Disciplined to Desire to Pursue

Discipline is a practice,

Practiced continuously

Therefore discipline is continuous

Pursuingly desiring

Desiring not the unknown,

Based upon experience,

Therefore pursuing in our own interests

Fatally exhausting our patience

When is pursuit a discipline,

Confined and released in right time

Waiting on Him who created

To His will, not ours are we prime

Because of His will and not mine,

I will discipline to desire to pursue

Striving everyday as faithful

With guidance and help, a virtue

Simply Flint

Yesterday I visited a place like never before. It was after a semi-exhaustful day, taught until 2, did Biology until 3 then left and did VBS for another 2 hours. Near the end, the people I was with were heading to the nearby slums, and I was invited to go along. I was going to take my camera and take pictures but I find that contrary to the popular belief, verbal description paints a better picture than a visual one (at least in some cases…like this one).

 

We walked up the road, our pale skin a sharp contrast in the dimming light of the night. Houses lined the street and several small open shops (like kiosks) were closing down for the night. There were few street lights, but kids running up and down the road. Several small 2 year olds raced up the street, almost falling backwards by the weight of their proportionally large backpacks (which covered from their necks to their knees). We were led into a small opening at the side of the road, about the size of a sidewalk. Not 5 feet into the opening was the first door on the left. An old lady sat outside with two small kids on either side, dressed in simple dirty clothes. She smiled as we walked passed and greeted us in their local language. The “street” between houses was not more than 3 feet across, and doors were plastered randomly on either side of the walls. There were no windows, and few lights. The ground was uneven, and often had to steady oneself on the walls to keep from falling. The roofs slanted down, and the tips were not 6 feet from the ground. There was no drainage, no heating, no AC, no bathroom, very few houses (they were all one room) had a bed and some only had a solitary candle burning. They were hot, and crowded and smelt. The only comparison I can have in Western Examples is living in your closet or bathroom with all of your children, your food, all of your possessions, your kitchen and living room. Never have I been humbled. What could I do? It is impossible for me to help all 5000+ people in that slum. Already the people we are working with are giving so much of their time, energy, money, space and hearts to these people, so what can I do?

 

We are currently helping out with a VBS with 200 of the slum kids, and even though nothing has changed for them, my perspective of their situation has changed drastically. If I can help them, if only for 30 minutes forget the situation they are forced to live in, and give them hope and perhaps even some “fun”, then maybe I am doing exactly what I am supposed too. Often we have people come to a third world country and try to change everything, have everyone do stuff their way, or the so called “right way”. I don’t want that, as a matter of a fact I hate that. I can’t change anyone, nor do I desire too. What would I be changing them to be like? Another sinful, flawed and prideful human being. If they can see a little bit of the light, perhaps Dad can use that to change them all, not by me, but through me. He’s the spark that starts the fire, I’m just the flint.

Perspective reversal

Questions are plagueing my thoughts. Shall I be content not pleasing people? Where does critisim become tearing down a brother or sister in Christ? Is it wrong to feel hurt when failing according to another's standards? Can I truely view myself in Christ's image, when I feel inadequate compared to others view of me?

Perspective reversal. I must do a 180. If have given my best, all I am able to give, and done it with the intention of praising God, I can do no more. My work is sucsessful if it glorify's Him, not if it is perfect according to another.

People pleaser? People downer. Lord help me.

Everything I wish I was

To change the world, it's said, not done. To be the one who lives and breathes, who speaks the truth and never steals the credit, the place, the reputation. Who bites their tongue, love through honesty revealed. Yet compassion and peace encompass life, it becomes real. Others before self
my demands left untouched. For if you are greater than I, than I a servant wretch. Searching for results, but desires never produce, it's the action that makes the consequence, a daily battle without proof. I don't want to be all talk, I want to be the action. The repeating one never ceasing, because my motivation is increasing. Not out there, right now. Change is present, not future. Stop thinking of what you could do, where is your life at right now? The ordinary rebels, pushing against the flow. Smiling through depression, bring up those that are low. A hug can change a day, a whisper create a moment. Change comes in baby steps, wake up! Faith can't lay dormant. Now to everything I wish I was, and yet nothing I can be. I pray I take baby steps, change the world, by Him; through me.

Hold My Hand

"Can I hold your hand?" He asked. I looked at it nervously, knowing that as soon as I grasped the large muscular hand, it would be nearly impossible to let go. Little did I know how much would bond between the two by simply taking His hand. I nodded and reached. He started walking forward, I followed right beside. The first few steps were momentus, memorable as we began our first walk. I wasn't sure if I was doing everything right, should I walk right beside Him? Should I hang on for dear life? Did I have to talk while we walked or was He okay with the silence? Other couples passed us, but I didn't really notice them as my gaze was primarily on Him.

