refuge {jan 2008}

You see me even with my hard hat of doubt blocking You out. I don’t realize that it is sometimes.
I need to know that I’m going to be okay; I’m afraid of what You’re going to take away, for my good somehow.

I’m afraid of holding on to things, (what if I get hurt?)
but
I cling desperately to it all.

I’m scared of what awaits me around the corner… (yet You lead me onward)

Flow over my heart as a river does… please don’t leave me, though I leave you so often…
Your grace is to me a place to rest, a refuge

To Kill A King {PART IV}

Twisting, turning, a puncture in a soldier’s thumb. They bent the crown of thorns, and forced it onto Jesus’ head, drawing blood from his forehead; it was falling, seeping down his cheeks, much like tears. The soldiers made him dress in a purple gown, and mocked him, over and over again, and hit him. Hail, king of the Jews! Hail, king of the Jews! Hail now, you king!

Pilate brought Jesus outside to stand before the Jews, looking like this. He looked weak, pitiful, and was covered in his own blood; he was an open target for ridicule. Pilate said to the crowd, “Look, here he is! I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no basis for a charge against him…”

The people began to chant, with passion and vigor: Crucify! Crucify! Crucify!

But Pilate responded by saying, “You can take him and crucify him if you see fit. As for me, I believe he is innocent.”

The Jews said, “We have a law, and according to that law, this man must die! You see, he claimed to be the Son of God!”

When Pilate heard this, fear and confusion rose up inside of him. He went back inside with Jesus and immediately asked him, “Where do you come from?”

Silence.

Jesus was silent.

“Do you refuse to speak to me? Don’t you know I have the power to either save your life or end it? Yet, you choose to keep your mouth shut!”

Then, Jesus spoke: “You are not the one with the power to kill me. You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above. Therefore the one who handed me over to you in the first place is the one who hold the greater power, and also is the one guilty of the greater sin.”

From that point on, something changed in Pilate. He wanted to set Jesus free, but the people convinced him of his duty to honor Caesar.

Pilate brought Jesus back outside, and then went over to sit on the judge’s seat.

“Here is your king,” he said to the crowd.

Take him away! Crucify! Take him away! Away! Crucify! The chants were deafening.

Pilate asked them, “Shall I crucify your king?”

“We have no king but Caesar,” responded the chief priests, with all their religious pride.

With that, Pilate gave in. He handed Jesus over to the Jews. He handed him over to be crucified.

~ ~ ~

The soldiers seized Jesus, and forced him to drag his own cross up to the top of a hill called Golgotha. They crucified him on this hill, with him in the middle and two others on either side.
The soldiers divided up Jesus’ clothing between four of them, leaving one garment remaining on his body.

Nailed to the top of Jesus’ cross, Pilate had prepared a sign. It read: JESUS OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF THE JEWS.

The chief priests whined about this, and asked Pilate to changed the sign so that it did not say that Jesus was the king of the Jews, but that he only claimed to be the king of the Jews. Pilate refused to change what he had written.

~ ~ ~

After much time had passed, Jesus had lost nearly all of his strength and was almost ready to go to the Father.

In a dry, cracked voice, Jesus whispered the words, “I am thirsty.”

A soldier nearby soaked a sponge in wine vinegar, and stuck it on the end of a hyssop stalk, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. Jesus felt the bitter liquid seep into the cracks of his lips and down his throat.

With that, Jesus spoke his last words: “It is finished.”

He bowed his head, and breathed his last breath.

And his spirit left his body. His spirit left his skin.

~ ~ ~

The soldiers came to take down the bodies of the crucified men, and before doing so, it was appropriate to break the men’s legs. They broke the legs of the other two men, but when they came to Jesus, they decided it was not necessary, since he was already dead. Instead, a soldier plunged a spear deep into Jesus’ side.

Suddenly, out of the wound flowed blood and water…

untitled {Oct 2007}

I often walk
with a shell on. Leave me be, I say,
adore only what I have facepainted
on

I never wanted to live
this way. To be free seems
like a commodity I can't afford.

I can't afford this love either.
This love that chases, wraps itself
around my heart;
the Love that is You.

I can't afford to be changed by it,
To quit backflipping, cartwheeling,
somersaulting around what I am
thirsty for,
and to take a drink.

