Amen and amen.

Conor Friedersdorf in the Atlantic:

But I insist that a prospective president's insights on China, Russia and Mexico, to cite three examples, are incomparably more vital than their thoughts on Morocco, Tunisia, and even Libya. Isn't it odd that countries with the capability of killing us by the tens of millions with nuclear weapons, or else bordering our homeland and losing a war against drug cartels, often go unmentioned?

Just as in 2001 we could not have imagined where the next big threat to national security would come from, we may one day look back on this as the time when we could have done something, could have been paying attention, but weren't.

We stole thier combo plate idea

Recently came across this short interview, in which Gustavo Arellano waxes sociological on the influence of Mexican food on American cuisine, and the ever-evolving, trans-border nature of food culture and identity. When asked whether plates smothered with yellow cheese can be considered truly Mexican:

"It absolutely is Mexican food, with no qualifiers. The great Chicano scholar Américo Paredes coined the term “Greater Mexico” to refer to how, even though Mexican migrants might’ve gone into the United States, that somehow didn’t negate their mexicanidad on virtue of geographic movement; they were still Mexican."

And some more interesting tidbits on regional variations:

"Cal-Mex cuisine has more guacamole, burritos, and tacos, and is really the pocho child of Sonoran cooking (where beef reigns, along with the flour tortilla) and central Mexico, specifically Jalisco (home to menudo, birria, pozole, and flautas, which we know better as taquitos). Then there’s New Mexican food, Colorado Mexican, Fresh Mex…just wait for the book!"

I'm happy about the shout-out to NM food, and I did not know that Cali-Mex was largely pocho Sonoran. Makes sense, though. Although there are probably plenty of immigrants from Mexico's deep south in the state, the political and social continuity between California and Baja/Sonora goes back to the days of Serra and de Anza.

Extraterrestrial

On another note, there's this.

What do you think? I have always been alternately repulsed, drawn to and ambivalent about Katy Perry's music. More repulsed I guess.

What's your assessment?

How do you know?

Since I started my internship at the Latino Policy Forum and taking a social research methods class, I have found that I have been looking at things increasingly in terms of data. I’ve never been a math person, but I think I have always been inclined to put stock in charts and tables. I love a good graph. I love when social phenomena can be measured and analyzed, and how then that analysis can be used to influence policy or thought on a particular topic. I guess that’s why I have taken so well to my internship and this class.

In my other class, a policy course, we had a discussion last week about bullying. For those who aren’t in the know, bullying has become the hot and trendy topic in the field of social work and school counseling. Anti-bullying campaigns and curricula abound. The LGBTQ community has been key in raising the issue of bullying as it impacts their community. I have no qualms with the LGBTQ movement to shed light and change on this issue. I am skeptical, however, about the growing discourse on bullying in general as a new social issue in need of clinical and policy intervention.

As my classmates shared their horrifying experiences of working in high schools that “had no anti-bullying program whatsoever!”, I was thinking to myself, where is the research that shows the negative social impact of bullying? Are suicide rates and depression measurably higher than they would normally be without bullying? Is there any data that shows bullying as a new phenomenon, or is it just a new label for an age-old fixture of adolescence?

No one could answer these questions. Someone mentioned Columbine. Those kids were bullied, and look what they did.

Umm. No.

Millions of kids are “bullied” and they don’t go shoot up their school.

Anyway, I’m definitely evolving into an amateur policy and data wonk. Scanning spreadsheets full of Census data and amassing reports and press releases will do that.

I wonder how data figured into Nehemiah’s rebuilding of Jerusalem? Or Joseph’s management of the Egyptian food crisis. Or Daniel’s administrative duties in the Persian government.

What I’m seeking to understand is , in the complicated pipeline from education to knowledge production to advocacy to policy change, how do I honor God and steward his resources?

I have thought a lot about the relationship between being educated/having power and discipleship. I really do believe that for those of us who have been blessed with the opportunity to obtain “higher education,” we are called to invest that resource in whatever will bear lasting fruit. These are our “talents.” In our era, information truly is a tool of power.

The Romans knew this in Jesus’ time, using the census to keep track of their subjects for tax purposes.

Data and research are inherently political. Any social policy or law is backed up by years of research and thousands of man-hours. It has been exciting and overwhelming to me to be exposed to these behind-the-scenes workings of social policy and advocacy.

I am still formulating my thoughts about how my current work fits in with my faith and God’s calling for my life. I have no doubt that it does—although it may be more tangible when you are working face-to-face with clients in the “helping” professions.

