Only one thing is needed

I just left the office of my missions pastor and in a way I feel like I stepped into a new world. Amazing how certain people can do that. In the same two hour conversation he says "I know I don't know you well...really, I don't know you at all." and has the audacity to ask me the toughest, most personal probing questions while helping me discover the course of my life that's already put before me. It was alarming, really, when someone asks you what you want to change instead of what you want to do...then asks if you're going to change it. I've always felt close to the cliche' that "if you're dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough." Because I feel like I've always dreamed, I have to say that today may be the first time I've feared. What does it look like to follow Jesus into the hands of the devil? Well, in my family it would look just like being a career missionary. The devil rules this world...so working in the kingdom is always going to have backlash, that's a given. That backlash hits pretty close to home, come May...and looks a lot more like familial drama than outright persecution for Christ. So as I make my way to a coffee shop to open up the Word and calm my beating heart, which by the way, is my only indicator that I'm onto something good...something big...something so big and good that it scares me. I read Luke and a little lady named Martha packs me full of wisdom in her mistakes. Mary "should" have been doing what was proper. She should have been preparing for the Lord. It would have been right to work for the Lord. That would have been both directly scripturally sound and culturally honorable. But instead, when Jesus came, she dropped everything. Maybe she dropped what she was best at, cooking, or hospitality...and forgot it all...forgot what was "couth" and sat at Jesus' feet while Martha was left to do all of the "right stuff" all of the preparing. Jesus told Martha that Mary had found what was important and that it wouldn't be taken from her. How many times have I listened to the lie that staying where I'm at and and serving Jesus in the most "reasonable" way is what is best? Don't misunderstand me, unidentifiable cyber-blog, I believe that your direct mission field is generally about two inches from your everyday life and there is no limit as to where you can DO and BE Jesus. But that's just IT. ...it's not about figuring out HOW to prepare best or WHAT to do best. But the treasure is sitting at Jesus' feet, hearing Him, and listening to Him...and responding to that. This world is going to have a lot of ideas about how things should be done, and a lot of them might even come from Christians, books or the church...but I can't imagine a greater loss than missing out on the best prize...the point of it all. To sit at Jesus' feet and know the one whom we will be with for the rest of eternity...the one who gave us access in the first place. "Martha, Martha," The Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."Luke 10:41 I don't even know why I write anything...He sums it all up right there.

Luke 9:1

There are certain things promised to us in the Bible that we accept: that God is working all things for our good (Romans 8:28) That we can do all things through His strength (Philippians 4:13) That God loves us and sent His son to die for us that we don't have to perish (John 3:16) ...have I about exhausted your off-the-top-of-your-head Bible knowledge?

I was reading Daniel today and it just seems that somewhere between His lamenting, sackcloth-tearing, face on the ground terror and Joel Houston's photographer...we've started tattooing scripture on our wrists that we don't even trust.

"You have a fine way of setting aside the commands of God in order to observe your own traditions!" -Jesus (Mark7:9)

Well, in this "Christian" culture our traditions are as follows: you get sick, you pray for healing...in your car on the way to the doctor. You stay sick, you receive cards with well-meant scripture written all over them and continue to pray for healing...while upping the dosage of treatment.

Where do we really believe we're going to be healed? Does that ever actually come into faith as an action? Jesus TOLD us we would not only SEE but would DO greater things that He was. I'm sorry but I'm looking at the story of Him calling out thousands of demons from a man...and I get scared when I wake up in the middle of the night and it's dark in my room.

"They worship me in vain; their teachings are but rules taught by men." -Jesus Mark 7:7

What are the rules I've been taught by the traditions of the culture that I'm observing over God's word.
I always have felt a little rebellious, but as it turns out I'm great at obeying rules!
I ask for healing but never consider why it didn't happen when it still took me the full week to get over the flu.
I trust God can heal me but don't hold Him to it because WalMart has a real cheap brand of Ibuprofen and I've got plenty of it to deal with this headache...

A precious woman I've become close with, Gale, told me the same faith it takes to pray to God freely is the faith I use to sit in a chair.
My mind wants to automatically rebuttal with the difference between the laws of physics and the laws of ...spirituality?
What ARE the laws of the universe?
Fact is, I don't treat the Bible as the Word of God...I'm even WORSE than the pharisees, I don't even treat it as LAW!

