9VY0lyKSnj7lanbksMHAOGD-Wwveff9C1nJAzs6r2vre1Ej7PRGXXpsLi7rbztgChn_/s1600/Ephesians+4.25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpELzcay5NHJHY9IdxzfttpA-3zT0IAZvkJWrij7we4U-Y7UDHmXP0Vsj9H5IUYSvkvxAF0Szm9VY0lyKSnj7lanbksMHAOGD-Wwveff9C1nJAzs6r2vre1Ej7PRGXXpsLi7rbztgChn_/s320/Ephesians+4.25.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And tomorrow morning, I plan to go to morning prayer for the first time in quite a while. Yeah, it's at 5am, but I have <a href="http://thehungerandthirst.blogspot.com/2013/05/tom.html">my dear sister in Christ</a>'s words in the back of my head...and I know I'll get up.<br />
<br />
Your continual prayers are <i>immensely </i>appreciated.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-90991726359901432712013-06-14T08:25:00.000-05:002013-06-14T15:31:42.286-05:00Bowing Down<i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Back in March for my Spring Break, I went on a pilgrimage with Notre Dame's Campus Ministry. Below is the continued reflection of my journey:</i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our talk with Abu Jacobs and the graduate from Notre Dame was very intriguing, and made me aware of how ignorant I was of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Although it was meant to be more of a dialogue, I think that we were so ignorant of the whole situation that we just wanted to keep hearing more...without really being able to add any new points to the conversation.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_JT14MhHqqNFqkzvjFCMjgR8C3G38e8F7yT3_XBd7wYKtpBx2ZpiRB2J487TOoYmY9SRuoaxi4cnUU7gz-Mt_82cL61cSlDAg3qbzs1riL3oT-Qnm9KEcBMMOl4MjUK69z3Fp5EHhm54/s640/blogger-image-1158834978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_JT14MhHqqNFqkzvjFCMjgR8C3G38e8F7yT3_XBd7wYKtpBx2ZpiRB2J487TOoYmY9SRuoaxi4cnUU7gz-Mt_82cL61cSlDAg3qbzs1riL3oT-Qnm9KEcBMMOl4MjUK69z3Fp5EHhm54/s640/blogger-image-1158834978.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One thing that did make me happy was that these two Palestinian Catholics did not want Palestine to control the territory of the Holy Land either. All they were seeking was peace, and in their eyes, the conflict wouldn't be any better if the roles just reversed. (For those quite unfamiliar with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, I <i>strongly </i>encourage Elias Chacour's <i>Blood Brothers.</i>) in addition to this, he talked about the use of humor when trying to ease the conflict, which I think is definitely true.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We finished up our conversation and then were on our way to the Church of the Nativity, seen by many as the place of Christ's birth. As we walked towards the Church, we stopped at a local shop to get falafel, which was absolutely delicious and <i>a lot</i> better than the Middle Eastern restaurant by Notre Dame (no offense to them!). We sat outside the Church of the Nativity, sitting on the side of the street, as we watched tour after tour group go through the small door to the Church. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Although no one is exactly sure that this is the spot where Christ was born, we <i>do </i>know that Christians have seen this as the site for more than 1600 years, which makes it pretty cool. This is the same site where Jerome translated the Bible and that <i>billions</i><b style="font-style: italic;"> </b>of Christians have travelled to. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I first applied to go on the pilgrimage, the Church of the Nativity was one of my main interests. I saw so many photos of people placing their hands through a dark hole, said to be the exact spot where Jesus was born. Again and again, I had pictured myself having some <i>deep, spiritual</i> experience at this spot. I was prepared to have my mind blown.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As we got closer, I realized just how small this "small door" to the Church was. Apparently, back then, people used to go through the giant church doors on their horses. They ended up making the doors smaller and smaller, and now it's so small, that you actually have to bow down in order to get through it. It's clearly obvious that there is no way to get a horse through the door now, but what's also cool is the humility that this symbolizes. You're entering into a holy space and we are all inferior to Christ.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwypWJ9iOiEOoGvAF3PrDjBUsQ9MpTsv0Mqt1q8a9wUbloKV5H1I-cEhj38kjpe3OLYXcdaPDtgp7cMq34UGDnj0aq5ULVzzhR8nYsuNhLPhuQK-PTjZresgmuZtDj2f4Pgxk_0qQT2IMd/s640/blogger-image-1364966760.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwypWJ9iOiEOoGvAF3PrDjBUsQ9MpTsv0Mqt1q8a9wUbloKV5H1I-cEhj38kjpe3OLYXcdaPDtgp7cMq34UGDnj0aq5ULVzzhR8nYsuNhLPhuQK-PTjZresgmuZtDj2f4Pgxk_0qQT2IMd/s640/blogger-image-1364966760.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was pretty awesome seeing hundreds of tourists and pilgrims run through, all <b>bowing down</b> and showing respect to the Creator and as our pilgrimage group walked through, I, too, bowed down to the Almighty...</div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-17683154970896837092013-06-12T09:49:00.001-05:002013-06-12T09:51:16.638-05:00A Typical DayMy most often asked question has so far been "What exactly are you doing down there?"<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So <b>a typical day</b>...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>4:45am</b></div>
<div>
I wake up to the sound of my alarm blaring, and usually hit the snooze and let it wake up a little closer to 5:00am. It sounds awful, but my body is mainly adjusted to Notre Dame's time zone, meaning that it's really only like 6:45am....which I guess, to some, may still be awful, but it really hasn't been too bad. The other volunteer, Josh, and I share a room at the mission center, but one of us also needs to spend the night in the boy's room, where Leo and Frankie (the two boys) live. We've been switching off every week, so this week, I'm back in the mission center.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2ETNgL5MP4LGRr6Ij1X0Rc_PcI_mJ_28dNDaOxGxYGqLglKJfjN4JMhYAWDNaC_sH_YYmaJLreYWCt_ddipNknBbIEEEk6vXmnGoqGT4vn-vuHFR2JmxSNy-xcCKs1lx2wOhoJc3wH-g/s640/blogger-image--1859636880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2ETNgL5MP4LGRr6Ij1X0Rc_PcI_mJ_28dNDaOxGxYGqLglKJfjN4JMhYAWDNaC_sH_YYmaJLreYWCt_ddipNknBbIEEEk6vXmnGoqGT4vn-vuHFR2JmxSNy-xcCKs1lx2wOhoJc3wH-g/s400/blogger-image--1859636880.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo (left) and Frankie (right) being goofballs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>5:00 am</b></div>
<div>
I walk over to the main house in the peace and quiet of the morning, usually accompanied by the heavy fog that makes the place look like the set for a scary movie, which always gives me a good laugh. After arriving at the main house, we have morning prayer and spend some time talking about the coming day and anything different that´s going on at the school or with the kids.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>6:00am</b></div>
<div>
I head back over to the mission center to shower and get ready for the day or I wake up Leo and Frankie and get them ready for the day, which involves giving them showers, picking their clothes, getting them dressed....all while they would rather be jumping on top of me instead of getting ready.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>6:45am</b></div>
<div>
I walk across the street to the school for a small devotional, bible study, and prayer with the other teachers in the school. This is completely in Spanish, and it´s probably the most difficult to understand, as there are no kids in the room...meaning no need to talk slow or speak in basic terms.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>7:00am</b></div>
<div>
I teach the 6th graders English with Josh...this week, my goal has been to learn all of the kids' names. When you know names, you can write names on the board, which fortunately, gets you a lot more respect. :)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>7:45am</b></div>
<div>
I go to the kitchen back at the house to eat breakfast with all of the kids and some other staff. This morning, we had pancakes :) A wonderful and pleasant surprise! After breakfast, I usually have a lot of free time where I can catch up on emails, get some reading done, follow up on some friends' blogs, etc.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>9:00am</b></div>
<div>
