Rhythm

I've learned to appreciate the rhythms and limitations of life.

We, as modern sophisticated human beings, are just too sneaky and intelligent.  We seem to be doing everything possible to redirect, stretch and manipulate these rhythms and limitations so that we can finally reach our state of "satisfaction."

We work ourselves to the bone, fill ourselves to the brim with information (most of which flows from a system that perpetuates a perspective of "I'm never satisfied").  Rarely do we truly ponder, chew and digest ideas, while often we find ourselves with minds and stomachs crammed of chunks of meat hardly separated from the grizzle and bone.   And we wonder why we're never at peace, satisfied or content.

Ask my mom, my family, any close friends, better yet ask my wife, "Does Tracey actually taste what he vacuums through his mouth?"  "Nope, he doesn't give his poor taste buds a fighting chance."  But I do and it's delicious especially with some hot sauce on it...

...actually I should slow my meals down... a bit.

But the speed of my jaw isn't the big issue here although an area that I should think about.

I'm talking about time, rest, renewing and recreation.

I heard in a sermon once that recreation is two simple ideas; new, creation.  For my younger rugrat years this was a time in which the textbooks, pencils and work were put to the side and something different was pursued, or better yet something new was created.  Running around like a mad man on a playground.  In my too cool for school high school years this creation of newness was conversations, flirting, social interaction, etc.  In college it was educated pondering, reflection and debate because we're smarter of course! Ok, ok, yeah, it was basically just lofty conversations, flirting and social interaction.

The point:  I think there's a reason that a Creator would provide, develop or give his creation something.  It's quite probable that the Creator would know better than any other Joe Blow what they truly are in need of.   I see this so strongly in Sabbath and I've...we've really felt the goodness of this.

Christine and I have made a mess of some things, but Sabbath is one of our patterns of marriage that makes me proud.  We can both literally feel the excited anticipation of Sabbath, the lowered heart rate and kindled mind through out the day, and come Monday we're charged and ready to go.

It's almost like the rhythm of

                                            WORK
                                            WORK
                                            WORK
                                            WORK
                                            WORK
                                            WORK
+ BOOKS, BOARD GAMES & SUN
              PEACE & SATISFACTION

I've even found this to be true within our work days.  Even the secular world would agree, check out this article I stumbled across.

So why people, why, do we fight the rhythms and limitations of life?  We should bust our tails when we work and yet swan dive like flippin' Pocahontas into the reserved rhythmic periods of rest.

Oh and one more thing, we did this in the States, brought it here and we hope to continue as our numbers grow to 3 (sorry Osita, 4).   Put it this way, I see just as many pastors, missionaries and churchy folk running around like crazy people as the business world... you tell me what that means.

May your life be filled with strenuous work, purposeful rest and intense REcreation.

Entirely His

A missionary is someone who does full time ministry in a foreign country.

A missionary is someone who raises his or her own financial support.

A missionary is someone who is sent by the church to do “God’s work.”

The word “missionary,” or rather the connotation our culture has assigned it, really bothers me.  To the point that I usually don’t even call myself one, although our lives do reflect all 3 previous statements.

It bothers me because it is exclusive to a believer’s circumstance instead of the transformed heart that comes from knowing Christ.  (Just like the word “ministry.”  How did we change that word into an occupation in today’s eyes?  Did I really not start doing “ministry” until I traded in my paycheck for support letters?!  Perhaps this is an entirely separate blog...)

But the other day, I found such clarity to the term.  Good ole’ Oswald writes about what it means to be “entirely His.”  He says:

“A missionary is someone whom the Holy Spirit has brought about this realization:

‘You are not your own” (1 Corinthians 6:19).

And it’s that simple.  You don’t have to move to another country, you don’t have to change occupations, you don’t have to change anything about your circumstances, you just have to be entirely His.  All the time, every day, in spite of circumstance.  Which means you have to be available to whatever changes He has for you and trust that He knows best, despite your own discomfort and pain.  

He continues to write about Jesus telling His disciples that they cannot be His disciples if they don’t hate their mother, brother, spouse, children, life…  I’ve loved Jesus for a long time, but this is a verse that I just never understood.  We’re supposed to love everyone... and then hate everyone?    

Oswald points out that it is not a matter of being saved, it’s a matter of being wholly available to God, being entirely “His.”  If we belong to those around us, we can’t belong to Him.

Which was a huge "ah haaaa" moment for me.

Maybe I am a “missionary” more for my own sake than for the people of Chile.  Maybe God knew that I wouldn’t be able to live my life in the States and willingly sacrifice the things that come between us. Maybe the things I have been mourning and missing are the things that would have kept me from being entirely His if I actually had them.

