God, Woody, Bobby, and Eddie

Yer gonna wanna put this groove on while you read

So there’s these two dear people in my life who died on the same day a year ago – one is my grandpa, Bob Perkins, and the other is my friend Eddie Linkhorne, and I wanted to write, uh, something about Eddie and Bobby, uh, sort of like what does Eddie Linkhorne and Bobby Perkins mean to you, in 25 words. And, uh, I couldn’t do it, I wrote out 5 pages, and, uh, I have it here, it’s, uh.. have it here by accident actually (heh) but I, I’d like to say this out loud. So, uh, if you could sorta roll along with this thing here, this is called Last Thoughts on Eddie Linkhorne and Bobby Perkins… which just happens to have the exact same words as Bob Dylan’s Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie.  Um -

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know it’s wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterday’s rush

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when you’re layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin’ with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm thinkin'

In the words that I'm writin'

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a steam engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dim lit stage

With that half-wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand-box world

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of money and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty

THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You'll find God in the church of your choice

You'll find Woody Guthrie and Eddie Linkhorne and Bobby Perkins in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

srce moje...tracing the journey.

my beloved is in the process of leaving the Balkans, where he has made his home for the past three years. where I made my home for one glorious, complicated year.  and so my heart is in the process of reminiscing, looking back and letting go of the comfort of having that intimate link to a place i came to love so much, even though it broke my heart sometimes.

thinking of when i first arrived in Sarajevo in the middle of August and was instantly in love with the [wordiness alert, this is from my journal:] "clear sweet sunny days backdropping the gorgeous colorful mountainous landscape and the beautiful multicultural milieu of people in the cafes and goods in the markets and church bells ringing and minarets lighting up at night and imams intoning calls to prayer and the river flowing on and on under many bridges through the middle of it all..."

and the day i made to the journey from Sarajevo to Belgrade, reassuring myself that "as i leave this beautiful scarred city, i know i will survive and maybe even learn to thrive in the one i will soon arrive in... i think i am already growing in my ability to recognize the cyrillic letters and sound things out correctly when i see it.  bouncing inside the bus, through tunnels, alongside rock faces, past pine forests and fern patches, we have now come down from the high hills to a more rolling landscape of fields and small towns. hello hay bales and humble houses and huts. the little trickle that started hugging the road's curves in a shallow ditch a while back has since gradually widened into a lively stream and then a broad channel in a gorge below us - and oh - now we have crossed over it on a bridge and i can no longer see it from my side of the bus, but i know it is still there, feeding this land, quenching the thirst of people and creatures, carving its cool, calm power ever deeper and wider, branching off into new waterways, to spread the gift, the youth, the life."

i didn't always feel very youthful or lively for my first few months there. despite some wonderful moments, overall i felt more like this:

i struggled under some shadows of uncertain expectations and rocky living situations and frequent colds and sickness and feeling like a failure a lot of the time.

sure, i smiled in the sunshiny joy of my language lessons, my daily work of caring for little children with special needs, my mini-adventures of walking and navigating public transportation around the city, and texts like this from my coworkers when i was too sick to go to work: "ok dont vory bi god love you"

but it wasn't until, oh, about November that i finally started feeling comfortable in my skin and surroundings again.  i realize this is fairly typical cross-cultural transition timing, but there were also a few real changes that made a big difference.  i moved to a new apartment and "woke up under the skylight, blue sky with wisps of clouds floating by, the sound of the streets being washed and the pigeons flapping about. i tiptoed to look out to the adjacent rooftops where they perch and greeted them this morning...i went to the pijaca/market and had friendly exchanges with the people from whom i bought: a chunk of pumpkin, a bunch of paradajz i luk (tomatoes and onions), some mandarin oranges, pola kila pečurka (half a kilo of mushrooms), i 250g brusnica (dried cranberries)...and trudged delightedly back up the hill...passing Everest Kafe, and the Crna Kornjača, and a Zdrava Hrana (health food) shop, and some creative graffiti...i LOVE MY NEIGHBORHOOD!"

i started having more opportunities to travel around the region...to hike to a waterfall and play in the fall leaves or the snow or the spring flowers in Kosovo/Kosova...to go to concerts in Novi Sad...to spend time with MCC partners and regional directors in Sarajevo, and go hiking in the hills there...

life really blossomed.  blooming and growing, like edelweiss, the hills are alive, with the sound of music... :)

and i had awesome Canadian neighbors who moved in to the apartment below mine, and who invited me to share in their weekly crepes and their city-exploring adventures and their Christmas and Easter celebrations just like another daughter/sister...(and who dressed up as this endearing totem pole for the kindergarten's multicultural dress-up day!)