The one who created the universe is the one who gives it law and I've decided the law of the created is more useful to me.

I can pray. I can mourn. I can fast. I can cry.
Then I can stand up and drive to class because that's my true reality...and this Christianity I'm professing is becoming a side job that doesn't really affect what I'm doing.

Daniel wasn't simply revealed the prophecy, he wasn't even a prophet "by trade." In fact, something that was "revealed to him" was revealed because he was pouring over the scriptures. He realized something in prayer as he was reading Jeremiah. Daniel was called beloved by God, Gabriel, a messenger of heaven told Daniel that he was BELOVED. I don't think this was just God's calling on Daniels life, in fact, Daniel was a political man, with a government job...who just made time to pray. His law was God's law and God revealed to Him the scrolls of the future.

We're all looking to signs as to what will be God's calling in our lives as if we are deemed special by what we can do. Oswald Chambers has wisdom in a passage he wrote about our callings being no different from the man next to us. Our talents and gifts are special, sure. However, Jesus was a great carpenter. Peter a fisherman. Paul...a million things it seems. Phillip an excellent traveler (Bible joke.) Thing was, their purpose was really just to follow Jesus and in that, glorify God.
Rely on His word.
Know His word.
Believe His promises.
Pray...on their knees...on their faces.
Pretty much everything else was just God's.


I don't know what I'm looking for as "God's big plan for my life" when I've got a friend who can't see right now and I sit here at a loss of what to do because I don't know why God isn't healing her.

There is no hidden mystery as to what we're supposed to do. It's written right here...and we're NOT DOING IT.

It's happening around us and we're confused as to why we can't turn the gears to make it all work.
What are we looking for? Are we really looking for healing? Are we doing what Daniel did in his mourning, crying, begging, Maranatha. Fasting for the coming of the Lord? Or are we asking for healing because we know we should...updating face book statuses and crossing our fingers that the doctor will do His job...resting in the fact that it doesn't take real faith to say that no matter what the outcome is "it's God's will."

We gotta put in time on our knees and in that place I cry MARANATHA.

Luke 9:1 "When Jesus had called the Twelve together he gave them the power and authority to drive out all demons and to cure diseases, and He sent them out to preach the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick."

...so there's the big call we're all waiting for. Let's do this.

Austin Drug Bust Fox7

Well half of my time interning at Fox 7 I wide-eyed the other reporters as they ran out of the news room and left me to Pinterest. The other half I spent in an editing bay to make something most people will never see. I'd say still worth it. Fox 7..."The Edge." ...of distaster!

Media Gatekeepers

One of the news values that reporters (ideally) adhere to is maintaining and understanding the role of “gatekeeper”. This means we hold the key to media within the community; what they know, what they don’t. What they remember and consequently what they don’t. We’re agenda setters. We’re pioneers of the frontal lobe for all members of Austin, Texas here at Fox News! …I may be going over board here. Today I am reading the rundown script for our news at 9 and I notice a story package on the 75th anniversary of the UT Tower. We mention quotes from UT students of all ages. We mention its function and use in our glorious city. We fail to mention, however, how this was the site of the brutal murders of 14 Austinites 30 years ago. This “incident” has all but been covered up by…well everyone. There is no plaque, no monument, and thus virtually no memory of the gruesome day marked anywhere around the tower. I can understand wanting to move on. I can understand not wanting a negative or dark label on a campus landmark. But c’mon…we’re Americans, we love remembering tragedy and becoming strengthened by it. 9/11, Pearl Harbor and the Oklahoma City bombings have become beacons of patriotism and new hope in our cultural memory. So why this one incident, why have we fought so hard to make it vanish? As media, we’re partly responsible. This isn’t just an event that will be forgotten, but victims that must be washed away in the same tide of undisclosed shame and terror. We call ourselves pioneers and muckrakers but all we’re doing is swimming in the same familiar pool of public acceptance. Are we really feeding the population more than what they want, but a healthy mixture of what they need? It’s debatable, and my role in it subsequently is too. Who knows if a change is possible, but I’m not willing to be silent about the need for it. Part of the 9:00 show script: SO WHAT IS IT ABOUT THIS BUILDING THAT'S SO INSPIRING? ¤W3 61 ]] C2.5 G 0 [[ TAKE SOT-------------------- OUTCUE= RUNTIME= ((TAKE SOT)) SAFFAN PRASLE, UT FRESHMAN (19;53; 45) "It's big! I mean that's the first thing I thought." ¤W4 61 ]] C2.5 G 0 [[ TAKE SOT-------------------- OUTCUE= RUNTIME= ((TAKE SOT)) CLAIRE BONTEMPO, UT SOPHOMORE (19;51;32) "It's kind of magestic. In a way, you know. Just because it is so prominent and tall and I think like the steps out front... it's just super grand." ¤W5 61 ]] C2.5 G 0 [[ TAKE SOT-------------------- OUTCUE= RUNTIME= ((TAKE SOT)) SHEYNA WEBSTER, UT JUNIOR (19;49;28) "It's huge, it makes a lot of noise and you know everything that happens on campus is right infront of the tower. You know, you can see it from every part of Austin, and I think it's just one of those things that people are just really impressed with."

