All In, Baby

Marriage talk has arrived at our doorstep. Issues arise and inventories are taken. One such topic is where to potentially live in our first year or two of marriage. My initial focus: practicality. Leah's ideal: living alongside the poor.

Though I may have more sound doctrine on paper and have more of an intentionally evangelical mindset, she hits the nail right smack on the head (probably without even thinking about it) when it comes to living out Scripture.

Is my preference to live amongst the poor? Not really.

Did I get too comfortable somewhere along the way? Uh huh.

Do I like where my heart is at now? No.

Am I willing to dive head first into such a lifestyle anyway? Yes.

If my trust is all in with Jesus, then how can there be room for fear? He is in control—of everything—after all.

(Thanks for being my better half, mama! Blessed indeed.)

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[FROM VANCOUVER] Helpless / Hopeful

Even before my departure, I heard via Leah's reports that Vancouver's Downtown Eastside was Canada's poorest postal code, a few city blocks packed with rampant addictions and conspicuous prostitution, widespread homelessness and overwhelming brokenness. From a photojournalistic stance, it was a surreal world I was readily willing to capture. So, when we were about to set off for our tour of that specific area, I was naturally disappointed (and somewhat bitter) as Leah told me that it would be a real good idea to leave the camera behind.

It took a few minutes, but I eventually got over it and we finally started off. Along the way, Leah described much of what we saw from the destructive effects of gentrification* to the disturbingly acceptable culture of the streets. (Take for example that the Vancouver Police Station is literally across the street from the corner where a lot of the drug-dealers linger (right in front of the community center nonetheless).)

As (just about) always, Leah was right; it was a good idea to leave my camera behind. With empty hands, I was able to fully register the overwhelming experience of what I witnessed. By the time we passed through the Bottle Depot section, my mind was drained and my face stoic.

I didn't like what I saw in my heart. There was a lot of fear, and in turn, I ironically (but I suppose naturally) put up a front of toughness. This is where I learned where I stood with God and His people, where I discovered that cerebral theology—even with an earnest heart—can only get you so far if life is lived in disconnected comfort.

(In the process, I also found that the truest form of toughness is vulnerability. And God showed me that I still have a lifetime's work to go.)

Grabbing lunch at the community center (yes, the same one with all the drug-dealers out in front (the food was cheap and surprisingly good)), Leah and I ran into "Gabriel" and engaged in what turned out to be a (seemingly God-ordained) lengthy conversation.

Probably introverted and minding his own business, "Gabriel" agreed to come join us at our table. Before we knew it, he basically divulged his life story, sharing in detail wild episodes from God calling out for him while he was caught up in drugs, to God's providential guidance and supernatural protection. He's a local who knows the deal; he's a believer on the ground. Addiction is the problem, but money isn't the answer.

Honest. Transparent. Vulnerable. Tough. He should be a preacher. (He said if you want to find out about yourself, spend a year in the Downtown Eastside. Only a mere afternoon and I could see how right on he was.)

All that to say, if there was one thing I could have conveyed through an image of the DTES, it was the existence of a spiritual rock bottom beneath the rock bottom as the world knows... the utter helplessness of man to rescue man. Never in my entire life had I felt as helpless as I did in the thick of that broken street, seeing bodies drift around as if their souls had been stolen. No heap of money, no amount of time spent in detox, no man-made program can restore that. (And it made me realize that any real power that I ever thought I wielded was not my own.)

No man can fix this. Only God can change, only God can save. "Gabriel" stands as living proof of that undeniable power.











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* gentrification: the process of renewal and rebuilding accompanying the influx of middle-class or affluent people into deteriorating areas that often displaces poorer residents

Imagine a town (full of poor Ramen-eating college kids) building nothing but five-star restaurants.

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Judgemental

When I see real life addicts who have changed course and are now seeking after God, easily can I see God smiling upon them... pleased. Yet when I slack in my quiet time and "good deeds," I come down upon myself with scrutiny.

"If I feel judgement, then I am judgemental."
-Michael Collins

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You Think Too Hard

"Don't study the Bible. Follow it."
-Brad Martin

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Revisted: Cleaning House after a Chinese Hangover

Scratch the part about not keeping up with the house! I'm blown away by the seemingly massive difference that a clean house can actually make on how I feel and, therefore, (in my case) live!

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Cleaning House after a Chinese Hangover

It's like a hangover, only from Chinese food. Is this what it feels like to have your face injected with Botox? This is my welcoming party into the Fourth of July, the ensuing aftershock of the first 24 hours of visiting Filipino feeding-frenzied (albeit loving) parents. And it goes to show how critical it is to take good care of one's body and not passively let it go by the wayside.

Here's another illustration. On Saturday, my two housemates and I finally had enough. Though probably still habitable by many a young male's standards, we're big boys now and our apartment was mutually recognized as a filth (that's noun, not adjective). One time, I saw a single fly on the kitchen counter and tried to squash it... only to miss and watch it fly back in s l o w m o t i o n to its black hoard of a nest, which was right behind the backboard above our sink. After I swept the hardwood floors of the living room and dining room, you would have thought that we owned a big blue cat or something.

Anyway, after digging (err, not so deep it seems) I found my inner Mr. Mom and re-arranged the first floor with the help of the housemate. I picked up two area rugs from Target, cleaning supplies from Wal-mart, and having been disappointed with the selection of accent furniture at Home Goods, I settled on a simple yet elegant (e.g. it was cheap) coffee table at another Target. Now (I'm surprised to say), that the house (the general living space at least) is much more habitable—cozy even!

I have a greater appreciation now not for things just being clean, but for all the work that actually goes into it! (It was my friend's wife that put those words together for me, but it doesn't make it any less true.) My friend's wife cleans everyday; I'm guessing lots of moms do. Most guys including myself, however, will ask, "Why?"

The male train of thought will most likely rationalize, "Why do something everyday when you can hardly see a difference? I'd rather just let it go, tackle it when I can no longer stand it, and then feel like I accomplished something when it's finished." For a few things (i.e. cleaning the house), I can twistedly and knuckleheadly agree (however painful in the end) with the aforementioned rationale.

When it comes to health, people, and relationships though, a letting-it-go kind of mentality is simply foolish and downright destructive. God says that you should be taking care of your body, and loving others just as much—not putting it on the backburner and then taking care of it later. Take care of it (whatever that thing is) now.

Hm... I need to take care of something.
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