Can I really sit at the table?
Can I lay here, let the rays of the sun
warm my frozen heart?
Can I really walk, live, breathe
with no shell on?

Your love breaks me.
It shatters me to pieces.
It frustrates me.

(Where are You, nameless One?
Sing to me; I find it hard to keep the melody
on days like this)

And then You send a love note, a postcard,
a warm bench,
a bumble bee (what a bother).
A long hug, a singing sparrow,
a blackberry bush, a friend.

Maybe You are here.
And holding on for me, when my
strength is gone.
Maybe there is no brick wall
between me and Your love.

(Here You are, and here I am,
ready to take off my shell,
sit at the table,
lay my heart down;

Here I am)

stories

leave me here awhile;; on this riverside
remind me of days gone by,
of the day I first left my burdens here

I heard of Your glory
in a story.

flagrant;; i gave caution to the wind
let go of my own world,
how I would build it,
and took hold of Yours

(it is by grace that we have been saved)

then came the winter.
all hope;; buried, frozen in the snow, in the never ending cold, never to see the sunrise again.

(it is by grace that we have been saved)

until one day, mercies anew;;
i awoke to the sounds of spring

never would I have
believed it
until, in my heart, I knew.
i knew it in my heart.

(it is by grace that we have been saved)

stories, unraveling stories;; life. Life is all about stories

this is mine:

(it is by grace that we have been saved)

~ec

To Kill A King {PART III}

When the morning came, the Jews then took Jesus from Caiaphas to the palace of the Roman governor. It was as if the Jews were desperately searching for any means of getting rid of Jesus. This is why they brought him to Pilate, a Roman ruler objective to the situation and outside of Israel’s circle, as their last resort.

The Jews brought him to the palace, but refused to go inside themselves, for fear of contaminating themselves before the Passover feast. So, Jesus went inside, but the Jews stayed outside, and Pilate went back and forth between the two. Pilate was confused about why they were so angry with Jesus, so ready to curse and murder him.

“If he were not a criminal,” they replied, “we would not have handed him over to you.”
Pilate wanted nothing to do with the situation: “Take him yourselves and judge him by your own law.”

“But we have no right to execute anyone,” objected the Jews, in contempt.

With that, Pilate left and went back inside the palace, where Jesus was. He came right out and asked him bluntly, “Are you the king of the Jews?”

Jesus replied with sarcasm, “Is that your own idea, or did others talk to you about me?”

“It was your own people, the Jews, who handed you over to me. You must have done something to set them off. You see, I am just acting on their behalf; I am not one of them,” Pilate responded.

“My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight for me, preventing my arrest and my death. My kingdom is from another place now.”

Pilate thought he caught Jesus changing his story: “You just said it! You are a king!”

But Jesus cleared things up, saying, “You are right: I am a king. It was for this reason I came into the world: to lead my people, as a king would, in the way of truth. Everyone who listens to the truth listens to me.”

In true Roman fashion, Pilate confused things again. He responded, “What is truth, anyway?”

At that, he left Jesus and went back outside, telling the Jews that he believed Jesus to be innocent. However, it was tradition at the time of the Passover to release a prisoner from custody. Pilate asked the crowd, “Do you want me to release ‘the king of the Jews’?”

They shouted back loudly, insisting that another prisoner be released instead- a man named Barabbas, who had taken part in a rebellion.

So Pilate gave in to the pressure from the crowd, took Jesus, and planned to have him flogged.

forget {July 2007}

Hot air is blowing in, when I want it to be cool. The room is
Stuffy enough already. My eyes are dark, cannot see.

You say that my heart grasps on to what I treasure, somedays
I forget about that. Today is one of those days. I flail and backflip
around my things, my threads. Is
this really blessing? This yoke is too much to bear on days like this.

On days like this, I wish I could stand up straight once again

What is my name today?

To be free, I forget. Somedays I allow my brain to empty itself. Somedays
I forget.

When I forget You, I forget everything.
how to walk, how to put one foot in front
of the other.

If I just lay here, maybe
Just maybe, You will come
And I won’t have to remind myself
What my name is

~ec

an ocean apart {July 2007}

Sit with me awhile
on this soft sand


Promises
off in the distance
these message-in-a-bottle promises
bobbing up and down, up and down in the ocean, washing
up on the shores of my heart.


I miss the way you shake up this heart of mine, with all of the
promises you send my way, in bottles. All of my shelves
are full of
them.