Mighty Carrots

I live with five other girls. Our space is, to put it lightly, European in nature. Where the hot water should be you find cold; instead of a washing machine you find a mechanical enemy prepared to devour your garments. I can admit I see Italy through rose-colored glasses…to say the least. My first few weeks here I couldn’t even complain about sewage leakage on the street. It was all too unwilted and invigorating. I was intoxicated with the aromas of Italian culture and the sweet perfumes of discovery and freedom. My other five roommates were not so enraptured. The stove wouldn’t light and tears would flow. Peanut butter was five euro and the apocalypse could have ended us all. I was naïve enough to figure myself above culture shock. The simple fatigues of the day seemed to be my only downfall. That, and my utter inability to retain body heat when walking by the wind tunnel mistakenly deemed “The Duomo.”

It only seems fitting that in this scene, the mighty should fall. Enter me: the “mighty”.

Three weeks ago I had finally hit rock bottom…of my wallet. I had spent the previous month traveling to Germany, Hungary, Austria, Czech Republic, Sweden, Greece and around Italy. My first weekend home in Florence I wasn’t the least disconcerted to stay back while all of my roommates traveled. It was time to sleep in!

 I woke up that Friday to a gray sky boastful of rain and a lot of wind. The hardest move I made that day was pulling myself out of bed by 11:00. It was non negotiable that this day would be full of aimless wondering, coffee shop adventures, and an oversized sweater.

At some point in this entire experience my focus has turned to the most selfish outlook I’ve ever taken on. The language barrier and general unfamiliarity have provided me with convenient excuses to not get involved with people who are usually the most difficult to communicate with; the people who would probably benefit most from someone’s free day given to service. Thus I feel study abroad Lyndsey is actually just the same girl with an inked up passport and a selfish attitude.

When you’re walking around wearing an oversized sweater and an “all about me” attitude you might as well be holding a raw egg between your pinkie finger and thumb. It was inevitable that between my exhaustion, my general expectation that this time and day was mine, and my dwindling lack of monetary resources…that my egg was about to crack.

I planned to go to dinner with my language partner, Ale and her friend Rose. After a day successfully making myself jealous of everyone else by “window shopping” I was ready to just sit and have a fun evening with the girls.

First stop was at BNL, a, Italian bank that extracts money from Bank of America accounts without a fee. Much to my dismay, my little pink card denied me any cash at all. I was completely out.

There’s this moment when your stomach drops to your bladder and you start to flash back every penny you’ve spent in the past week while simultaneously chastising yourself for buying that extra croissant…every day. This was that moment.

I allowed myself to work through the literal physical reaction of the moment. I rationed with myself that I had simply been spending superfluously and that I could keep this under control. I’m very ineffective at lying to myself. The truth was that I had been very tight with my money. I had spent as little as possible on food and traveling and what was necessary to finish the documentary and school. I pushed away the chill that was running down my back that I might be in a foreign country with absolutely no money and continued home.