Because I struggle with the fact that I don’t see my family anymore.  I struggle with knowing our child isn’t going to live a car ride/reasonably priced plane ride away from his/her grandparents.  I struggle with the reality that we don’t have close friends in the same country.  I struggle with knowing that I’m never going to "fit in" again in whatever country we end up living.

And they are indeed painful things.  But didn’t He say it would be painful?

Before Tracey and I got married I told him that we could not keep any sweets in the house.  (He thought I was kidding, I said ask any of my ex-roomates…  He asked if we could get a lock box; I said no, obviously I will figure out how to get inside…) I have discipline in a lot of areas in my life, but binging on sweet things is not one of them.  I know myself.  I know my tendencies.  And I know my weaknesses.

My relationships with the people I love have often kept me from being entirely His.  Which is why that verse has bothered me so much, which is what God knew about me way before I realized it on my own.  He knows me.  He knows my tendencies.  He knows my weaknesses.

And He wants what’s best for me.

It doesn’t make the mourning any easier, but it does make it sacred.  What I see as pain and loss, God has revealed as merely an answer to a prayer I made a long time ago:

To be entirely HIS.

Keitt Update - August 2012

If you are or have ever been in public education...

I just wish I could give you the biggest hug right now!  And chocolate, lots of chocolate.  And a day pass to the spa, or really anything that would make you the most happy...

These last two days have been rough, and have given me some not-so-great nostalgia for being in the classroom.  And immense appreciation for those who are.

Yesterday, a seventh grader asked me what "big" and "small" meant in her English class.  It took everything in me not to say, "well, think back to PRESCHOOL when you were taught those words... Or if you can't remember that far back, just review what you've been doing in class for the last MONTH AND A HALF, since this is supposed to be review day for your test." 

Today, as I broke up a fight between two kids, I was reminded of my infamous and overused phrase from my first 2 years of teaching:

"Are you kidding me?!?!"

This phrase is obviously only said as a think-aloud-form-of-therapy for a teacher that just has no idea what else to do :)  I mean, who says that to a kid, let alone one too developmentally young to even understand sarcasm?!?

This girl.

Because, like so many times in my education career, I just don't know what to do. I don't know what to do when there's no set expectations for behavior and kids run around like crazy.  I don't know what to do when there's no culture for excellence in the classroom and kids are SO far academically from where they should be.  I want to change the world one child at a time.  But I have fought that fight, year after year, with seemingly every factor fighting against me.  And I'm still tired.  

They say teacher burn-out rates in inner-city public schools average between 3-5 years.  

I.believe.it.

I am over a year out and still wonder if I am going to recover someday.  

So teachers, if you started this week, or maybe you will the next, know that you have one huge admirer in South America!  

(And if you knew me at all professionally in my first two years of teaching, God bless you and thank you for being my friend!) 

Jesus vs. Batman

I need to be more honest with you guys.

Someone wrote a comment on our survey that said something like “If you guys ever have problems, we’d never know – You always look so happy in your videos.”

I was like “BBAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!”

I knew it wasn’t meant to question our character or honesty, neither did we receive it that way.  On one hand, we get 3-5 minutes a month to “talk” to you guys and there really are way too many positive things to squeeze in that tiny time slot.  God has worked more powerfully in our lives this last year and a half than I could have ever imagined.  But it’s also been crazy hard.  And it’s always easier to wait around for something “good” or inspiring or at least positive to write about instead of being a Negative Nancy.

So I want to be more honest with you – One, because it’s only fair to paint the entire picture.  And two, because God is and will continue to be ridiculously faithful to us, and you won’t be able to be as amazed as we are unless you know the whole story.

A few weeks ago I blogged about “Faith and Rearview Mirrors.”  Now here’s the follow up – We’re always looking back to remember and recognize God’s hand in our lives, but what about when we have to look forward in uncertainty?  This is about 13,486 times harder.

I didn’t realize how pathetic my faith really was until we saw The Dark Knight Rises.  Like any great movie (as this one definitely is) you get to the point where you get a little stressed because you just don’t know how the good guy is going to possibly win.  But not too stressed, because you know the good guy has to win or it would be a horrible movie that no one would ever see.  You don’t know how, but the end will always come out right.  And that, you are sure of.

My moment of shame came the next morning as I was journaling and had this simple thought:  

“Do I really trust Batman more than Jesus?!?”

In a pathetic word, yes.