We head over to the 5th grader´s classroom to teach English. Because this is the second class, I´m always a bit more prepared, and thankfully, already have all of the student´s name memorized. Needless to say, they are pretty well-behaved.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>9:45am</b></div>
<div>
Recess! A very early morning recess...when I play very intense basketball with the students (which helps with getting to know the kids). When I'm not playing basketball, I can usually be found sleeping on the couch at the main house. :)<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OjHTkwvbD9RPbHK0YcGddINFm9iV4FjSY1Bsi4XQM1bheC7bpu_MmhxeFUg1WDdDupi_k2HWnb6Lrl6ndUNP-ecxlNKB4qxQTTeMVYmsvAbx_53R9CGj8MRZbLlDYrRaH0feAAi0Upg9/s640/blogger-image-97355613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OjHTkwvbD9RPbHK0YcGddINFm9iV4FjSY1Bsi4XQM1bheC7bpu_MmhxeFUg1WDdDupi_k2HWnb6Lrl6ndUNP-ecxlNKB4qxQTTeMVYmsvAbx_53R9CGj8MRZbLlDYrRaH0feAAi0Upg9/s400/blogger-image-97355613.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the kids playing basketball at a park we went to last Friday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<b>10:20am</b></div>
<div>
We now head over to the secondary school to teach English 1 to the high-schoolers. This class was a little bit harder to get started...in the early days, this was mainly just them talking with Josh and I assigning some work. However, the past week and a half, we have had things pretty organized...playing games, having a pop quiz, etc. It's starting to actually feel like a high-school classroom. Sadly, I still have yet to remember anyone's name.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>11:50am</b></div>
<div>
Some more free time...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>12:30pm</b></div>
<div>
Lunch with the kids :)<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGz_5iMolsvWSHhNlX_ozVFSTxDFU9lKD62coQhnHShwgF3r2d1AXLOL-AKdT340-TMM2-xxc9s1SLr4PCOfhp-hER6YQ4YTAx4pdeqAXOARG0PcPW2-BsAMKoXNs9buLEm-MzeejLJw7/s640/blogger-image--728029615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGz_5iMolsvWSHhNlX_ozVFSTxDFU9lKD62coQhnHShwgF3r2d1AXLOL-AKdT340-TMM2-xxc9s1SLr4PCOfhp-hER6YQ4YTAx4pdeqAXOARG0PcPW2-BsAMKoXNs9buLEm-MzeejLJw7/s400/blogger-image--728029615.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily eating her spaghetti :) One of my favorite lunches so far</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>1:00pm</b></div>
<div>
Nap time...which some days I absolutely fall in love with...and other days, I absolutely abhor. As soon as the kids are sleeping, I feel like my duties change from "teacher" to "older brother". With school officially being over for the day, there's kind of no organized activities other than dinner in the evening. This time is usually spent blogging, reading, hanging out with the kids when they wake up (they can wake up anytime between 1:30pm and 3:30pm), taking a shower, taking pictures, helping out with the maintenance guy, etc.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuoXK45Sh-iRBkKg1PiqTd8xjvnx_XJTPXsaS7vMnpQdEFC7GSz-_PukHN5B5cbFopKex6-Tdt-M70OtB1wJeQ2-kdLumv8pD5dSvCWBnkBpQVIXI0zjIdGynXYvXFv5-aSRfNGIbTtd4s/s640/blogger-image--1861910648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuoXK45Sh-iRBkKg1PiqTd8xjvnx_XJTPXsaS7vMnpQdEFC7GSz-_PukHN5B5cbFopKex6-Tdt-M70OtB1wJeQ2-kdLumv8pD5dSvCWBnkBpQVIXI0zjIdGynXYvXFv5-aSRfNGIbTtd4s/s640/blogger-image--1861910648.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture sums up the Joy of a typical evening</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Most of the schoolnight evenings are spent helping out with homework, some devotional, and some worship. Most of the weekends are spent watching movies with the kids...or moreso, me falling asleep as <i>they</i> watch the movie.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-56019348626397928842013-06-08T20:39:00.000-05:002013-06-12T09:50:50.853-05:00Tugged on His Garment<div>
<i>Back in March for my Spring Break, I went on a pilgrimage with Notre Dame's Campus Ministry. Below is the continued reflection of my journey:</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
As we walked up a small staircase, I heard the noise of what sounded to me like the Muslim Call to Prayer. Quite the opposite, when I actually found that it was the pre-service hymn to the Melkite Catholic Mass that we would be attending.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDU-YZ6kLOF7CcyXPP62FHMkQHOwB2d8OUhDZmlRYKiuZ-B0x892l58mIXUFNi9itxzVd7BVK8F5avW_byOs8gwIm6VGEwx3SKp8CNJvQx8Muqqh0QKai9cb7ZI7Iti-W1w3Y_Sd5Y5nd/s640/blogger-image-238463545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDU-YZ6kLOF7CcyXPP62FHMkQHOwB2d8OUhDZmlRYKiuZ-B0x892l58mIXUFNi9itxzVd7BVK8F5avW_byOs8gwIm6VGEwx3SKp8CNJvQx8Muqqh0QKai9cb7ZI7Iti-W1w3Y_Sd5Y5nd/s640/blogger-image-238463545.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
The giant doors to the church were open wide and the music blared out, informing everyone that Mass was about to start. As we walked in, everyone had huge smiles on their faces, and the pastor of the church, Abu Jacobs, warmly welcomed us in. Fr. Brad, one of our trip leaders, was surprised to be given the invitation to concelebrate the Mass with Abu. The pastor informed the rest of the Church that we had travelled to their church from Notre Dame in the United States, which led the whole church to warmly welcome us with large smiles.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyN-XD-wBfgB2mcWFYqrYGcGht56s9EGMfJPoltDqCJs_xGQSzSXIfxyRJDEZ5Q6cxMzCUSklw3fMLpi8bnZYqNFwnQRlBVcU4-YGd1LwQQm5Zcdk1nVm3hsh0t-Z0ZZJSw-l3F7aFx9xk/s640/blogger-image--1395027262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyN-XD-wBfgB2mcWFYqrYGcGht56s9EGMfJPoltDqCJs_xGQSzSXIfxyRJDEZ5Q6cxMzCUSklw3fMLpi8bnZYqNFwnQRlBVcU4-YGd1LwQQm5Zcdk1nVm3hsh0t-Z0ZZJSw-l3F7aFx9xk/s640/blogger-image--1395027262.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had attended a Byzantine Catholic Church over by Notre Dame with some other pilgrims, so I was thankfully already somewhat familiar with the way that Eastern Churches have Mass. However, the one back by Notre Dame spoke English, whereas this Church spoke Arabic. It was definitely interesting to participate in a Christian service in a language that most people associate with another religion, which just once again proved my ignorance.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, because Fr. Brad was concelebrating with Abu, the Mass was in half English, which definitely helped me with being able to follow along. For those of you that have never been to a Byzantine or Melkite Catholic Mass, they are a little bit different than Roman Catholic Masses. And for those of you that think the <i>Roman Catholic</i> Mass is too ritualistic, I would encourage you to attend a Melkite or Byzantine Catholic Mass. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv52XVbeoN4yxZa_ZQUD2-Hyy3N4Xc_rCUmykNi5H1v_cXjTB1fvspwei6KgFpMFa70bkHVDTh4LDw3YC3WkOxMVkHHiXiXcUomG_TGwgOV4oHybKn0t11Mw-KjYFqw8BNdlyEOa9DNjqe/s640/blogger-image--269522962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv52XVbeoN4yxZa_ZQUD2-Hyy3N4Xc_rCUmykNi5H1v_cXjTB1fvspwei6KgFpMFa70bkHVDTh4LDw3YC3WkOxMVkHHiXiXcUomG_TGwgOV4oHybKn0t11Mw-KjYFqw8BNdlyEOa9DNjqe/s640/blogger-image--269522962.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I, personally, am not too big of a fan of the numerous rituals. However, even with all of these rituals, I still saw a sense of community vastly different than Masses in the United States. One of the biggest things was the overwhelming sense of informality paired along with the sense of the importance of what was occurring. When the pastor went up to read the Gospel, he followed behind a group of children ranging from two years old up to about thirteen years old. Little kids just walking down the main aisle with candles that were swinging back and forth like crazy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When Abu gave his Homily, a little two year old kept walking up to him. Instead of a parent rushing up to grab the kid (as I think would be the most common response in America, they let him be). The child walked up to Abu and <b>tugged on his garment</b>. Expecting Abu to politely ignore him and continue on with the message, he stopped his Homily and shook the child's hand. This informality helped make everyone a lot more comfortable, especially with the awkward language barrier that occurred at times. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, as I said before, this was paired with the idea that the Mass was something <i>very</i> important. As the gifts were carried forward and the Eucharist occurred, I witnessed many devoted Christians firmly showing their belief that they <i>actually</i> saw the bread and blood as the <i>literal </i>Body and Blood of Christ. Although I do not share this belief and therefore do not participate in the Eucharist, I was greatly impressed by the seriousness of the ritual. I didn't get this same feeling back at home in America, and when I speak to many Catholics, even in my own hall, they seem to be shocked with the belief of transubstantiation. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PEP4d_P1tr3JQ082pYGH3ZCScFcrbjydmQpOGyd3xWKXCx_6oOlkqZkie1cZQb6qJ6leeoUvEhnwpiaPzdKeKf-lTMb9OTqu4Lf7eLs887zroe6-6hdtt-5YrcAGctYKu-2KCtmay08X/s640/blogger-image--2121245036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PEP4d_P1tr3JQ082pYGH3ZCScFcrbjydmQpOGyd3xWKXCx_6oOlkqZkie1cZQb6qJ6leeoUvEhnwpiaPzdKeKf-lTMb9OTqu4Lf7eLs887zroe6-6hdtt-5YrcAGctYKu-2KCtmay08X/s640/blogger-image--2121245036.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And aside from the uneasiness that I felt when I saw a parent give her son a cookie like he was a dog after he carried the candles up the aisle, the experience was overall, not too bad.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Afterwards, Abu invited us, along with the entire parish, inside a small building next door for coffee and fellowship. This was another key difference that I saw with the churches in the Holy Land...these parishes were <i>actually </i>like families. They all knew what was going on in the other lives, they were all catching up with each other, and most importantly, this time lasted for a good twenty minutes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shortly afterwards, we met a parishioner of the church who actually went to Notre Dame and got his Master's at the Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies, where I now study, which was <i>really </i>cool. Abu and the Notre Dame alum invited us to talk afterwards about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-67969697271243508502013-06-04T16:57:00.001-05:002013-06-04T16:57:45.572-05:00Peace in the Moment<i>And to You, Almighty Father, I send up nothing but Gratitude and Praise, thanking You for my day, for the gift of this weather, the children, this summer, this opportunity, and every opportunity that I have to be more like Christ and to see more of Christ in others. You continually remind me of Your Immense Love, Mercy, and Grace with the daily downpour of rain. And I ask You, Creator of All, to continually strengthen me, discipline me, and carry me, so that I may first and foremost grow closer to you by seeking the Kingdom of Heaven.</i><br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6vAuaJrTBxo1_YZwTcnhTiSSwqGC3nMQB6GyNiVlUs2M1El1fk78xSc7KbHSbwyASUSra4eykaEndhl_OkN3QJVxidFFm9B5m0CzvS5d4d3QuLt0aGuvgDO9WXlI5RYiNEJRGDKGFCn4/s640/blogger-image-1486552927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6vAuaJrTBxo1_YZwTcnhTiSSwqGC3nMQB6GyNiVlUs2M1El1fk78xSc7KbHSbwyASUSra4eykaEndhl_OkN3QJVxidFFm9B5m0CzvS5d4d3QuLt0aGuvgDO9WXlI5RYiNEJRGDKGFCn4/s400/blogger-image-1486552927.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily, with a no-sass status</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After breakfast, I walk outside and feel the sun screaming down my neck, reminding me that I should have put sunscreen on yesterday...but I kind of laugh it off, and see it as a reminder of my dependence on God.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I played outside with them for quite some time, giving well over a hundred piggy back rides, airplane rides, and lifts through the monkey bars. With messing around with kids, jumping over numerous walls due to doors being locked, and playing basketball with the students after I'm done teaching, it seems that staying in shape, or more so, getting <i>into</i> shape, won't be a problem while I'm here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My biggest problem of the morning was being put into timeout by Emily (a girl with the most unique, obnoxious, and life-giving laugh you'll ever hear...and sadly some sass comes along with that laugh) and Yelka (a little girl who <i>loves</i> to yell at me in such a quick voice that I can't make out what I'm being yelled at for). Anyway, I was put in timeout for some reason (who honestly knows?) and was continually threatened that if I moved at all, they would bring over a frog to "eat my feet for his lunch". Needless, to say, play time in the morning lasted<i> quite</i> a while.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then, we had lunch, which is always my favorite time of the day, followed by nap time, which can either be an enormous success or an absolute failure. Today, I really needed help.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Five children have to go down for a nap every day, and as you can imagine, it's hard to get all five kids to get to bed on time. You usually have two of the five kids actually being willing to go to bed, and then three kids that refuse, and obviously, that quickly turns into all five kids refusing. Time after time, you'll tell them to go to bed, but when you have five intelligent kids that can somehow carry on three different conversations at the same time, it's pretty hard to stop all three.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday, the kids went to bed so easily; within five minutes, they all went to bed. But<i> today</i>, they just weren't having it. I started getting angry, frustrated, exhausted, trying and trying to get these kids to go to bed, trying every technique that I knew: the silent treatment, the nice treatment, the firm treatment, the gratitude treatment...they had all failed me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There was practically nothing else for me to do, so I prayed...which looking back, I probably should have done a lot sooner. And I not only prayed, but I thought of all the other people praying for me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's almost cliche to tell someone that's going through a hard time that your thoughts and prayers are with them, and if I'm being honest, I know I've said the phrase numerous times myself, without continuing forth with my promise.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, shortly before taking off to Nicaragua, I had the <i>blessed </i>opportunity to visit with my great aunt, a devoted and humble woman of God that I respect greatly. Instead of telling me that she would be praying for me, she made a pledge to God before me that she would pray for me every single day. And it wasn't a simple pledge...it was a pledge with <i>meaning, </i>with <i>love, </i>with <i>care. </i>And it really hit me...she's going to be praying for me <i>every</i> day? I have something tangible that I can hold on to...something that will help get me through the days. And when I can't find the words to express what I'm feeling to God, I can rely on those prayers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So thank <i>you </i>to my great aunt that prays for me every morning...</div>
<div>
Thank <i>you</i> to the wonderful coffee shop friend that has randomly facebook messaged me numerous times over the past year to tell me she's praying for me...</div>
<div>
Thank <i>you </i>to the close sister in Christ that randomly texts me bible verses and can change my day in a second...</div>
<div>
Thank <i>you</i> to the neighbor from down the street, who I´m pretty sure I haven´t send more than a hello to, for the kind words and prayers...<br />
Thank <i>you</i> to the wonderful friend who always seems to follow my blog without me knowing and sends prayers my way...<br />
Thank <i>you</i> to my amazing friend for continually emailing and checking up on me out of the blue, helping me to look towards Christ...<br />
Thank <i>you</i> to that friend´s mom, who warmly and generously went above and beyond by giving me a devotional that I read every morning...<br />
<br />
Your prayers, thoughts, and actions are all appreciated more than you know, continually giving me <i>Strength </i>to overcome the past, <b><i>Peace </i>in the moment</b>, and <i>Hope </i>for the future.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0BuUmcu3Hv_5ScL4vn_SRtge1KJooAIlaZhwpSd6X82cpkOUTsezSKxmZjJOtH0tmB73wdqQKVHvaxIik9O2Yl99UbulZM5L2KItqPu4Kh4_uvUxRVDxpFzjTyGKTJ5dNYzzavikSnEn/s640/blogger-image-793158511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0BuUmcu3Hv_5ScL4vn_SRtge1KJooAIlaZhwpSd6X82cpkOUTsezSKxmZjJOtH0tmB73wdqQKVHvaxIik9O2Yl99UbulZM5L2KItqPu4Kh4_uvUxRVDxpFzjTyGKTJ5dNYzzavikSnEn/s400/blogger-image-793158511.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And lastly, thank <i>you</i> to the children of New Hope´s orphanage...as crazy and wild as you are during nap times, you continually bring me <i>Joy.</i></div>