and i had a gig with a choir, a gospel choir! the only gospel choir in Serbia! who were the warmest, loudest, lovingest :) spiritual community i could possibly have been welcomed into. we sang all over Beograd, and in a few other cities, too.  music. friendship. joy.

and i had, unexpectedly, a boy, who tenderly cared for me when i was sick...who encouraged me to be gentle with myself and see the beauty in my role with the children...who traveled with me all throughout that "land of raspberries and honey-bees, hills and haystacks, abandoned houses and bullet holes, churches and mosques" ...who held me and helped me poetry-slam a bob dylan ballad when my grandpa and another dear friend in the U.S. died on the same day in May...who asked me if he could ask me to marry him yet, and then saw me off on the plane back to the States in July without a definite answer...who said YES YES YES YES YES when I asked him over Skype a couple months later!  who put the perfect eco-friendly vine-shaped ring on my finger this past December...who returned to the Balkans in January and has persevered through these final months of his term there... and who is coming home to me SOON.  srce moje...now we'll journey together for the rest of our lives.  God.es.good.

earthquakes and everest

well, the drama princess piece of me wants to say something about how my time here so far has shaken me up like an earthquake, and presented me with challenges to climb like mount everest. which is true in some ways.

but of course there are more physically real earthquakes affecting a lot more people right now in China and New Zealand and Japan and everywhere else the resulting tsunamis have touched...bringing me flashbacks of December 2004, my senior year of high school in India...coastal villages submerged...homes washed away...fishing boats washed up, fishing nets ripped apart, unusable...families ripped apart, grieving, surviving...

actually even before these recent catastrophes i was just remembering how there have been a number of real earthquakes in this region over the past several months, including one in November that struck about 80 miles south of here, in the city of Kraljevo, at magnitude 5.4, killing two people and injuring between 50 and 100 others, and displacing some families whose homes were damaged. i remember at about 2 a.m. that morning, waking up because my feet were doing that thing where they involuntarily rise up from the bed a little and wiggle around...but then they kept doing it for a few seconds longer than my sleep-slugged muscles would normally twitch for...and then i heard about the earthquake when i checked the news that morning.

of course, this incident totally slipped most people's memory, including mine, pretty soon afterwards. but the families of those in Kraljevo who were killed, and those who were injured or displaced, are most certainly still dealing with the effects.

and this reminds me of the world's memory-loss about this whole region of southeast Europe, the former Yugoslavia, which was rocked by inter-ethnic war, mass killings, sieges, bombings, and all the fall-out of these traumatic experiences and political separations. not so long ago...certainly within living memory of anyone over the age of 10 here. several former government buildings in downtown Beograd still stand in their bombed-out state, and all over the region, sitting there like scars on the beautiful countryside, houses can be seen like the one below - whether it was a Bosnian Muslim home gutted by Serbs in some part of Bosnia or Serbia, or a Serb home stripped by Albanians in Kosovo/Kosova, or a Kosovo Albanian home there, or a Croatian home somewhere in Bosnia or Serbia or Croatia, or whichever way the violence went at a particular point in time in that particular town or village - much more complex than these few examples can convey.

but everyday life has since returned to a 'new normal' for most people here, and the biggest crises in the news since i've been here were the hooligan protesters' reaction to the gay pride parade in October (no worries, I was living across the river in Zemun at the time), and the milk shortage (which didn't affect me too much because i'm slightly lactose intolerant, so i don't drink straight milk), and the eerily Egyptian-echoing gathering of between 50,000 and 70,000 opposition demonstrators to call for early elections in February (and unfortunately I was in Sarajevo that weekend and missed the excitement!)

so those are some of the 'earthquakes' that have caused some tremors since i've been here, and i hope to stay more in tune with regional and world developments, and hopefully share them here a bit more often...

and now for the 'everest' part - this has been a great source of excitement for me in the past few months, as i have found...dare i say...my favorite cafe in the world...?!?!!! oh, don't worry, i still love you, Treehouse. but i have gone way past the infatuation stage, and dived into a seriously delightful relationship with the Everest Kafe-Knjižara (cafe-bookstore) just a block from my apartment! a joyously orange-accented place, always playing the most soothing, meditative music, and serving a delicious vegetarian menu including (if you come on the right day) DAL!!! and a fascinating selection of teas, and friendly guys behind the counter who recognize me and are happy to see me every time i come in...

pumpkin-ginger soup with their homemade spiced bread
so happy to share the loveliness of Everest with my lovely Amy
and with the freedom sexy birds...

i.saw.Jesus.getting.his.fingernails.cut

and his time-worn face of love and struggle was reflected just as much in the face of the young lady who was wielding the fingernail clippers.