I know the ending of my story.  I know the battle has already been won, my ransom already paid, my fate with the Father sealed.  I know my life has a happy ending, happier than even the best ending Christopher Nolan could create.  But I don’t always act like I know.  It’s like I get stuck in these tiny points in the plot and forget that the conclusion’s already been written.

If I can’t see a clear future, or if the present doesn’t make sense, I start to question.

     
     Lord, are we ever going to have close friends again in the                   same country?

Lord, why are we even here if we could be doing good things in our own country and it would be so much less complicated?

Lord, how can I not be pregnant yet?

Funny that I pray “Lord” – because what I’m really indirectly asking with all these questions is 
“Are you sure you actually know what you’re doing here?”  

How is it so easy to forget 

the end of the story?!?

I’m so thankful for a God that doesn’t give up on me, who waits patiently while I remember over and over and over again the ending of the story and chill out about the parts that don’t make sense yet.  And I’m thankful for friends who help remind me when I get too stuck in my tiny points in the plot.  They may not all be resolved, they may never make sense to me, but they don’t have to. 

Because Jesus is so much more reliable than Batman.

(I’m not giving up on this interactive blog thing…)

Do you need help remembering the end of the story?  Got any uncertainties to share?  Comment or email us – For real, we would love to pray with you and help you remember :)  as you guys have helped to remind us!

New Album from Kids' Day!

Our apologies with the delay in pictures.  It's been way too long, but I just put up some awesome pictures from Kid's Day (like Mother's Day) that we celebrated today.  It was a blast.  Check it out by clicking on the Lego camera to the right.  Enjoy

1 Year 1 Day

I’ve been foreign or at least felt and been received as foreign since I can remember. Maybe that can explain why my hair was always changing when I was a young buck…and it typically wasn’t for the best.  From slicked back, ¼ side parted (my mom called my Louis Farrakhan), buzzed, ½ side parted, slicked forward, curly top, corn rows, box plaits and that was all before I hit high school. 

It was definitely a nuisance for that part of my life…that whole idea of not fitting in with the other cabrochicos…

…and those consistently bloody annoying questions…

“What are you?”  “A human I suppose, but I bet that’s not what your so kindly trying to ask”

“Are you black?” “Nope, I find my self to be more tan or bronze, but honestly I’ve never seen a black person in my life.  Please inform me when you do.”

“Are you white?” “Once again, not the most intelligent question or word choice, but I guess we use the filters we’re given.”

“Are you Mexican?” “¡Yeah and I speak Mexican as well!  Obviously the word Latino is too far fetched, as well as the idea that there are…oh… about 20 other countries that speak Gabriel Garcia Marques’ native tongue.  But I’m addicted to spicy food, my skin is the same tone as those toasted tortillas crammed with deliciousness, and I’m enamored with their language…  ¿Do you know where I could apply to join their club? ”

And yet at some unspecific moment I realized & fully embraced that I absolutely loved my “unboxable”, “non-categorizeable” life. Obviously anyone can and should live that way, but having found myself lacking a mundane “this is who your suppose to be” rut I think I received it a bit more freely. 

This probably explains my desire to experience the world, my unwavering desire to be neither the otter, lion, golden retriever or the beaver, but all and none all at once.  My love of languages, cultures and disgustingly delightful food.  My excited soul when I found my favorite and yet most hated word; dichotomy, because it sums it all up so nicely and yet still leaves our worlds with chasms of separation.

I’ve been here a year and a day as an official immigrant.  I’m still asked those bland, half whited questions and yet receive them as gum drops and lolly pops…for the most part that is.  No longer am I mistaken for a Mexican, but instead a Brazilian.  I’m cool with that.

Oh and a few days ago I was chatting it up with a guy in the market and he called me Peruvian, which was a huge bonus the way I see it.  Every body wants to lose that beautiful gringo accent (it’s actually atrocious :) and have people thinking that your second language is actually your first.  Let me stop with this tangent and just say it was a marking point of my Spanish speaking life and anyone who speaks a second language can probably understand this joyous moment. 

Tomorrow I’ll probably sound more gringo than ever because I wrote this. 

And returning to the point…I love being an immigrant and most everyone besides Chilean banks loves us too, but I think they snobbishly ignore a great majority of those who walk on two feet. 

I absolutely love and dislove parts of Chilean culture. I haven’t exactly found my soul-culture here nor seek it out.  I think that’s why we’re (those crazy followers of Christ) called to be and live as citizens of another kingdom. 

So the next time you see/meet someone different, their accent, nationality, skin tone, hair color, language ask them something that sparks conversation not a “how can I categorize you question”, but a “I want to learn about you” question.  Maybe the best question would be to just spend time truly sharing life with them as it all grooves along.