may my mind stroll about hungry

5.

may my heart always be open to little

birds who are the secrets of living

whatever they sing is better than to know

and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry

and fearless and thirsty and supple

and even if it's sunday may i be wrong

for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully

and love yourself so more than truly

there's never been quite such a fool who could fail

pulling all the sky over him with one smile

(E.E. Cummings)

Many dear friends know well my obsession for E.E. Cummings as I often force them to listen to me read them whatever poem has stuck out to me of late. (Always promising its "just one"...but usually betraying their kindness). I have gotten into the habit of carrying a book of his poetry around and opening up to random poems when i'm sitting around with a free moment - honestly, screw the million methods to analyze poetry that were drilled into me in college - what seems more effective?

Letting poetry accompany you in your everyday - allowing it little spaces and places to speak into the mundane and illuminate. I can read a poem ten times - and it can seem gibberish to me (especially if its Cummings). But then the eleventh time - due to where my heart, mind or physical self are - something clicks and the poem starts opening up for me.

"here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap

and to your (in my arms flowering so new)

self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain"

I truly love the first poem and how effortlessly Cummings captures this stage of life i feel that I'm in. 22 years old, just out of college, thrust into a position in international development and working in an environment so different than that of the States. This experience is (and has been) ideal for growth. Daily I am learning things about myself, about international NGO's, microfinance and dealing with people - while often the pace isnt as enjoyable as "strolling" my mind is definitely hungry and thirsty, and I hope fearless.

Sometimes I feel restless and too hungry, too thirsty (my friends have made fun of me on more than one occasion for overusing the phrase "it would be interesting to do a study on..." fill in the blank - the motivation for shoe shine boys and where ones money actually goes to - the correlation of shifts at Barra Payan that Jose (attractive dominican friend) works and the busyness of the restaurant.) I am constantly seeing where my skill set ends and where I need to improve, learn more etc. Where I need an in-house manager or where I need to go back to school.

Yet, what I do relish is the luxury of being able to interact with associates and women who in their often shy, quiet voice, explain how their lives have been made different through a loan with HOPE. In many a soft conversation, secrets of life have been revealed in simplicity and practicality.

May our hearts always be open.

Fingerprints & Joy

One thing I love about life is people. You know how there are some scientists that will say they never believed in God until one day they were just struck with the intricacy of a plant cell: the mitochondria, lysoplasts and so forth – that it was just obvious that there was an intelligent designer.

Or astronomers studying the stars all night long – one night look up and don't see balls of burning gases – instead they a tapestry of constellations strewn like sugar across an inky canvas. And they just know – that there was a creator who made this sight – just for them.

For me, its people. I think my at times debilitating love for people comes from my stumbling upon the fingerprints of God on his creations.

(In my mind that is prone to creating elaborate images – I imagine the Potter with rough hands & dirt under his fingernails, creating the world and eating a really messy PB&J sandwich at the same time. Between bites he's separating the sky from the water from the land. Another bite; he's now making pomegranates, avocados and coffee. One more; sunsets, the feathers of peacocks and the heart of Adam. All these things bearing the sticky mark of their Maker.)

I see a parent's love for the great-out-of-doors and how they revel at the sight of a hawk and think, that love and dedication for this created world is something of God and is a shared part of His heart.

I see a friend's artistic eye and how they seem to glow when they make art. This is God seeping out of their lives – in such a beautiful act of worship.

I see a co-worker's generous acts of service in preparing outstanding coffee and her watchful eye on all the young gringos in the office – sending passionfruit tea home for one who's fallen ill. This is God's heart.

I see a million flecks of Christ in the people I interact with daily from genuine smiles, to kind gestures, to sacrificial acts. And I can't help but love abundantly.

I see people from other faith backgrounds, Muslims, Catholics, Mormons and can't help but respect God's unique fingerprints on them and their religions.

I am impressed by the dedication of many Muslims, stopping everything they do five times a day to re-orient them self (both physically and spiritually) towards their center. I think, what if Christians did that – what if I did that, how would my life look different if I so obviously wore my beliefs on my sleeve.

After traveling through South America – and standing in some of the biggest cathedrals in the world – I respect the Catholic perspective of God – noticing how they really get the grandiosity of God. While sometimes I get wrapped up in Jesus being my BFF – I forget I'm also talking to the Almighty, Creator of the Universe.

I spent last week with a group of Mormon dentists who came down to work in some of the most impoverished communities in the DR. The matriarch of their family passes away a few months ago and I was struck by their deep sense of family and love. The way extended family has stayed a network of support for their granfather and to see their grief in motion, cleaning, pulling and filling rotton teeth in a foreign country. It was a beautiful thing, covered in sticky fingerprints.

I.G.K.M.I.T.F

I'm
Gonna
Kick
Myself
In
The
Face

This is my new acrostic poem for how I feel about technology. I'm trying I really am. I know that people living abroad 20 years ago were reduced to writing letters and nowadays with e-mail and skype and facebook - this should be alot easier.

Buuuuuuuut, it's not.

Technology has now become my new foe - taunting me with all of these glimmering possibilities to connect with the ones i love - but somehow thwarting me at every turn.

I know this rant isn't productive - I just want you to know if you pick up the phone and its a terribly statically me on the other - I'm just as frustrated as you.

May these tech tides turn soon...