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-53292375477850924022013-05-31T14:58:00.001-05:002013-06-14T15:25:36.688-05:00The Quiet VoiceI slowly climb up the ladder, reaching my foot around to step on the unsteady roof. The can of sealant paint in one hand, and an old brush in another.<div><br></div><div>I cautiously cross across the hot clay roof, searching for cracks and sealing paint over bolts to prevent leaks. The sun is beating down on my neck and back, and I can't help but think that I will be bright red tonight. A group of people sing in the distance, and although I can't make out the words, something tells me that it's a church group. </div><div><br></div><div>Two nuns walk by, followed by a man carrying a wheelbarrow to the house next door. Across the street, a child is helping his father fix a window, and in the yard down by the house, the children are outside playing. </div><div><br></div><div>My feet are burning from the hot roof, and my forehead drips sweat...</div><div><br></div><div>I rely on God to give me Joy through this work, thinking back to Mother Theresa saying that she could not go 30 seconds without praying. I think of all the good that this work will bring...how something as small as sealing a roof can have so grand of an impact...how our small actions can produce huge results with the help of the Creator.</div><div><br></div><div><b>The quiet voice</b> of my Theology professor from the fall gently nudges my conscience..."I absolutely love doing dishes...it's one of the few things I do where I can see the results of my work." And as I look back across the roof, I notice all the work that I've done so far...the numerous bolts covered in a thick black coat. I remember the class when I told her, "We need to find Joy in the <i>little</i> progress that we make instead of waiting for the <i>huge</i> progress."</div><div><br></div><div>And I have Peace. I have Joy. I have Gratitude...</div><div><br></div><div>...until I come to a bolt that has been previously sealed, yet still has holes in it. Someone has done this before and their work did not prove fruitful. And I begin to question whether my results will have <i>any</i> results.</div><div><br></div><div>And the response of that same woman of God pierces straight through my doubt: "Yes, Jake, but what if there is no progress at all? What if our actions don't have any positive results? We need to find Joy in the action itself, not in the results."</div><div><br></div><div>And as I continue to seal the roof, as I look out and see all the other people working, a smile gleams across my face, for if we can find Joy in the action itself, than all<i> </i>work <i>will</i> be fruitful. </div><div><br></div><div>And now, two hours later, as I sit on the couch, l hear the pouring rain and thunder, and that same smile comes back across my face.</div><div><br></div><div>And the work continues to produce Joy, Peace, and Gratitude.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-5355876509175438162013-05-29T08:29:00.001-05:002013-05-31T00:29:09.943-05:00One DayI awake this morning to the wonderful sound of rain. I woke up for morning prayer at 5am, and surprisingly, I wasn't tired at all, which I'm assuming is because of my excitement at getting to actually meet all the kids. I'm a big fan of morning prayer being so early. It forces us to pray so early that we're doing it before pretty much anything else, like brushing our teeth, changing out of our pajamas, etc.<div><br></div><div>After prayer, everyone left the living room to get the day started, but considering it was my first day, I didn't really have any actual assigned tasks. I sat on the couch checking my email, when not five minutes later, a little five year old boy (who I now know as Frankie) walked out of a bedroom attached to the Iiving room. He immediately invited me inside and gave me a piece of gum...so we were pretty much instant friends. Within about ten minutes, the other five year old boy was up, we were playing hide and seek, and they were climbing all over me. They also kept pulling up my shirt and giving me raspberries, which I guess is just their thing...</div><div><br></div><div>After about 30 minutes of all of that, we sat in the couches in the living room as I read them a few books, which was just perfect. I went back to my room to change out of my pajamas and then ate with the two five year olds and the other younger orphans for breakfast. We had cream mixed with baked beans, which was a little different because I'm pretty sure that I had never had baked beans before today...but they weren't too bad, and I'm pretty sure that it would be impossible to have a bad breakfast while eating with those kids. </div><div><br></div><div>After breakfast, the kids went off to preschool, and I went to the primary school to help Josh, the other summer volunteer, teach English to some 5th graders. The students are all great, and they are so influential in helping me get back into speaking Spanish...I'm obviously a lot more comfortable speaking Spanish in front of 5th graders in contrast with adults. </div><div><br></div><div>Class went by pretty fast, and the next period was recess so I decided to play basketball with the 5th graders...I had some time before I had to help Josh teach English 1 for the secondary school. I'm pretty sure that playing basketball with the kids got me on their good side (sadly, school is closed for the next two days for Nicaraguan-wide teacher conferences, so I won't see them again until Monday!).</div><div><br></div><div>The secondary class wasn't as much fun...the kids aren't as excited to learn it, but I have high hopes for the coming months. In Nicaragua, we are right in the heart of the school season, so the kids wil be in school the entire time that I am down here. </div><div><br></div><div>After secondary school, we went to go eat lunch with the people at the orphanage, including the preschoolers that I met earlier in the morning. Although there a 13 orphans, there are only seven of them in the preschool...the others attend the primary or secondary school. All seven of them are absolutely wonderful, loving, funny, and of course, a little mischievous. After lunch, we had nap time, and that took a while to get the kids down, but after they were sleeping, it was nice to have some time to relax.</div><div><br></div><div>After naps, school was over, and it was pretty much just hang out and play time for the rest of the night. I hung out a lot with Frankie, who is in love with his cars, and as soon as he saw that I had an iPad, he wanted to take a <i>bunch </i>of pictures. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHyVCNFbsZVx1aSWrH3WqTJCSbQT-OPkF3qh3uKieNdWxTdNkH_tJRuIkTXFwLIjciS7erIHF6HMl_gf9yD7AWT0PIm3G7UCxUAXGawTbDq_DlMjFLpDwLMY1XjG8bht1n-bBpZnoeiH4/s640/blogger-image-1622883701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHyVCNFbsZVx1aSWrH3WqTJCSbQT-OPkF3qh3uKieNdWxTdNkH_tJRuIkTXFwLIjciS7erIHF6HMl_gf9yD7AWT0PIm3G7UCxUAXGawTbDq_DlMjFLpDwLMY1XjG8bht1n-bBpZnoeiH4/s640/blogger-image-1622883701.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Eventually, the other kids came out to play, and we went all around the soccer field playing "crocodile hunting", which pretty much means that everyone grasps on to me for "protection" as we hunt for the crocodiles...until one of them suddenly turns into a crocodile. When this happens, they all turn into crocodiles, except me of course, and then I just get tackled to the ground by five kids...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We went inside to hang out for a little while longer until dinner was ready...I don't know what we ate, but it was delicious...looked kind of like a friend taco? Haha I don't know my food names, and I'm more concerned with how it tastes than with what it is actually called. :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After dinner, we all hung out in the living room, singing worship songs, having a small devotional, and just messing around...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjXR91tqQ094EbqiVTZu4kPj-nvYzASHkY8iquVe-G_Y2v6ycR-pUG3pvJKBkTzqozrCM5ZgLN7dYaZBaceKIG6Qr2QPQy9dUwtgGhx5TLqLFkaMpPwLiYE_tGwDFaqqLZJfkTlpacCc-/s640/blogger-image-312221765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjXR91tqQ094EbqiVTZu4kPj-nvYzASHkY8iquVe-G_Y2v6ycR-pUG3pvJKBkTzqozrCM5ZgLN7dYaZBaceKIG6Qr2QPQy9dUwtgGhx5TLqLFkaMpPwLiYE_tGwDFaqqLZJfkTlpacCc-/s640/blogger-image-312221765.