I moseyed my way down the stairs, exhausted due to the fact that it was 4 in the morning and I couldn't fall back asleep. This always happened to me. Once I woke up, there was no going back to sleep. It's a brutal consequence that comes with aging. So many responsibilities and so few hours of sleep. I figured it wasn't worth my worry as my bare foot slapped against the cold wooden floor at the bottom of the steps.
As I proceeded towards the kitchen, it was obvious that somebody was up. Every downstairs light was on and I could hear a slight shuffling of papers on the table. It was Jonathan again. It amazed me that he could be up at such an early hour. His circadian clock was so out of whack. I had always wondered how he managed to go about his daily tasks on such few hours of sleep. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure if he had gone to bed at all, or just decided to wake up before the birds.
"Doing some homework?" I asked absentmindedly. It was fairly obvious, but I felt inclined to ask given the odd circumstance.
"Yup" he replied, not bothering to look up. I habitually grabbed a mug out of the cupboard and made my way over to the Keurig.
"How much ya got?" I inquired further, only mildly interested.
"A decent amount" retorted Jonathan. He obviously wasn't in the mood to talk to me. I was just trying to be a concerned father. I opted to grab my coffee and head back upstairs.
I plopped myself down in the swivel chair and gave the computer mouse a shake to wake it up. I continued thinking about Jonathan. It was so peculiar the way he lived his life. He went about school work in such an inconsistent manner, it really made me wonder what goes on in his head sometimes. I realize he's still just a teenager, but it was still intriguing the way he worked sometimes. One week he's diligent about his tasks and does everything in his power to get them finished, and the next he seems to have given up completely.
Suddenly I heard the creak of floorboards behind me. Apparently I was too deep in thought to hear him coming up the stairs.
"I'm going to bed" said Jonathan matter-of-fact.
"You haven't gone to bed yet?" I asked in a shocked tone.
"Obviously not" he snapped back at me.
I slowly spun back around and faced the harsh contrast of light emitted from the monitor.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Friday, October 4, 2013
Do the Hokey Pokey
Bubbles kept surfacing as I watched the man cook his heroin. He probably did this on a daily basis, too. He had special equipment right there on the sidewalk. He was right in plain sight, with people all around him, and yet there he was preparing his poison on open display. There was a woman sitting next to him as he swirled around the fancy container he was cooking it in. He even had the specialized cup plugged into an outlet. The length people will go to for their vices.
Sounds like I quoted a movie, huh? Or maybe something from a crime novel portraying a crooked and depraved society that allows all sorts of wicked actions to pass by unnoticed? Because, after all, there's no place where somebody could feel comfortable whipping up a batch of narcotics with hundreds of witnesses surrounding him, right? Not the case. What makes this situation even crazier is the fact that I saw this with my own two eyes. I stood there, in the flesh, about one foot away as a junkie got his fix. By now I'm sure you're wondering where the hell I was at. Fret not, I won't drag this out any longer. I was in San Francisco, but even more specifically, I was in a place that most refer to as the "Tenderloin District". But many people aren't even aware that this place exists. To be honest, I didn't know where it was until I went there in April of 2013.
The Tenderloin District. It's in the heart of San Francisco, and somehow the majority of Americans haven't even heard of it before. It's only a square mile, but that doesn't stop it from being one of the most notorious places in the country. It's got a dense population and has become a melting pot for underprivileged and broken people. If you're a heavy user of drugs, odds are good that you'll set your path to go to the TL. It's insanely inexpensive to live there, and laws are virtually non-existent. Taking all of this into consideration, my youth pastor decided that this was an ideal place to take a group of teenagers for ministry.
Now that you have an idea of what kind of setting I was in during my stay in the Tenderloin, I need to explain why it is worthy of being my personal statement. With the extreme environment that I was situated in, I realized that there is in fact a broader world than what I usually think about. I know, how cliche of me. Well, in retrospect, it has dawned on me that I haven't pushed myself to understand anything other than my own little bubble. My own life was nice and comfy, and I liked that. I didn't need to step outside of my boundaries, as long as I've got my own place where I can be safe. In fact, just two months prior to this service trip, I had gone on another endeavor with that same youth group to a retreat called Generation Unleashed. In short, this was a place where Christians could gather around and talk about God and express their feelings for him. While this was probably useful for plenty of people that attended GU, I am now beginning to see that it wasn't appropriate for me at the time. I wasn't in the right place. I for sure felt like I was in the right place. It was a fantastic feeling, with all the powerful music and inspiring messages being cloaked over me. But it wasn't really helping me. I was only feeling, in essence, a form of ecstasy. It felt right, but was I really helping myself? Was I really helping others? No. And this is where my journey began. I didn't notice it at the time, but half a year later and I can see clearly that it wasn't where I needed to be. What I did need was an eye opener, and boy did I get one when I took a plane to the Tenderloin.
So how does this all relate? I'll try to keep this brief instead of my typical rambling. I've been spiritually complacent my entire life. I was born into the church, everyone I knew was a Christian, and I did the holy tango my entire life. That tango turned into a ballet when I went to Generation Unleashed. I thought I had it all together. I thought I was actually being a good Christian person! The nerve of that is kind of astounding when I think about it. As soon as I went on the service trip to San Francisco, my dance was over. It was time for me to stand still and listen to the critics, and man did they have some news for me. What I thought was a beautiful compilation of dance moves was nothing more than an awkward display of fumbling around. I wasn't putting on a beautiful performance, at least not in the eyes of God. All he saw was me stumbling over my own feet and calling it art. I can tell you one thing; my lifelong performance belonged anywhere except in a museum.