Your bottles are the first
to hold
promises that are real.


You can make a gloomy day beautiful again,
breeze gentle, warmth soft, skies blue.


here we are, an ocean apart…


waiting for the promises,
hidden inside bobbing bottles,
to wash up on shore.

~ec

falling {June 2007}

Originally uploaded by Ellanora Marie

falling


there is something about you
that draws me in
draws me in to you


it is no small thing
to love someone
to truly love another


the less i fight it,
the more i fall
the more i love you just the way you are
i have fallen for you


these words may seem small
but truly, they are as falling mountains
in my heart
falling mountains giving way to the sea


~ec


*This piece was inspired partly by the Sara Groves song 'Loving a Person', from the album Add to the Beauty (c) 2005 Sponge Records*

i am fragile {June 2007}

Originally uploaded by Ellanora Marie

i am fragile

shattered and torn

much like glass, or paper

i am fragile.

i turn away

shut the door

lock the windows

before anyone gets too close

close enough to see me

all of me

the me that i hide

please know this before

you speak:

i am fragile.

will i ever be lifted

and shifted?

triumphant over the pit,

the miry clay.

i

am

sinking

and

i am fragile.

yet i lie here in waiting

for the sunrise,

the dawn of mercy.

for beauty.

i wait

and i dance in this darkness

proclaiming,

i am fragile.

~ec

flight {June 2007}

Originally uploaded by Ellanora Marie



flight

these wings of mine are losing their feathers
they are plucked, pulled from the root
as I try to leave the nest
(and step off the edge of this humble-home)

my belly speaks to me
knotting, looping
over and over
over and over and over again

I look off and away, in hope

the hope that one day
(that once-upon-a-time day I’ve heard of)

I will be free

this quiet hope echoes in every song I sing

dreams of eagle wings permeate my thoughts as I sleep

bravery
(unattainable bravery)
awaits

flight over mountains and meadows,
streams and cities

this promise awaits as I drift away

I long for it, this bravery
the bravery of an eagle

I long to leave my fears behind
leave my fears in this nest
(this ghost-town nest made of hay)

as that bird-king would

but instead I am only a sparrow

~ec

To Kill A King {PART II}

They first brought Jesus to Annas, the father-in-law of the high priest Caiaphas. Two of the disciples, Peter and John, followed the crowd all the way to where they were going. John was familiar to the high priest and was permitted to enter the courtyard behind Jesus and the rest of the men, while Peter had to wait outside the gate. John went in at first, and then came back out, spoke to the girl on duty there and invited Peter inside.

Things were going well until they stood before the girl on duty in front of the gate, when she started to look doubtful. She asked, “You are not one of his disciples, are you?”

Peter felt himself stiffen in defense: “I am not,” he insisted.

The crisp, frigid air caressed Peter’s skin like sandpaper and he shuddered. John disappeared into the courtyard, and Peter was left alone outside the gate once again. He joined a small group that had started a fire and were huddled around it to keep warm; he soaked up the warmth of the flames.

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, Jesus stood before Annas, enduring many questions about his teachings, his disciples and all the disorder and commotion he had been causing in the community.

“I have spoken openly to the world,” Jesus replied. “I always taught in synagogues or at the temple, where all Jews come together. I said nothing in secret. Why question me? Ask those who heard me. Surely they know what I said.”

Annas stiffened as if he were insulted. One of the officials who was standing nearby struck Jesus on the face, and snarled, “Is this the way you answer the high priest?”

“If I said something wrong,” Jesus answered, “testify as to what is wrong. But if I spoke the truth, why do you hit me?”

~ ~ ~

The flames crackled and popped as Peter stood by the fire, warming himself. The conversation with the others was scattered, gossip and small talk keeping their mouths busy. Eventually, one of the men asked, “You are not one of his disciples, are you?”

The words were ugly and sounded much too familiar to Peter, since he was asked the same thing earlier in the night. Frustration blinded his vision, and he replied adamantly, “I am not!”

But another man challenged him, saying, “Didn’t I see you with him in the olive grove?” This was a relative of the man whose ear Peter had cut off. Peter, feeling even more defensive, denied the truth once more.