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We ended the night by having the teenagers teach us more Spanish, which they do an amazing job at, followed by us watching August Rush. I went back to my room (Josh and I are switching off the weeks that we sleep with Frankie and Leito, the two boys...this week, I'm sleeping in our room while Josh sleeps with them) in the lightly pouring rain, realizing how truly blessed I am to be at this place.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I have gotten such a insight into the terrible stories if many of these kids' pasts...pasts that have been washed away and replaced by loving and loving-love kids. I'm surprised by how long the day has been...in a good way. And mostly, I'm shocked by how well I'm picking up Spanish again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And I've only been here for <b>one day</b>...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-92202374373118735822013-05-29T08:24:00.001-05:002013-05-29T08:24:08.764-05:00PeaceTwo days ago, while laying in bed, I had somewhat of a panic attack...<div><br></div><div>Realizing that I was going to be away from my home--far away from my home--for a full two months...that I was giving up an internship. I had talked about the trip that it almost seemed like that's all it would ever be: just talk. But two days ago, I lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling and breathing heavily. Realizing that this was no longer talk about some distant trip after finals and all that stuff---because two days ago, I realized I had only two more nights in my bed at home.</div><div><br></div><div>The ceiling fan continued making noise, my little brother lay next to me breathing, the television in the other room playing, the dog walking around...there was too much noise and I couldn't handle it with all of my thoughts. </div><div><br></div><div>So I turned on my phone, plugged in my headphones and listened to the sounds of a rain storm, attempting to break out all the other noise, and more out of mental exhaustion than self will, I fell asleep.</div><div><br></div><div>And now here I lay in a small bed in Nicaragua...thunder, rain, lightning going absolutely insane outside. I'm alone in a dark room, and I'm <i>far</i> from home.</div><div><br></div><div>But there are no feelings of anxiety, no feelings of despair, exhaustion, doubt. </div><div><br></div><div>There is just <b>peace</b>, and I know that I am where I am supposed to be.</div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for your prayers.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-39878824821575986982013-05-28T09:41:00.001-05:002013-05-28T09:41:37.277-05:00An Adrenaline Rush<span style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Within a few short hours, I'll be starting my missions trip to Nicaragua. For 65 days, I will be down in El Crucero, Nicaragua, just outside of Managua (Nicaragua's Capital). I will be working at New Hope Children's Foundation, which manages a school with more than 300 students from the community, an orphanage that has eleven girls and two boys, and a feeding center.</span><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">While I'm down in Nicaragua, although I will mainly just be a helping hand for whoever needs some help, I will be helping teach English and Mathematics at the Foundation's school.</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">I'm not quite sure what I'm feeling at the moment, on my way to the airport....realizing that this will be my first time going on a plane on my own. I wouldn't really say that I'm nervous, but more of <b>an adrenaline rush</b>. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Yet maybe even an adrenaline rush is a bad thing to have right now, so I lift that up to God...all nerves, anxiety, worry, and fear of the unknown, and thanking Him for this wonderful opportunity to which I have been called, delighting in the many who helped support me on this coming journey, both spiritually and financially, sending up Gratitude for every single moment that I experience, knowing that He has a plan, I humbly ask for the peace that surpasses all understanding.</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">For I can do all things through God who strengthens me..</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">I humbly ask for your prayers over the next two months, that I find gratitude in every moment, that even if it's not what I experience, I will experience what God has in store for me, that I maintain a spiritual discipline, that I put myself second to all, especially Christ, and that I serve the Kingdom.</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">I would not be making this journey without God, and more importantly, I could not have made this journey without God, and I entrust Him with everything.</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">All Glory, All Honor, All Praise to Him!</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); "><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-18960967578320253752013-05-26T20:02:00.001-05:002013-05-27T08:38:25.507-05:00Three SecondsAfter morning prayer, we traveled on towards the Checkpoint to get into Bethlehem. I was impressed that the Checkpoint into Bethlehem is no more than a two-minute walk from Tantur Institute. I was pleasantly surprised that Notre Dame was able to get such prime real estate. The Checkpoint seemed to be the most talked about location that we'd be going to. Again and again, we were told to be <i>extremely </i>cautious when going through the checkpoint. No photographs. No jokes. No trying to be a "social justice activist" and stand up for the people being treated unfairly. If we were in the back of a line and were told that we could skip to the front, we were to warmly accept the invitation. This pilgrimage was not a time for us to live in solidarity with victims of oppression.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm one of those people that like to take charge...it's really a problem. My mom is probably singing praises of "Alleluia" right now because I'm admitting this. Anyway, I tend to be the person that leads the group, that walks to the front of the group...even when I'm in a different country for the first time. I guess I can also blame this on my fast-walking.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, I quickly travelled to the front of our pack and headed through the first gate at the checkpoint. I had no idea that you were supposed to stop and show the soldiers your passport and stop for questioning. As I travelled through, one of the leaders of the pilgrimage called my name, implying that I should turn around and show the guard my passport. However, the guard motioned me forward, implying that I didn't have to show my passport--I guess there are a lot of benefits to being a blonde-haired white kid that doesn't know what he's doing. On the one hand, I was delighted that I could easily walk through, but on the other hand, I was getting a privilege that <i>many </i>people were denied. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What usually took up to two hours for some Palestinians (<i>literally </i>two hours), took me a matter of <b>three seconds</b>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The rest of the pilgrimage group followed through, but as I continued on down the path only to bet by about thirty taxi drivers all fighting to be our cab driver. About this time, my "need to lead" simmered down a bit and we followed behind Hannah, one of the pilgrimage leaders who also runs the Notre Dame Jerusalem Program. Twenty clueless and ignorant people following someone that clearly knew where she was going---I'm pretty sure it was clear as day that we were Americans.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The roads of Bethlehem were not exactly what I thought they would be like. I guess I was expecting dirt roads, people with head coverings, really old buildings, etc. Something like this...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjio6iD_2pN9-Dq0GOlQ05v4aBrRzvn9nhJS8-t5OzlGnYZniyxtUJ-rsU04qaA-l-FdWWOT2Cbuarzy6b-FvQfFBhyOEwekAAFh6afjqENnN6pAX9-9OLjusTTb-XH6Ta9AIWmgBKM8rlr/s640/blogger-image-189062586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjio6iD_2pN9-Dq0GOlQ05v4aBrRzvn9nhJS8-t5OzlGnYZniyxtUJ-rsU04qaA-l-FdWWOT2Cbuarzy6b-FvQfFBhyOEwekAAFh6afjqENnN6pAX9-9OLjusTTb-XH6Ta9AIWmgBKM8rlr/s320/blogger-image-189062586.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But in reality, it was pretty modern. I mean, it definitely wasn't a city like Chicago, but it kind of looked like a run-down once-urban city...there were some nice buildings, there were stories everywhere, people dressed in jeans were walking around...more like this...