More to come…

to love in pain

I closed my cell phone and sighed. Bad news. Depressing news. Overwhelming, sad, gut-wrenching and painful news. I put the phone back in my pocket and continued feeding Sean. I was silent, and he could tell that something was wrong. Part of me wanted to tell him what was going on with my family, just so i could say in my heart "see, you're not the only one that has problems. I can tell you about problems." I banished the thought, ashamed at my own selfishness.

Sean tried to comfort me. His words were awkwardly delivered, but sincere. I looked away. I felt raw, weak, uncertain, exposed. Here was this 17 year old boy, who, for the last year and a half, had opened up his pain to me every single day, talking on and on, over and over about his frustrations with his family and the feeling of being isolated, ignored, not takes seriously, judged, powerless, helpless......
I was the one that was supposed to have words to say in these situations! I am the one who sits and listens while you are vulnerable with me, showing me your weakness, and allowing me to administer some truthful words, some hopeful exhortation. I am 8 years older than you. I am your mentor. I do not share my pain with you, much less open up my life to you and let your words minister God's love to me.

In the midst of pain and confusion, all this appeared as foolish, immature lies.

I am helpless. I am afraid, just like you are. I am weak, and i sometimes feel trapped, ignored, unloved. My pain is not much different from your pain. You are my brother, and you are an instrument of God's love. I could not see that until i was willing to let you say some words of truth into my own pain.

It is hard to love you. It is hard to love the people that i love the most. they are so difficult. they can be so annoying. they have such an amazing ability to misread, misunderstand and miscommunicate with me! Why even continue in relationships!?

Why does God continue in his steadfast love to generation after generation? Why does he usher us gently pack into his arms after we have run away from him? Why does he choose to share the communion of Passover with us after we have betrayed him and before we will deny him?

I do not understand.

But sometimes, my heart understands it.
There is so much pain, so much darkness. It is real. It is the world we live in. Our disinfected culture makes it seem like pain is abnormal, an anomaly. Really, pain is a fundamental link, a common ground, a shared experience of all human beings, ever since we chose our own foolish way in the garden of Eden.

Jesus, who shared in our pain, rescue us, save us.

returning

Many things have compelled me to come back to this blog and begin writing again. I am not sure if people have given up on ever seeing me here again, but I hope to resurrect this space as a forum for my reflections, writing forays, and observations from a life in retreat and sabbath.

there will be more to come

i am revived by the stirring of many aphids marching across
the face of a lone leaf
they tentatively move along the side
like lovers passing by deserted bedrooms
offering themselves to
nowhere all
at once.

this is my course
the path i was never meant to discover
or even think
think
of those times
in which my heart held its collection of immense fears
and mediocre satisfactions
by the minute, by the hour
grazing away at each person's life
i once loved

i am you, also
i am that strange seed
that beckoning darkness floating among uprooted
flowers in a lake
the insects arrange themselves in
such a way
as not to drown, or seem over-zealous
in their appetite.

I will pluck strings of ancient riddles and laughter
and feel with discomfort the touch of your breath
on my back
telling me
don’t ever ever leave me…

one green creature,
nothing more than a punctuation mark
in an ecosystem of mythic size
touched his feet out onto the water
ready to leave the leaf
but held in a deadly vice
by the quivering tension of the water
around each leg.

I am not that bug
I am not the one whom water and
The microscopic imperfections of biology
Hold fast from acting, from getting my food
That future’s prize for me is the fruit
Of freedom
Freedom to move and not be blown aside
Or swallowed up
Or forgotten by one’s comrades.

Current

i have not been posting a lot recently. i think that it has been harder for me to make sense of my life, as my life has become more and more scheduled, compartmentalized.

I heard a beautiful song this morning. Damien Jurado, "Medication" . It was about a man who is trying to balance taking care of his mentally unstable brother with his own hectic life. it was very tender, and honest.

one thing that has me frustrated these days is this-- i am deeply involved in the lives of 3 young men. J and F from my neighborhood and Sean from South Pas. Each day, i see sean transforming into a compassionate, socially aware, well-balanced individual with a love for learning. It really really frustrates me that i do not see J and F changing that quickly. Or that i dont have the opportunity to spend as much time with them as i do with Sean. And i want to much to see them transformed by God's love. For that matter, i want so much for MYSELF to be transformed by God's love, yet i scarcely see it each day as each day seems to be exactly like the one that came before.

i am reminded of a verse in Habakkuk:

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
18 yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
19 The Sovereign LORD is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
he enables me to go on the heights.