The men around the fire continued talking, but their words were a blur to Peter, who instead was listening to a sound off in the distance. It was the call of a rooster. Peter’s stomach dropped and the courtyard seemed to be spinning, for he immediately heard the words that Jesus had spoken to him a few days before echo through the night sky: “Before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times…”

~ec

falling fences

Originally uploaded by Ellanora Marie

falling fences

watch
as the fences fall away

the sand
slips
through
my
fingers

these fingers that are numb with fear.

i am following
a pillar
of fire and smoke

but i cannot see my path
this path that i am on

walking by faith
with my eyes closed

-ec

To Kill A King ~ The Story of the Crucifixion {PART I}

*The following is the beginning section of a narrative I wrote for my Christian Perspectives course last semester. It is a literary adaptation of John 18-19. I will add more periodically, so stay tuned!*

By the dim glow of the moon, wiry branches wrote shadows on the ground of the olive grove. They were abstract, shaped like claws, ready to break the skin of its prey. Some branches had fallen from the heights; they cracked and crumbled under the weight of the men and their sandals. Jesus walked closely to his disciples, his friends, through the maze of trees until they reached a small clearing. They sat down to rest. Jesus was silent, even though he sensed the questions these companions of his wanted to ask. He knew they were restless, confused, trying to cultivate some logical conclusion, some comfort out of his already known destiny.

The words flew around, echoing against the walls of his own mind, and in the eyes of these men; the men who had become like his own flesh and blood, close to him like brothers. Jesus felt it in his soul, that his life’s purpose was to die. He wanted to hold on, to wait it out. Did it really have to be this way, the pain before the glory?

Suddenly, in the distance, a ball of fire appeared to be slowly moving toward them. It was a different kind of illumination, different from the moon… warmer, but also echoing with shouts of lies and betrayal. As they came closer, Jesus could feel knots in his stomach form. Judas was in the lead. The one he had called… he had called him a friend. Jesus knew that it was meant to be this way, but in that moment, his heart broke.

Behind Judas was a group of people, different kinds of people: soldiers, some religious officials, and, of course, a few of those Pharisees. In each of their hands, they held torches, lanterns, and weapons, as if they expected Jesus to put up a fight, or to push away the cup his Father had given him.

Jesus rose and met them where they were, knowing what would result. Looking into the eyes of Judas, Jesus saw nothing but the reflection of bouncing flames against the light of the moon.

Jesus was the first to speak: “Who is it you want?”

The men’s faces washed over with smug satisfaction. “Jesus of Nazareth,” one of them snarled.

Jesus felt conviction and courage rise up inside of him like a fire: “I am he.”

They were startled, and fell backwards towards the ground as if they needed to run and hide.

He asked them again, as if to make a point: Who are you looking for, really? Their reply was the same as before.

Without a waver in his voice, Jesus said firmly, “I told you that I am he. If you are looking for me, then let these men go.” He wanted to protect his own.

Simon Peter, feeling the need to protect also, drew out his sword, and in a wave of fury, slashed off the ear of Malchus, the servant of the high priest. The man dropped to his knees, grasping the wound and feeling frequent rushes of blood leaving his body, slipping through his fingers.
Jesus’ gaze shot toward Peter, and demanded he put away the weapon: “Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?”

And, with that, they bound Jesus with rope and took him away, pulling and pushing him along the path out of the forest.

beggar

All of me, I carry.
(I carry all of me down this dirt path)
Hoping for the day when the weight will be
Lifted

Lifted from my back
(The back of this person I have become)
I have become
Poor

Conflicted

A beggar at the palace gates

Navigation was simple, or so I thought

Now I stand
Alone
In the desert

As a harsh wind blows sand,
(Scratches on my skin)
-ec

I've been reading Don Miller's book Through Painted Deserts, in which he talks quite a bit about societal issues in North America, particularly the materialistic expectations we have for ourselves. Our standards of worth are based on acquiring wealth, beauty, happiness... the whole package. The media has convinced us (or perhaps we have convinced ourselves) that if we just buy that new tube of lipstick, that new car, that new pair of shoes, we will somehow be complete. It is a vicious cycle, and I am coming to the point in my own life where I am realizing how I fed into those lies on the commercials, in the magazines, on the billboards. All they have done is distorted our vision about what is really important... and they constantly cover up the real desire behind why we think stuff will make us complete...

A Way Out

It seemed as if the dressing room was another world apart from the stage.