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfXs5FwrbG93__UF8KEOwdkbHhcsI2pZjWVGpclZayBl7IaHSaDTiiNjMWGvyIkp2jY4RUfvZcjDeudUL7_BK3DpikJthdIIbe2ysCG5PsjiEP1S3RUtUNeUx2lArIUmZB1iKjgMsRWaC/s640/blogger-image--566723320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfXs5FwrbG93__UF8KEOwdkbHhcsI2pZjWVGpclZayBl7IaHSaDTiiNjMWGvyIkp2jY4RUfvZcjDeudUL7_BK3DpikJthdIIbe2ysCG5PsjiEP1S3RUtUNeUx2lArIUmZB1iKjgMsRWaC/s320/blogger-image--566723320.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And aside from the giant checkpoint wall that made the city look more like a jail from the outside and aside from the Palestinian guards at some corners stationed with their firearms, it really didn't look anything like I was expecting. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We quickly walked through the streets, hurrying to get to Mass on time....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-33739363403632824212013-05-17T12:04:00.001-05:002013-05-17T12:04:22.791-05:00Seeking that Personal PrayerWe arrived in Tel Aviv, Israel in the middle of the night and took a long bus ride to <a href="http://tantur.org/">Tantur Institute</a>. I was pleasantly surprised by how much different Israel was than how I had originally thought that it would be. It seemed so much more modern than I thought it would be, yet still much more ancient than I thought it would be, which doesn't really make sense....but that's what I felt.<br />
<br />
Tantur is right outside of Bethlehem, up on a hill. Expecting some small building, I was amazed to find a fairly large campus. However, with only having about three hours before we had to wake up for Mass the following morning, I didn't really have the time to explore yet.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQMuhR_GJbygiPsVZxjxvY8-I7IVls8qvco-E_BVTcSpM_xpu4K_0ZkWHA1RvMm6GqY48I4vaapnTuOy6sDxkapPGuQ6ewkyum5Km3wJ2J1psT-mdlUYB0k1EJvj91-kB3csAT3Hy5Wyp/s1600/IMG_5224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQMuhR_GJbygiPsVZxjxvY8-I7IVls8qvco-E_BVTcSpM_xpu4K_0ZkWHA1RvMm6GqY48I4vaapnTuOy6sDxkapPGuQ6ewkyum5Km3wJ2J1psT-mdlUYB0k1EJvj91-kB3csAT3Hy5Wyp/s320/IMG_5224.JPG" width="320" /></a>I awoke to my early morning alarm, thankfully free of jet lag, most likely due to the excitement of the day. I was given a single to stay at while rooming at Tantur, and the bright sun shone through the curtains.<br />
<br />
I opened up the back porch window, stepping out into the 80°F weather...coming from South Bend's 30°F weather, this was absolutely wonderful. After a quick shower and a delightful breakfast, we stepped into the front courtyard at Tantur for morning prayer. We only had a short time before we had to walk over to Bethlehem for mass, but praying with Bethlehem in the background was quite an experience.<br />
<br />
Morning prayer was not something that I was used to...even attending a Catholic grade school, morning prayer was never something that I have experienced. Coming from a faith community on campus that usually doesn't practice pre-written prayer, I had to make quite an adjustment. I found myself desperately seeking the time to pray what I was feeling at the moment.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4SYDaTj19CY6Dyp3vNFmeGjW-sDBlRyOOZhU8bAY0KVsRXV5Ln9BLHkaNQrx4brs0qQ3pClqUg7BDhcxAPxJ_Lt0pXVTkC0DKX3Fjg3fBtepH1jLE6W3kzZJaRR-tBiMhqp_4ayrE_kz/s1600/IMG_5225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4SYDaTj19CY6Dyp3vNFmeGjW-sDBlRyOOZhU8bAY0KVsRXV5Ln9BLHkaNQrx4brs0qQ3pClqUg7BDhcxAPxJ_Lt0pXVTkC0DKX3Fjg3fBtepH1jLE6W3kzZJaRR-tBiMhqp_4ayrE_kz/s320/IMG_5225.JPG" width="320" /></a>As we took turns reciting different parts out of our prayer books, I looked out on the giant wall separating Israel and Palestine beyond the wall of Tantur. In the same light, I felt this wall between God and I when praying morning prayer.<br />
<br />
Even surrounded by devoted Christians who I looked up to, I struggled to make that connection. Even with this spiritual community, even with this pilgrimage group, my heart desired personal prayer.<br />
<br />
Last night, I went out to Steak N Shake with a few friends from <a href="http://isi.nd.edu/">ISI</a>, and before our meal, we joined our hands in prayer, thanking God for the wonderful time together this past year and our many blessings...but I still found myself <b>seeking that personal prayer</b>. I didn't want to stop praying, didn't want to stop communicating with God...I wanted to talk about everything else that was going on.<br />
<br />
Instead of thinking that the prayer was too short, that the prayer is pre-written and not personal, that only one person in the group is praying...I think I need to look more inwardly and realize that prayer in these settings is meant to be <i>communal. </i>Our faith lives, although personal, are also meant to be experienced in community, in relationship with one another...even God is in constant relationship with Himself.<br />
<br />
I should be seeing this as a conviction of a need for more personal prayer, of more personal time with Christ. In <i>communal</i> prayer, we're uniting together under one prayer, whether pre-written or spoken with one person, and regardless of how long the prayer is, we <i>are</i> communicating with Christ.<br />
<br />
Both<i> </i>personal <i>and </i>communal prayer are necessary for a vibrant faith life, and for me, the prior is definitely lacking. I'm currently going through Bill Hybels's <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Too-Busy-Not-Pray-Slowing/dp/1594152470">Too Busy Not to Pray</a>, </i>and so far, it's bearing some great fruit in my life. Sometimes I so easily forget that we can approach God alone, but we <i>can</i>. And <i>that</i>...is awesome.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-50227929149402379602013-05-13T13:56:00.000-05:002013-05-13T13:56:25.872-05:00Unconditional Love SucksFinals are officially over and the semester has ended! I'm still on campus for Senior Week, as I'll be singing with the <a href="http://www3.nd.edu/~voices/">gospel choir</a> for Commencement this weekend. Then, I'll be home for a short seven days, followed by my 65-day trip to Nicaragua!<br />
<br />
So many wonderful blessings have been poured out on me over the past two weeks...and while I usually talk about how hard it is to praise God in the midst of suffering and pain, I feel like we overlook how hard it is thank God in the midst of so many blessings.<br />
<br />
With a brand new job with Campus Ministry for next year, finishing the semester with all As and Bs, and receiving a sizable service scholarship from the University, sometimes it's easy to attribute these blessings to myself, to forget how much God helped me.<br />
<br />
I've been talking with some friends recently about why God's <b>unconditional love sucks</b>.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful for it, but if I'm being <i>blatantly honest</i>, God's unconditional love pisses me off at times....<br />
<br />
Some of you may disagree with me...the fact that we don't have to work for our salvation, that we receive this <i>amazing and infinite</i> gift, how could I not love that?<br />
<br />
Well...there's this funny little thing called <i>pride</i>...<br />
<br />
I like glory...I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy being the center of attention, receiving recognition, honor, gratitude, praise...anything that makes me feel like I <i>worked</i> for something, <i>earned </i>something, <i>deserved </i>something.<br />
<br />
Life, especially in America, sometimes seems like one big rat race...we're all chasing after the American Dream, all trying to be the best, competing with each other. I've worked hard to get good grades, to do so much community service, join so many extracurricular activities. And I'm obviously not alone...<i>millions </i>of students have worked their way up the social ladder, desperate to get to the top. Suzy Lee Weiss sums it all up in her <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424127887324000704578390340064578654.html">WSJ post</a>.<br />
<br />
For me, it's why God's unconditional love angers me at time. We want to feel <i>entitled</i> to something. I can never declare that I have <i>earned</i> God's grace, that I <i>deserve</i> eternal salvation. All of that is open to absolutely everyone, and there is nothing I can do to prove myself worthy. <i>Christ</i> is the only one who can make us worthy.<br />
<br />
I recently heard All Sons and Daughter's "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPnTn70V-P4">All Praise to You</a>" on Pandora, as they repeatedly declare:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