There's no happy ending to this story. Well, at least not yet. I still have to recover from the harsh reviews of the judges and carry on. My journey is not even close to being complete. In fact, it will more than likely be a continual, lifelong quest. I still have many moves to perfect, starting with myself. How can I expect to impact the audience if I don't even know the choreography? I'm still working on the routine, but the fact that I came to terms with my sub-par performance thus far is a huge step. I will continue to perfect each and every action in my life. C.S. Lewis once wrote that “The Voyage will be a success only... if each ship is seaworthy and has her engines in good order." Referring to the Christian's journey towards God, this analogy is one that has really stuck with me from Lewis' book Mere Christianity. There are other essential parts of that passage that Lewis talks about, but for now I need to focus on my own ship. I can't very well set sail, or for my own analogy's sake, put on a good performance, if I don't even know what I'm doing. I have to get my act together in order to be of any use beyond my own self. Once I establish that part of my life, I can continue forth on my voyage to the big showcase. Only then can I spread my light to others effectively. To reach Swan Lake, I must first learn the hokey pokey.
Sounds like I quoted a movie, huh? Or maybe something from a crime novel portraying a crooked and depraved society that allows all sorts of wicked actions to pass by unnoticed? Because, after all, there's no place where somebody could feel comfortable whipping up a batch of narcotics with hundreds of witnesses surrounding him, right? Not the case. What makes this situation even crazier is the fact that I saw this with my own two eyes. I stood there, in the flesh, about one foot away as a junkie got his fix. By now I'm sure you're wondering where the hell I was at. Fret not, I won't drag this out any longer. I was in San Francisco, but even more specifically, I was in a place that most refer to as the "Tenderloin District". But many people aren't even aware that this place exists. To be honest, I didn't know where it was until I went there in April of 2013.
The Tenderloin District. It's in the heart of San Francisco, and somehow the majority of Americans haven't even heard of it before. It's only a square mile, but that doesn't stop it from being one of the most notorious places in the country. It's got a dense population and has become a melting pot for underprivileged and broken people. If you're a heavy user of drugs, odds are good that you'll set your path to go to the TL. It's insanely inexpensive to live there, and laws are virtually non-existent. Taking all of this into consideration, my youth pastor decided that this was an ideal place to take a group of teenagers for ministry.
Now that you have an idea of what kind of setting I was in during my stay in the Tenderloin, I need to explain why it is worthy of being my personal statement. With the extreme environment that I was situated in, I realized that there is in fact a broader world than what I usually think about. I know, how cliche of me. Well, in retrospect, it has dawned on me that I haven't pushed myself to understand anything other than my own little bubble. My own life was nice and comfy, and I liked that. I didn't need to step outside of my boundaries, as long as I've got my own place where I can be safe. In fact, just two months prior to this service trip, I had gone on another endeavor with that same youth group to a retreat called Generation Unleashed. In short, this was a place where Christians could gather around and talk about God and express their feelings for him. While this was probably useful for plenty of people that attended GU, I am now beginning to see that it wasn't appropriate for me at the time. I wasn't in the right place. I for sure felt like I was in the right place. It was a fantastic feeling, with all the powerful music and inspiring messages being cloaked over me. But it wasn't really helping me. I was only feeling, in essence, a form of ecstasy. It felt right, but was I really helping myself? Was I really helping others? No. And this is where my journey began. I didn't notice it at the time, but half a year later and I can see clearly that it wasn't where I needed to be. What I did need was an eye opener, and boy did I get one when I took a plane to the Tenderloin.
So how does this all relate? I'll try to keep this brief instead of my typical rambling. I've been spiritually complacent my entire life. I was born into the church, everyone I knew was a Christian, and I did the holy tango my entire life. That tango turned into a ballet when I went to Generation Unleashed. I thought I had it all together. I thought I was actually being a good Christian person! The nerve of that is kind of astounding when I think about it. As soon as I went on the service trip to San Francisco, my dance was over. It was time for me to stand still and listen to the critics, and man did they have some news for me. What I thought was a beautiful compilation of dance moves was nothing more than an awkward display of fumbling around. I wasn't putting on a beautiful performance, at least not in the eyes of God. All he saw was me stumbling over my own feet and calling it art. I can tell you one thing; my lifelong performance belonged anywhere except in a museum.
There's no happy ending to this story. Well, at least not yet. I still have to recover from the harsh reviews of the judges and carry on. My journey is not even close to being complete. In fact, it will more than likely be a continual, lifelong quest. I still have many moves to perfect, starting with myself. How can I expect to impact the audience if I don't even know the choreography? I'm still working on the routine, but the fact that I came to terms with my sub-par performance thus far is a huge step. I will continue to perfect each and every action in my life. C.S. Lewis once wrote that “The Voyage will be a success only... if each ship is seaworthy and has her engines in good order." Referring to the Christian's journey towards God, this analogy is one that has really stuck with me from Lewis' book Mere Christianity. There are other essential parts of that passage that Lewis talks about, but for now I need to focus on my own ship. I can't very well set sail, or for my own analogy's sake, put on a good performance, if I don't even know what I'm doing. I have to get my act together in order to be of any use beyond my own self. Once I establish that part of my life, I can continue forth on my voyage to the big showcase. Only then can I spread my light to others effectively. To reach Swan Lake, I must first learn the hokey pokey.
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