The rhythmic chants of the screaming fans had evolved into the soft humming of the air conditioning system. The multitude of blinding stage lights had died, and were replaced with the unfriendly gleam of fluorescent lights. It was the kind of cool illumination that exposed all imperfections when Jimi looked at himself in the mirror.

I used to live in a room full of mirrors; / all I could see was me. / I take my spirit and I crash my mirrors, / now the whole world is here for me to see.

He recalled the moments he spent on stage that night, in the spotlight, and as the focus of thousands of eyes. He recalled falling to his knees, his hunched posture, head hanging down toward the floor. He recalled how he had called out in desperation, the very depths of his soul exposed: If you know real peace, I want to visit with you backstage… peace, real peace, he could hear himself saying.

Most of all, he recalled the sound of silence.

And now he waited.

He waited for a knock on the door, a voice which carried word of true peace, of true hope.

He waited alone in the stillness, his thoughts frantic, restless… haunting him and clouding his senses.

The story of life is quicker then the blink of an eye, / the story of love is hello, goodbye…

To be surrounded by a crowd… he would give anything.

The world spun, rapid in its fire. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of waterfalls could be heard- a chorus, rising above the constant ringing in his ears. Echoes from a far-away land resonated in the silence of that dressing room. Over and over. Over and over and over again, his own words floated in the dark, colorless, traveling around the earth and back again to where he knelt… I have been dead a long time. A long time. I have been dead. Dead. Dead.

I am dead.

He became very still, staring straight ahead at a stain on the wall. The chaotic ramblings of his own brain were shouting at him, volume ever rising. Rising, louder, louder, to the very point of death. Nothing! You are nothing, the voices shouted and shrieked, louder still. The torment dug down into his soul: sing a song, Jimi. Sing, sing, sing. Sing and play the hell out of that guitar! Play that damn guitar to hell… The volume of the noise, the voices, the shouts fell on him with the weight of the entire universe. The entire universe, empty and meaningless as it may seem. It crushed his bones.

Suddenly, the chaos was swallowed in an instant by a black hole in a dark corner of the sky.

Jimi sat quietly, with a kind of distorted, clouded clarity.

At that moment, he knew what he had to do…
-ec


*This piece was based loosely on the story of Jimi Hendrix a few nights before he died.*

A Shattered Rainbow

“It’ll be a day like this one when the sky falls down / and the hungry and poor and deserted are found…” -Switchfoot

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky rolled up like a scroll as the rainbow fell to the earth with a great, thunderous blast. The ground beneath the children’s feet trembled. Fear, uprooted, became terror. They hesitated to lift their eyes for fear of what they might witness. The sun was gone, the moon had fallen from the night sky. The mountains slid into the sea; the land, overtaken by the ocean. Regret. Grief. Jealousy. Desperation. The world was caving in, and not one soul was at peace. Suddenly, silence. The time had come; the end had finally come.

Yet, amongst the upheaval, a chorus began to sound. It was a song of praise; a song of humble hallelujahs. I turned my head to see children, kneeling. There were millions of faces, millions of smiles. There was such a great number of children, they could have formed an army. Little ones, half naked, with rags for clothing; cracked, calloused clubs for feet; tousled straw for hair. Children with a light, a joy in their eyes that could only come from heaven. They had nothing to live for, and yet they had everything to live for.

I kneeled with them. They knew a secret; a something I had not been told. Yet, now, with the clouds rolled back, it was no longer a secret: I no longer felt blind to the truth. I no longer felt lost; no longer was I disoriented. I knelt, and I sang, because I knew the truth.

After the storm had subsided, the children discovered an immaculate vessel, filled with gold. Brimming, overflowing, abundant treasure. It was kept hidden until this day, given only to those who had finished the race, fought the good fight. Those who had given the heavens more than simply a passing glance. Those who lived their lives knowing that there was something bigger; something more beautiful than this world could ever offer. Those who were deserted, naked, hungry, despised, without hope. To them was given this treasure.

On that day, the ones whom the world tried to discard will no longer be lost; no longer forgotten… indeed, they will be found.

The end had finally come.