"All Glory, All Honor, All Praise to You"</blockquote>
We're not saying "Glory and Honor and Praise to God", we're saying "<i>All </i>Glory, <i>All </i>Honor, <i>All </i>Praise<i> </i>to God"....meaning all that glory that I want? That all has to go to Him.<br />
<br />
When we attribute our works to Christ, our achievements, our victories, our accomplishments, we're giving up our thoughts of entitlement, which is a hard thing to do. I completely understand that.<br />
<br />
<i>But...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
When we give up that entitlement, we start finding more gratitude, and as <a href="http://onethousandgifts.com/">I've been so often read</a>, gratitude is what leads to <i>true</i> Joy. So be thankful for unconditional love...even if we didn't <i>earn</i> it, we still get true Joy from it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-22133955519910032852013-04-23T18:12:00.004-05:002013-04-23T18:12:57.932-05:00On My Way to WalkAfter the Old Church, we headed back to the airport terminal in Amsterdam, where we had some "dinner" (not really sure on what meal it technically was due to the constant time changes) and coffee. We just kind of took some time to talk to each other, get to know each other, and most importantly, reflect on our day in Amsterdam. For me, it was my first exposure to an international culture, and without a doubt, this was a lot different than the Midwestern culture I'm used to. However, there were a lot of things about it that I liked...as well as a lot of things about it that I didn't like. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We got on the plane, and this time, I was ecstatic to find out that I was given a window seat! It was sad that it was pretty dark out, but I was able to see a lot with the lights on the ground thankfully, as well as get a lot of sleep, due to me being able to use the window for head support.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I woke up mid-flight as we were travelling over a small village. I regret not waking up Trevor and Amanda (two fellow pilgrims), who I didn't really know all that well at the time, to grab my camera and get a picture. It was amazing how clearly you could see the outline of the village just by seeing the lights. Then, as the flight continued, I started seeing fewer and fewer lights...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And that's when it really hit me...that's when I realized where I was. I was in a completely different country, completely different culture, completely different environment, <i>thousands</i> of miles away from home (much to the dismay of my mother and grandmother). But most importantly, I was about to embark on a <i>pilgrimage, </i>not just <i>some vacation</i>, not just a trip...I was going to the place where Christ walked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXxYOtaolbnNspkSM7Bln9M2oCShmiuODSuU_YvwHxgEWlxH_dTc2bnCe4RJC3aZQIXQshO8k8Vm0UtbYpyPbDiuZgptGXR6EHZmlDTqoaOrt-em0vuvWVP2kMnKix8Nu9mvh1ItFHQkQ/s1600/IMG_6576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXxYOtaolbnNspkSM7Bln9M2oCShmiuODSuU_YvwHxgEWlxH_dTc2bnCe4RJC3aZQIXQshO8k8Vm0UtbYpyPbDiuZgptGXR6EHZmlDTqoaOrt-em0vuvWVP2kMnKix8Nu9mvh1ItFHQkQ/s400/IMG_6576.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I snapped this picture of Zachary, my brother (on the right with the blue covering), at his Christmas program this past December. Four shepherds walking up towards the birthplace of Christ...four kids with completely different reactions. One serious, one excited, one terrified, and then there's Zachary...looking like he knows what he's doing. I can't say that I didn't felt the same way while on the plane...like I was ready for this journey.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was <b>on my way to walk</b> in the same places where I<i> literally </i>believe <i>Yahweh</i> walked <i>in the flesh</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm not sure why we so easily glance over that statement. We hear "in the flesh" so often, but have we ever taken a second to realize what that means?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Personally, I think I used to view Jesus as someone like George Washington, or Abraham Lincoln, or Christopher Columbus...I wholeheartedly believed that these people were alive <i>in the flesh</i>. I had no doubts within me that Lincoln never existed or anything like that, and I fully agreed that<i> </i>by calling my home state the <i>Land of Lincoln</i>, that we <i>actually</i> rest assured in the fact that he did live there for a while.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But Jesus is a bit different...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because Jesus is God, Jesus is <i>Yahweh</i>, the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, the <i>Almighty</i>. Yeshua. The Indescribable Creator.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Redeemer. The Savior.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>My </i>Redeemer. <i>My </i>Savior.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Can you <i>honestly</i> fathom living in the apostles' shoes? I'm not so sure that I can. I mean, this is <i>huge</i>. This is <i>God</i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you look at that picture of Zachary closely, you can see a little bit of fear in his eyes...appearing to have it all together, appearing to fit the part, but deep down, I know his heart's beating <i>fast, </i>his mind is jumping from thought to thought, he's full of anxiety and excitement and fear all at the same time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And as we landed in Tel Aviv, Israel, as I sat on the plane waiting to get off, I realized that deep down I was the same way....just like my little brother.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-66259374659007912792013-04-21T09:44:00.000-05:002013-04-21T09:44:22.372-05:00Attracted to the BrokennessWe finally walked around the Old Church to the main entrance, walking inside the remains of what once was the largest church, <i>the</i> church of Amsterdam. During the Reformation, the Church was greatly destroyed, and nothing remains but large, empty spaces, broken windows, cracked ground...<br />
<br />
A continual remembrance of what <i>once </i>was...<br />
<br />
But even remembering what once was, I was still greatly troubled. The large organ loomed above, intimidating all who walked below it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RJmYeYL-_Ral1r2rKfrtGoYDqnUNrfKRcK49nAZvIR6KIcdmStyBXpJT9caVLb5fIUrb2z88ag57RgEDsv5JZLNrxs9WJ1CHYGw_fzk0cxCMoCbT4bxSgfY9MypmiGGKp6sKSMnLNcXJ/s1600/IMG_5179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RJmYeYL-_Ral1r2rKfrtGoYDqnUNrfKRcK49nAZvIR6KIcdmStyBXpJT9caVLb5fIUrb2z88ag57RgEDsv5JZLNrxs9WJ1CHYGw_fzk0cxCMoCbT4bxSgfY9MypmiGGKp6sKSMnLNcXJ/s400/IMG_5179.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Clearly full of beauty...architecture...I'm not saying that place didn't look impressive. It just felt empty. For once in my life, I think I understood what <i>juxtaposition</i> meant, and I'm hoping that my 11 AP English Teacher would be proud. Once again, how do we become an <i>active </i>church that actually goes out and seeks social justice?<br />
<br />
I'm not sure why we have the idea that being welcoming means that we also have to be completely tolerant.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWnpLF5ZZFH1aXtaXVcGmfRserL9i485_YZ-OuAOr_TpXo0n9EfOqxLuzNUNv4zuhflb-oxJnEDamIoBdxjVnjKMn7pRuhFATqBTwTKz2GM-xBwmpC1lOv-5ohvlI0FMwyDt_W7ENfeUs/s1600/IMG_5181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWnpLF5ZZFH1aXtaXVcGmfRserL9i485_YZ-OuAOr_TpXo0n9EfOqxLuzNUNv4zuhflb-oxJnEDamIoBdxjVnjKMn7pRuhFATqBTwTKz2GM-xBwmpC1lOv-5ohvlI0FMwyDt_W7ENfeUs/s400/IMG_5181.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Although I'm sure a service at the Old Church would have been very spiritual, holy, and powerful, how welcoming would it have been? Would it have been something that people did because they felt that they had to? Or was it a church that people wanted to go? Furthermore, are our churches today places that people want to go to?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQKAo-njKVL1tqdszBx8saAduSZ7ncMRKdAVFvCuumLdFBuS9Zz5PgTkDLEQD-r4NDgteW_Igltaj4OM5fo-UVEadKiMTHYBM9okjQu-Fhw-PBPSELQF5djauOPHrI38fFdWYRnhDfkaM/s1600/IMG_5185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQKAo-njKVL1tqdszBx8saAduSZ7ncMRKdAVFvCuumLdFBuS9Zz5PgTkDLEQD-r4NDgteW_Igltaj4OM5fo-UVEadKiMTHYBM9okjQu-Fhw-PBPSELQF5djauOPHrI38fFdWYRnhDfkaM/s400/IMG_5185.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The remains of extravagant stained glass, attempting to display the glory of God...I try to think of what it would have looked like back then<br />