As time went on, the walk seemed to dull. The scenery changed, and occasionally I was grasp a little tighter as circumstances demanded it. Sometimes a person would try to run through us, but as soon as I would loosen my grip to let them pass through, He would hold tighter, forcing them to go around. The days dragged on, sometimes I couldn't help but spend hours looking at Him. He was so beautiful, so handsome, ruggedly mystevious. Whenever I would look up, He would immediatly look down at me, often catching me off guard. Embaressed that He had caught me gazing at Him, I would look away with a blush (I would always hear a chuckle from Him after I would look away, and I knew He was still looking at me, but I was to embaressed to look back). Somedays it would take me days to build the courage to look again, I was so unworthy, what could He benefit from my gaze?

One day, we began walking up a hill, a rather long and steep one. Not more than a quarter up the hill I was panting, as always He had my hand and was pretty much dragging me up the hill. Some runners passed by, distracting me temporarily. Yet was snapped back to attention by the firmer than usual grip on my hand. As we continued up, I saw more and more runners jogging on the opposite side of the path. There were all dressed rather nicely, and weren't panting at all for they were headed downhill, not up. I looked up at Him, but He shook His head, not intending to let go of my hand so that I may join the joyful others. This did not stop me from looking though, they seemed to come down by the hundreds. Laughter floated amoungst them, all were good-looking and appeared to be having a blast. I stopped and turned and watched them run downhill. It looked so appealing. After all, I was the only one going uphill. Why was I going uphill in the first place? They must have been running after something, or at least somewhere. I began to merge in with the crowd and a smile lit up my face as I found I was finally amoung people that were the same as I was. I was still facing uphill at this point, the faces were passing by me, but the longer I stood there peering at them, the more gruesome they became. Within seconds the beautiful people had turned into vicious dogs and were gnawing at me, and swarming me in hoards. Their eyes peirced mine and everything that had appeared beautiful and relaxing, was naught.

"Oh God." I cried. Within seconds I was hanked back onto the other side of the path. I had forgotten completely that His hand was still holding mine, forgotten when I was no longer looking at Him but at others.
"Why did you let me go?" I asked.
"I didn't. I had you the whole time. But would you learn to depend on Me if I didn't allow you to stretch My hand?"

I held tighter, and together we continued up the hill.

Watch and Learn

Some people would call me nosy. I prefer the term, 'lovingly curious'. I always have been, and probably always will be.

I've noticed recently that I love to learn, by watching others. It is something that I always did as a child, but never really clued into. Some of my most vivid and happy memories are of watching other people work and asking countless "why" questions. Being on the jobsite with my dad would make my week, or maybe even month. Or being in school and watching a man show us how to make cheap glasses, or just standing and watching the guards assemble an appatam. The joy would escalate when they would ask me to help, to even have me hold something while they continued on. The same mentality still applies, I love to learn by watching other people do what they love and are good at. Just this last week I went to the farm with Kevin (the husband of the couple I am staying with in Carstairs) and watched them saddle and train the horses (2 of them had never been ridden before). Although many people think I am bored because I will just sit there and watch, I never am. Quite the opposite really, I love every second of it!

You know when someone is doing something that they like to brag about, and they say, "watch and learn"? Well, really, we do. In everything, whether we realize it or not. We are being watched, and everyone around us is learning about what we do, and often immitating the same in what they do. Just think about it, say you are learning how to drive a stick shift, what do you do? Do you go out and try and do it all on your own? Well maybe if you are a fool, but normally you would go out with someone else, watch them do it and then try it yourself, immitating their actions. Of course you mess up a couple times because no one can perfect it on the first try, but then you watch and learn, and try again. It's a cycle, a cycle that we repeat on a daily basis.

Now instead of thinking of yourself as watching and learning, think of yourself as the one being watched, and learnt from. How does that feel? Do not expect to shrink into the background, your behaviour, actions and habits are being noticed by everyone who comes in contact with you. Yes, true strangers may not remember them, but they are noticed. What about the people you interact with one a daily basis? Your brothers, and your sister? What about the neighbor you only nod at but never acknowledge beyond that? What about your children? They are watching and learning. So when someone is just sitting on the sidelines silently, don't think they are bored and daydreaming, because they might just be watching and taking note of everything you do. So, what will they remember?

Only 355 more to write now

So I've decided, I'm adding another thing to my life goals. I want to create one of those little witty/inspiration calendar thingy's. You know the ones that no one remembers where they are, so it stays on Jan 1st for the entire year until some businessman's wife or daughter comes in, frowns that it hasn't been flipped for 3 months and put it to the date...upon which it stays until Jan 1. Or the ones that everyone giggles at in the morning, but never really thinks anymore about. Yep, one of those ;)

So...here is Jan 1:

Life is like a woman's kitchen. Each one thinks that her own is fairly organized, and can find everything in a matter of time, but as soon as she goes into another woman's kitchen thinks that everything is messed and in the wrong order and feel the responsibility to 'clean it up'.