-ec


**This piece is the first in a series of writings inspired by my own photographs. Follow the link 'My Flickr Photos' on the sidebar to see more. Stay tuned!**

the snow and the stable

The first sign of the Christmas season has arrived with a gentle vigor: the snow. I love how it seems to interrupt our schedules... schools closed for the day, highways too treacherous to travel on, and everyone is advised to simply stay home. It forces us all to slow down, take a breath, enjoy a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and connect with our inner childlike spirit while playing in the snow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was thinking about this whole thing we call Christmas... and how beautiful it is regardless of the messiness of my faith. The truth is that God came to earth, but not as a king or a ruler as many people expected. He came as a baby, with tiny hands and tiny feet. How could it be that God, the Maker of the universe, was willing to be born in a run-down stable? Why would he want to be subjected to humiliation, as he was when his own people rejected him and labelled him a lunatic?

Perhaps it doesn't have to make sense...

I've always been a very analytical person. It has been a mixed blessing... at times it has helped me a lot, but it also tends to cripple my faith. I am realizing that the habit I have of over-thinking everything has caused me to miss out on the greatest things... just being still; allowing God's love to penetrate my soul; listening to his voice tell me that when the world told me I had no worth, they were lying...

But I'm so ready to let go of that... I don't want to fight it anymore. Perhaps this is the point to which we need to come for God to truly enter our hearts. Think about it: if God looked to what we thought about how the Messiah should display his power, and became an earthly ruler with earthly power, what kind of a mess do you think we'd be in? We would be even more narcissistic, materialistic, and delusional.

My analytical nature has to be quieted when it comes to our redemption. The truth is that it doesn't have to make sense to us... all we have to do it let our guards down and allow the living God to dwell inside of us, as he chose to dwell inside of a run-down stable.

it's time for the bleeding to stop...

Check out this site...


"...as if something was broken in the world and we were supposed to hold our palms against the wound." ~Don Miller

www.twloha.com

being human

It was during our class missions trip to Terrazas, Mexico when I realized what it truly means to be human. Our group of grade 12 students stood in front of the Mexican family’s finished house, as the intense afternoon sun shone down on us. Every house around us- many no better than shacks- seemed to be the same color: a bland, lifeless grey, much like the color of dust. The smell of sewage and gloom lingered in the air. The ground was dusty and dry; we were sweaty, tired, and overwhelmed by the heat. We had worked stuccoing their house for the past two days, and our job was finally completed. As a group, we had also pooled together some money and bought each of the children and the grandmother foamy mattresses and pillows. They now held their new beds in their arms and they began telling us how thankful they were for our work and our time, but most of all, for being able to meet us. After each of the family members had finished thanking us, the majority of us had begun to cry and we sadly began to say our goodbyes.

It was then that the grandmother of the family approached me, with tears in her eyes and embraced me in a hug. She was sincerely thankful, and it showed in the way she hugged me, and how she spoke, saying “Thank you,” and “God bless you” in Spanish again and again. Throughout the time we worked on the family’s house, I had felt a special connection with her. Every time our eyes met, we would each smile- and then, for some reason, we couldn’t help but laugh with one another. Words weren’t necessary to communicate. In that moment, as we hugged one another, it felt like the barriers of life (language, social status, nationality, possessions, wealth, age) all fell away. It was as if all that was left were two human beings blessed by one another.

Something powerful lies in the act of unselfishly helping another human being- it is so incredibly fulfilling. In that moment, as the grandmother and I hugged, I think that a piece of God’s purpose for my going to Mexico, personally, was fulfilled. A cold glass of water was thrown on my perception of the less fortunate- I had always felt a certain pity for them, almost looking down on them in a sense. However, everything I experienced in Mexico taught me a great deal about what it means to be human. All too often (particularly in North American culture), we allow the differences between the nations of this world to separate us. In truth, we aren’t as different from each other as we sometimes think we are. Regardless of race, religion, or poverty level, we share the same condition- we all fall down; we all fail; we all hunger to be fulfilled by something outside of ourselves. When one is placed in a situation such as traveling to Mexico to serve the poor, an awareness of this ‘human condition’ is ushered in. Really, the extent of one’s riches or possessions doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, the truth is that we are all human: at times broken, hurting, and lonely, but through whom God is able to do great things.

I found myself, standing on a dusty road underneath the scorching Mexican sun, no longer able to hide behind my reputation, my insecurities, my possessions, my achievements. There I was, I was covered in dirt and sweat, wearing old clothes, tears running down my face, and yet so very content. In that moment, I was humbled; I was blessed. I was at peace with the human being I am.