<br />
Is it wrong to say that I think it looks more beautiful now? Am I wrong to say that I'm <b>attracted to the "brokenness"</b>? This <i>imperfection</i>?<br />
<br />
Back in October when I went on a fall retreat with <i><a href="http://isi.nd.edu/">Iron Sharpens Iron</a>, </i>we had some time of worship and were singing "<a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&ved=0CDMQtwIwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DdmXD52oogRI&ei=1PlzUcecBu-j4AOitYCYDA&usg=AFQjCNFKHXj1UwB8IFWlfCthwR474WHliQ&sig2=-3vNVnPPHrCRKNSdHmr8vg&bvm=bv.45512109,d.dmg">Like a Lion</a>". When we came to the bridge, the worship team forgot how it went and started singing a bit too early. For a good 15 seconds, the song was a complete mess...everyone was struggling.<br />
<br />
But we were struggling<i> together</i>...sure, the song was a mess, but we were all fighting to get through it. I have always been made aware of the power of grace when there is a mistake in worship music. It helps us realize that we are broken, that we <i>do</i> need God, that we couldn't get through this alone.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV-yMcP8DZdKL3BG3qposXxGZaDl07Yut87h4x0bmBg-4EiXkwLrqiijoeMRy1cDur0ENn-LWnO1ZcPt1CAK2NOROMYBwLLowZp3BVYhdNLY7bMcDNQNCd-bwM5DA9hbmSkghYrCBHIWu8/s1600/IMG_5200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV-yMcP8DZdKL3BG3qposXxGZaDl07Yut87h4x0bmBg-4EiXkwLrqiijoeMRy1cDur0ENn-LWnO1ZcPt1CAK2NOROMYBwLLowZp3BVYhdNLY7bMcDNQNCd-bwM5DA9hbmSkghYrCBHIWu8/s400/IMG_5200.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And I wonder if this church ever showed that brokenness until now. I wonder what the priests looked like, what everyone was wearing. Did they seek to show their brokenness?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQ_RyJSYuo9AIclRocWOcluzfYAzwApNkAUW3M2GoI06vI2IElUzuraPSgYcLm2lnTLgauBHqHIWt915zWsNBrsDZmKiTKCKPeZ9gR7c5DKFFZeB7dkBPUIZ0BZ0NFQHinkI5beAxYwnr/s1600/IMG_5201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQ_RyJSYuo9AIclRocWOcluzfYAzwApNkAUW3M2GoI06vI2IElUzuraPSgYcLm2lnTLgauBHqHIWt915zWsNBrsDZmKiTKCKPeZ9gR7c5DKFFZeB7dkBPUIZ0BZ0NFQHinkI5beAxYwnr/s400/IMG_5201.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm going through St. Augustine's <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=5&cad=rja&ved=0CFsQFjAE&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FConfessions-Oxford-Worlds-Classics-Augustine%2Fdp%2F0199537828&ei=FPpzUd2PAq624AP3z4DICA&usg=AFQjCNGIuVr-hzG4xSnAdiEYg2raAB0ajQ&sig2=jiSd4j1YkyyyJ-qFEgEmng&bvm=bv.45512109,d.dmg">Confessions</a> for my class with <a href="http://theology.nd.edu/people/faculty/john-s-dunne/">Fr. Dunne</a>, and in the first few pages, he presents this idea that <i>all glory should be considered shameful</i>...<br />
<br />
Talk about <i>conviction</i>...<br />
<br />
This idea that we shouldn't be putting on a show, that we shouldn't be hiding our <i>true</i> selves, that we should be open with our struggles, <i>vulnerable</i> in our conversations, <i>humble</i> in our confessions...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqvTrR5NUhSFo3ujveeOceDAWuYm5T43NgNIBjPiCdjHnkzmkTbn2lwUGIRlM_rqwnmBsE9BwVKGA585b7OygdcXcRbPTqdTgEHMjoGpWz2gJI35yNodYuDk2ACosrL7FWkjPIGBdsMSK/s1600/IMG_5215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqvTrR5NUhSFo3ujveeOceDAWuYm5T43NgNIBjPiCdjHnkzmkTbn2lwUGIRlM_rqwnmBsE9BwVKGA585b7OygdcXcRbPTqdTgEHMjoGpWz2gJI35yNodYuDk2ACosrL7FWkjPIGBdsMSK/s400/IMG_5215.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Otherwise, it'll just be fake...it'll just be <i>empty</i>. We don't need an <i>empty</i> church...we need a <i>broken </i>church.<br />
<br />
Because we <i>are </i>broken.<br />
<br />
I walk across the stone floor and see the name by which I'm called, by which I'm identified with...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYIdUYKQqC7kMKnYorPdZEF547KGUNWiRnJzp3rWqF7qZlTUo0gl5LmjM1P930qrUdAyIW_Rlk56qIsGe9Mw8rwlIOJYNzZBX5KwxJdkXAw8Srcne8AjDN0z3COdfRwwUX8gYx4BPT_AK/s1600/IMG_5192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYIdUYKQqC7kMKnYorPdZEF547KGUNWiRnJzp3rWqF7qZlTUo0gl5LmjM1P930qrUdAyIW_Rlk56qIsGe9Mw8rwlIOJYNzZBX5KwxJdkXAw8Srcne8AjDN0z3COdfRwwUX8gYx4BPT_AK/s400/IMG_5192.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And I connect with the Jacob within the Old Church...realize that I could have been born in that time, that I could have been one of the people in this church...<br />
<br />
It's hard to not be pious, and possibly even harder to "market" the Gospel. I always think, "Who would want to join a broken community?"<br />
<br />
But then I think <i>deeply</i> about it, and when I <i>really </i>start thinking about it, I think a broken community is <i>exactly </i>what we need.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-61754464781942304292013-04-17T19:00:00.000-05:002013-04-17T19:00:01.798-05:00We Just Need to Let GoBack in February, one of the other leaders of <i><a href="http://isi.nd.edu/">Iron Sharpens Iron</a> </i>(our interdenominational Christian ministry) posted a blog post regarding the "Dangers of <i>Faking It</i>" in ministry.<br />
<br />
I'm sad to say that it was one of the most convicting posts that I've ever read. We sometimes forget how broken we are, how much we actually need God, and we act like perfect Christians. It leads to manipulation, putting on a show, being someone you're not...I can't think of a better form of pride.<br />
<br />
If we're not feeling spiritually called to seek after an opportunity, we shouldn't take it, <i>even if it seems like it's a good thing</i>. When we're planning on giving a talk but don't feel close to God, we probably <i>should not </i>give that talk.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Why do we put on this show? Why do we pretend that we're not going through anything? That we don't have any of our own lamentations?<br />
<br />
This life is not easy...no one ever said it was going to be. And following Christ? It's even harder. It's difficult to seek after a life where you are going to be persecuted, hated, suffering.<br />
<br />
We all have this <i>anguish</i>.<br />
<br />
I mentioned the <a href="http://www.wrestlingyahweh.com/2013/04/i-am-still-in-charge.html">difficulty in accepting the cross</a>. When we start following Christ, we have to give up "us". It's not easy to give up our desires, our possessions, our relationships....it's not easy to hand those things over to God.<br />
<br />
But I've determined over the past two weeks that it's not even that easy...<br />
<br />
Following Christ is more than giving up all of the good things...it's also giving up all of the bad things.<br />
<br />
Sounds pretty easy, but it's not.<br />
<br />
This <i>anguish </i>is real anguish, and I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that at times, I love latching onto that...the depression, the struggles, the hard times, the lamentations. Why would we not want to hand this over to God?<br />
<br />
But there are many times that I don't want to, and I can't bring myself to...<br />
<br />
We need to "let go"...let go of <i>all</i> of it. Not just the desires, not just the material possessions, but the frustration, the anger, the loneliness, the lack of confidence...<br />
<br />
And as Paul says in 1 Philippians 4, this "letting go", this "turning over of <i>everything </i>to God" will lead to the peace of God, which surpasses <i>all </i>understanding.<br />
<br />
It's available. It's there. <b>We just need to let go</b>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4411089491339597486.post-3465363895454016972013-04-16T21:58:00.002-05:002013-04-21T09:45:28.320-05:00"Need Not"...Not "Should Not"Something that I think we need to realize more and more:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“[The] Law says, ‘You should…’ – You should not sleep with your boyfriend; You should read your Bible every day; You should not get drunk; You should witness to your friends; You should not lose your temper… That is not good news… It’s condemnation.What the gospel says is this: ‘You need not…’ – You need not get drunk, because Jesus offers you a better refuge; You need not lose your temper, because God is in control of the situation. That is good news! Sin makes promises. The gospel exposes those promises as false promises and points to a God who is bigger and better than anything sin offers” (page 75).
(from Tim Chester and Steve Timmis' Everyday Church)</blockquote>
Especially in our own lives...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0