I feel obligated to blog. I promised some people I would write about the missions trip I went on last week... in the mountains of Virginia. woot. I've come to discover that "missions trips" aren't what most people expect them to be. Mine haven't been, anyway. Maybe it says something about a lack of faith on my part, I don't know, but God keeps me away from the truly impoverished, even when I expect to see it. Then again, maybe it's reminding me that it's not my life's calling to work at an urban development center. My heart aches for a different sort of poverty. I want to reach out to the younger generations of girls who have been robbed of their innocence through the sex trade or through the lies of American media. Anyway, in Virginia we drove by trailer parks that were falling apart, but we weren't helping them. We were assigned to work on nicer houses.
Missions trips. I hate calling them that. There's just this connotation that American Christians have given to the mission trip. A bunch of church-goers who go into a community assuming they know what's best, unintentionally trying to rob a place of it's culture and way of life. Sorta like what we did to the Indians. I know, I know, not all missions trips are like that, but it's happened enough that this stigma exists. I've been trying to think of something else to call them. Maybe "servant trips"?
June 14:
The prayer has stopped.
Lost in translation of self.
Communication lines severed
By me.
This week the Holy Spirit must move
Though a hollow, shallow vessel.
God, help me.
And may I learn to listen again.
June 15:
What lies this culture breeds. Guys must believe it is their call as a man to flirt with anything that has boobs. Drives me insane. Don't worry, due to the fact that I lack the one qualification, I'm not talking about attentions being directed at me. But I watch these high school kids desperate for immediate gratification. I'm pretty sure these guys would date any girl who romantically responded to them, no matter who she was. I can't imagine that mentality because I've tried to abandon it. It just seems sad I guess. Dear future husband, please don't flirt with every woman that comes around. Thanks.
June 16:
I've found that my biggest beef with Christianity is Christians themselves. The closemindedness of some and the misled opinions of others has been "getting my goat." I get really frustrated. Seeing someone act all preachy and uber "religious" makes my heart shut down even when I know they really do, under all the facade, have a heart for God. And as my heart began to shut down again today during a "super preachy" prayer, God gently said, "Miranda, I love him too." ah. So, I've been reminded that I have no right to decide to shut down to others, because they ARE loved by God, no matter their theology. And I do KNOW that, but my subconscious hasn't been practicing it.
"With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God's likeness." -James 3:9
"Thyself thy foe, to they sweet self too cruel." (Shakespeare, Sonnet 1)
We went to see a waterfall. It was only 24-feet tall, but I've always wanted to see a waterfall and this is the first one I've seen of a decent size that wasn't all dried up...
From the sky
Rebellious water
Crashed down like Thunder,
Prison break of nature.
Stray drops mist the shore,
Pelting my face
As I stand witness,
Mesmerized by the beautiful crime
Committed by these waterfalls.
Escapees dance and splash
With excitment
At the top.
Potential energy bursting
Like rainbows.
Splish. Splash.
Drip. Drop.
Rush...
Prison break of nature.
June 18:
I've been reading Shakespeare's sonnets.
Sonnet 15: "And all in war with time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I egraft you new."
(translation: Out of love for you, I wage war against time. As he takes away your youth, I continually recreate you in these poems.)
Last night until late, I had a intense spiritual conversation with some guys about emotion. One kid claimed he didn't believe emotion truly existed and was only a figment of our diluted realities. Yeah. But I was actually useful in the conversation because I can understand the complexity of a person. And as I was laying in bed, a phrase came to me referencing the poem I'd written on day one. The phrase was: "Miranda, you are not a hollow vessel. You are a temple for my Spirit." I also realized that I'm having the same problem as I did in Romania. I'm looking for God in the fire and thunder, and He's always been in the whispers. How quickly I forget. God's teaching me to listen again. After rereading the prayer/poem I wrote on day one, I realized that God did move through this empty vessel, and taught me that I wasn't really empty after all, and reminded me how I should listen in the whispers.
June 19:
We came home today, a day early, because our hometown was torn apart by hardcore winds and was declared a state-emergency disaster area. Most of the kids on the trip have damage to their homes. The whole town was without power. And the trip home today was pretty interesting. We had to pull off twice to seek shelter because of tornado warnings. Everyone was terrified and feeding off of everyone else's fear. It was awful. Super religious, preachy man prayed for us. He prayed that God would take the dark skies and wipe them away, replacing them with sun... and whatdoaknow, God did exactly that and we all got home in one peace to witness a beautiful sunset.