Oh, imagine when I'm famous. ;)

A New Heart

A failing heart. A process in which the most vital nutrients of the body are not pumped around at a fast enough pace, causing the entire being to suffer.

Nothing but a heart transplant, he was told. Nothing. All hope had been lost at the very words, for who would willingly give up their heart? He knew no one living, for to do such would be utter insanity. Therefore His only hope was a match, which was his objective way of thinking of another dead human beings main organ, and his life-line.

Therefore the days dragged on. Roses drooped in the vase with time, the sun rose and set every day, casting long shadows on the walls as hope faded with the dimming rays. Friends had given up on coming, they didn't seem to want to hear the depressed reports. His heart was becoming more and more crippled, both physically and spiritually.

One early drizzly morning, while the sheer curtains were drawn and the TV on low, a man in his mid-thirties walked into his room. He was surprised, for he didn't remember the face, and besides, what was he doing bothering him, it wasn't visiting hours. The stranger nodded his head and without an introduction began asking a series ofquestions. Taken aback by the abruptness of the stranger, the man simply sat there and stared. Perhaps he was a new doctor? No, too plainly dressed. A father or friend of a potential donor? No, they would never be so factual. Maybe he was just a lunatic that escaped from the psych ward. He had lost track of the questions being hurled in his direction.

"What is it you need sir?"
"Excuse me?"
"What do you need?" What on earth was this man talking about? He could use another juice box, but he doubted that was what he meant.
"Need?"
"Need."
After a pause he replied, "A new heart."
The stranger smiled, a fairly odd smile. A smile of accomplishment, as if he has just won his first Olympic gold medal.
"I am."
With that he turned and walked out of the room. I am? thought the man.

"I am what?" He yelled out the door, frustrated that he would leave with no explanation.

The day to dragged on, and the mystery to the stranger wore off. He gave no mind to the visit, nor did he mention it to anyone, for fear of having them say they it was a delusion.

Two weeks had past since the visit, and the man sat 1/2 way up in his bed, looking out the window at the sparrows playing in the bird bath. Half of him hated the hospital staff for purposely putting it near his window, where they knew it would torture the caged soul; and the other half longed to enjoy the freedom, the joy of living, no matter how stressful or unsuccessful, just as the birds did. Nurses wheeled patients past the door and some small kids peeked in his door before growing wide eyed and running away as he sneered in their direction. The doctor walked briskly in right behind them.

"We got it!"
"Well good morning to you too Doc, looks like you had a good nights rest. To bad you couldn't have hooked me up with some of that."
"We got you a heart!"

His mouth stopped in what was going to be a bitter sarcastic remark, only to find the empty words empty. Nurses soon hurried in, hooking gadgets up here and pumping things there. A new heart. Peace surrounded him as they wheeled him towards the OR.

"Doc, who was the match?"
"A man, mid-thirties."
The Stranger.
"What happened?"
"We're not sure. It's kind of gory, but we found him nailed to a tree. His organ donation card said to give his donor this paper."
The doc pulled out a small yellow paper out of his pocket and laid it beside his head. Within minutes the man was put into a deep and restful sleep, as experts claimed the dying heart and replaced it with the thriving one.
Many hours later, the man woke to the dim lights of the recovery room. He felt incredibly groggy, not able to feel any pain because of the medication. The nurses chatted quietly in the corner, not audible to the exhausted ears. He attempted to reach for the paper, which he remembered should be right by his head. The failed attempt caught the nurses attention and they both rushed over.
"The paper." Was all he could mutter. Both women looked at each other, confused.
"Read the paper." He repeated slowly. They looked around and finally caught sight of the yellow slip of paper. The younger nurse picked it up and began to read,

"Dear Sir.
I know your old heart has been failing, and it pains me to see you as so.
My love and compassion extends beyond these physical boundaries, so please
I beg of you, please, accept this gift. For I gave it before your request.
Dying without escape, I pray you'll be able to receive as I have given freely.
Now take this new blood, for which I have cleansed,
and tell many. For this gift is not to be held just for self, but for all.
Let me know if you are having any problems adjusting to the new you.
Signed,
I AM."

A year to the day that man left his house and headed to the hospital once again. He walked slowly, aware of the pain and past he had spent in these same rooms. Smiling slightly, he nodded at the familiar nurses. He passed by rows of open doors, some held foul smells and others blooming flowers. He stopped in front of his old door, paused, knocked and quietly crept in. The small boy was sleeping. As the man approached the bed, the boy opened his eyes and smiled widely.

"I'm getting better!" Exclaimed the young blonde, "Your blood is working, it's cleaning me up."
The man smiled, more sincerely than ever before as he recognized the cleansing power of the blood.
"Not I," he replied as he reached into his pocket, "but I AM."
Pulling out the small yellow slip, he began to read the note.