Then I realized I still had a $100 bill from my birthday in my wallet. I had saved this bill for emergencies in the airport. I decided it was better to have money in my wallet in case anything happened than to wait for an emergency to deem me ill prepared. However, all banks were closed. I remembered there was a brightly colored change exchange booth by The Duomo and decided this would be my only salvation for the day.

I checked their exchange rate and it actually seemed comparable to what I knew it to be. There was a young lady working behind the counter who couldn’t have been much older than me. I handed her my $100 and decided this was definitely the wisest choice.

When she handed me back 45 Euros I waited for the rest of the change. I knew it had to be a mistake.

“Oh, I gave you a $100 bill.” I corrected her small mistake.

She only responded an affirmative.

“I’m sorry, 45 Euros for 100 Dollars?”

Seems so.

This couldn’t be possible. Before I said anything else I quickly asked her to give me my $100 back, never mind, this was a mistake. She said she could sell me my money back but I would receive $40. I suddenly felt riotous, but incredibly composed amidst my burning anger. I continued to reason with her, questioning her every answer positively stubborn to the idea that I would walk away with 45 Euro. In the midst of my asking her very reporter –like questions another European who certainly didn’t speak Italian, and very broken English, stepped directly between me and the counter. For nearly five minutes I stood my ground with my nose directly in behind this intruder who wanted answers to every question she felt she had the right to interrupt my matter with.

The situation was suddenly enraging. How could this be happening? After the woman left I continued to battle with the change attendant. My final words to her were sincere and delivered with eye contact and raw emotion.

“This is all of the money I have. And you have stolen it. This is thievery. You are stealing.”

I then walked home, in the rain, 45 Euros in hand, crying uncontrollably.

I was pitiful!

I didn’t realize how greatly I expected things to always be fair. I asked for her manager and then later asked my language partner if there was anything I could do. In America this surely wouldn’t be tolerated, I was sure of it. But the stone cold truth was that there simply was nothing to be done. People rip other people off. Businesses are out for gain, not service. And no one has time to wait for your problems to subside before they seek answers for their own.

I became upset because I felt I had just been done a great injustice. I expected that businesses were held accountable to ethical code, and this simply proved to be untrue. There was nothing the police nor the government could do to serve such a tyrannical case of greed and dishonesty.

But there’s also a separate perspective I have the opportunity to consider. This happened to me, a student, but ultimately, an American. A 4-month visitor. These businesses survive off of such labor. Dishonest or not, it’s no different than the men walking on the streets selling umbrellas interrupting conversations and annoying people; they don’t do it because they have pleasure in ruining people’s days…this is their job and if I could be so bold to suggest, possibly their only option.

In America our government deals with us as fairly as we stand for, and I’m starting to realize we don’t stand for much. Its seen in the way we handle even the smallest intrusions upon our desires; you order a salad with no carrots, light dressing on the side and only ten croutons and you fully expect it to arrive to you in such a manner. But in Italy they don’t expect their government to treat them fairly, they don’t expect their small businesses to last, they don’t expect extra help. Thus they take their salad as prepared and eat around the carrots.

I had to learn how to eat around the carrots.

It doesn’t make it any more “fair”, or any more excusable. But the people who own businesses here deal with an entirely different tax law than I’m used to. Speaking to a local I was shocked to hear of how their government truly does steal right from their pockets. I was enraged to see my birthday money taken advantage of, these people are losing their pension because their leaders are in the mafia. It sounds extreme and fantastical but it’s their reality and I see it in their lack of trust in anything. Not just the system of the government but their expectations displayed in all facets.

It’s a perspective and it’s a lens that as an American I just couldn’t swallow. Talking to these locals puts a sharpening filter on a picture over pixilated by my own biases.

“We all want change, but it won’t happen. Why? Because nobody can actually do anything about it, and nobody will.”

It brought me to a greater understanding of the Italian culture and separated me farther from it at the same time. There are frustrations I will never understand because I was born in a country that exemplifies different ideals.

The water may never turn hot, the WiFi will probably continue in its inconsistency, and you may give much more than you give in return. I’m realizing you’ll never find the green grass on the other side until you can learn how to pick around the carrots.

riflettere

A different perspective of spring break. Vienna and Prague

L'Università di Firenze