i won't give too many details, but just think, what if you had a stroke? and you were left without mobility in your left arm and leg? and without a job or the ability to get yourself to the grocery store or even across the street to buy a Pepsi? and you had to move to a more run-down house because you couldn't make the mortgage payments on yours anymore? and your family mostly ignored you and your only friends were the dog and the 6 or 7 cats you kept around the house for company? and your wheelchair started falling apart? and it started getting harder and harder to pay for electricity and food and even the water bill? and you've got these new young neighbors who stop by sometimes to chat and help you with yardwork and house projects and play with your cats and even give you some bakery bread and garden vegetables and other food surplus sometimes - but what if you still knew you might not be able to pay your bills? might not be able to buy food? might be evicted from your house? would you still be able to crack jokes? would you trust your new friends to help you find a social worker and some solutions? would you still want to live?

sometimes, our neighbor tells us, he doesn't.

and we don't exactly know what to do with that, except to keep going back. keep trying to make his life a little more livable, and keep trying to re-convince him that his life is worth living.

many images flicker across my memory-reel of these past few months, in and out of his house, hanging out on his porch, taking out his trash... many mischievous smiles and riotous laughs, many cat-teasing tricks and tender cat-cuddling moments, many half-hidden winces of struggle in moving from chair to door to stairs...

but the image that sticks is of Jesus getting his fingernails cut. and Jesus gently, determinedly cutting them. one smooth, coffee-colored, female face. one wrinkled, pale peach cream-colored, male face. both lit up when his stereo started belting out "Stand By Me". one light. one love. just one story, one rhythm among the riot of beats on these city streets.

will you join me in one prayer for this one precious life?

peace art: pastels for haiti

"what does peace mean? peace means taking care of

what does peace mean? peace means taking care of

what does peace mean? peace means taking care of

ourselves, each other, and the earth!"

children circle around me, some singing, some hesitantly mouthing the words, some confidently shouting out this little piece that has become the theme song for the Camden Peace Art Project. after music time sitting on the floor, we move to the tables and my co-leader, Miss N., begins to tell us and show us how to use oil pastels...shading, stippling, cross-hatching, straight lines and curved lines and wavy lines...a whole new world of artistic technique opening up in front of our eyes!
children's eyes crinkle up with excitement and thinking as they get to pick out colors and create designs for crazy hair and crazy faces to practice the different techniques. when they're satisfied with their creations, we draw the children again into a circle on the floor to prepare them for their next project, which will not only bring them the joy of creating, but also (we hope) bring some peace and comfort to some others in our community.

"okay, does anyone remember what happened last week on a little island?" eager hands go up, but more-eager mouths blurt out, "Haiti!" "earthquake!" "tsunami?" "no, crazy" "people got hurt" "people's house fall down" "lots of people die" "people hungry". yes, children. can you see the hurt in my eyes? "and did you know that we have some families from Haiti right here in Camden? they live and go to school and go to church just down the road from us, and they probably have family and friends who got hurt or maybe died in the earthquake. so, how do you think they are feeling right now?" ... "how would you like to make a card that we can give to these families? what would you like to draw on it and write on it? here, you can use what you learned with the oil pastels...and here are some phrases you can write in French or Creole, to let them know you are thinking of them and praying for Haiti..."

you should have seen these crazy kids settle down and get to work. well, they were still pretty rowdy, but hey, they really put their hearts into those cards. one of my favorites, by one of the rowdiest kids in the room, just said "I LOVE YOU HAITI".

i know, of course, that Haiti STILL HURTS, that a few hand-colored cards from a crew of Hispanic kids in Camden to a few Haitian families in Camden is not even a drop in the bucket of all the healing water that is needed to soothe the pain of so many people and enable such a wounded nation to walk again... but in the meantime, and in light of my lack of direct access to make a concrete difference in that situation... i'm pretty proud of my Peace Art kids, and their gift to their neighbors: pastels for haiti.

one.plus.one.plus.one.equals.one.

1 + 1 + 1 = 1. yes, es la verdad. on this Chorale tour, we learned that this is true. before the wheels roll, each person checks to makes sure that one (myself) plus one (the person who stands on my right in mixed formation) plus one (the person who stands on my left in mixed formation) equals one (the whole unified Chorale).

highlights:

1. singing at the Holmstad, a retirement home in Batavia, IL, and meeting George, an outgoing old guy who grew up as an MK in Venezuela and then spent most of his life as an international airline pilot, calling Hong Kong home for a while and seeing all kinds of other places. he and i chatted for quite a while, and then i think he found almost every other MK in the Chorale and talked to them at length, too. he was so overjoyed to find young people, young MKs using their talents, and he talked about being inspired to maybe find the college MK groups in his area to advise or encourage them or just see what they're up to these days. also, after the concert i ran into my childhood doctor and his wife, who were good friends with my grandparents back in the day, and recognized my name in the program! small, small world.
+
1. singing at Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago, for their free noon-time concert series, where a number of homeless guys were sleeping in the pews when we walked in, and i had tears squeezing from my soul and eyes when we got to sing "on Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand," because i knew that those guys truly had nowhere else to go, nothing else to stand on or build their lives on, and i wanted so much for the words we sang to sink into their hearts and invite them to put their hope in him if they couldn't put it in the street crowd, and make their home in him if they couldn't make it in an apartment or even a shelter, and be bathed in his unchanging love if not in a hot shower, and be fed by the bread of life if not by a bagel or a burger...but i wanted to do those things for them, too. and i met T.J., bless his heart, who told it to us straight about the hard life he was living, and about how he sometimes walks the streets and freezes and cries, or comes into Fourth Pres and chills on a pew and cries out to God, praying and trusting that there's a purpose for him to be so downtrodden these days and months, maybe God's gonna raise him up, or just use him wherever he is to be a blessing, whenever someone blesses him he shares, he passes it on to his friends on the street who having a hard time, and he prays, prays and cries, cries and prays. it ripped at me to leave him there, to know there are so many more beautiful souls living just as painfully all throughout the cities of this country and the world. i am so pitifully rich; it is a pity that i don't give away more of what i have more freely to those who need it more than i do.
+
1. singing at Elmbrook church in Brookfield, WI - the home church of Brad Larson, one of the students who was killed in the Taylor van accident my freshman year. his parents invited the Chorale to come and sing, kind of as a memorial for him and a gathering of Taylor alumni. so emotional - Solid Rock was what we sang at the memorial service the year after the accident, impossible to keep dry eyes when the memories flowed back so freely and we were singing straight into the teary eyes and tender hearts of his parents. almost three years later, but how can you recover from losing a son, seriously? everything and everyone on earth we could possibly put our hope in may fail us and leave us, but "our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness". and our children are not naturally supposed to get to our heavenly home before us, but if they do, we can trust in the promise that we're coming too!
=
1. one beautiful, blessed, final Chorale tour. sadness that it's over, but gladness that it happened and that the God of grace and God of glory made himself so deeply present throughout all of it, carrying our heavy burdens and preaching peace into us and revealing his dwelling place inside each person we met.

haha, i just remembered that Chorale Officer Matthew wanted to call it the 'Trinity Check', and i liked it ecstatically but then had to agree with Officer Mark that it sounded semi-blasphemous. ;-) but it is actually a pretty good expression of the mystery of the real Trinity, right? one (Father) plus one (Son) plus one (Holy Spirit) equals ONE!!!

peace, people. "shower the people you love with love"

why.get.ahead.

a well-meaning, God-loving lady was advising me today that a TESOL certificate is all well and good, but if i want an 'edge' in the field of teaching ESL, i should really look into continuing my education immediately after i graduate and getting a full teaching license right away.

of course, her main advice was to pray about it, which i admittedly, ashamedly have not done enough of. i was speechlessly amazed as she told story after story of how she would pray every day for years, or for months, or even just for minutes about something, and God would work things out so fittingly even though she didn't usually have a logical or long-range plan, and somehow it worked out for her to get a particular combination of teaching licenses and endorsements that wouldn't have been possible at any other time, in any other way, which now can give her an edge because those areas are in high demand and she's highly qualified.

but what if i don't want an edge?

what if i just want to serve for a while, wherever in the world will accept me, license-lacking as i am?

what if i want an edge in a completely different direction?

what if i'm not cut out to have this particular edge sharpened that much further?

what if i'm not sure i like how this edge aids the sword of the American empire to thrust ever deeper and bloodier into the hearts of other cultures, other nations, other tribes and tongues?

what if i don't mind just being on par with hundreds of other aspiring ESL teachers who want to help people and who just have a certificate in it?

why do we have this obsession with getting ahead?

i will always remember the dazzlingly counter-cultural thing one of my high school teachers said as he addressed my graduating class at our baccalaureate service: "i won't tell you to reach for the stars, because then your hands wouldn't be free to reach down and help others."

i'm sure i'm overreacting, overidealistic, and probably miscalculating my options. but in whose math? what if i don't want to stay on their graph?

i guess right now the thought of trying to amass more education and money-making potential for myself while i'm already 'ahead', already have bunches of 'edges' on most of the world's population [including the Palestinians whose universities and schools have been hit by more than a few made-in-the-U.S.A. bombs lately, and whose population now includes 1200 less human beings, mothers and fathers and daughters and sons than it did 21 days ago] - the thought of scrambling to spend more money to do more coursework to get a more desirable degree, before spending some time serving the people on the edges of society, on the edges of poverty and caught in conflicts - the brokenhearted, to whom God is so near - that thought just turns me off like a lightbulb that goes fizzle-pop-bzzz-dark.

goodnight now, i need to go pray about this instead of writing any more.

PeAcE