Well, here we are
It has made me glad to read everyone else's posts on their blogs. Mere months ago, I would have read Tina's Blog song and been like 'What?' But now, I feel connected...the warm fuzzy. There is almost a tear ;-p Good looking out.
Last night my family and I went to San Jose de Los Duranes, a little old chapel in one of the historic neighborhoods of Albq. that we live closest to. They actually had the traditional New Mexican Posadas, which I love. I finally got the full Spanish words to the Posada songs---- sorry ya'll NWN folk- I was trying to get them in time for our Posada, but I couldnt. They are actually really cool. Eventually I will post them up.
This was the first year my dad dicided to put luminarias out. Its amazing-- only in New Mexico do the Wal Marts sell massive amounts of discount paper bags and candles in bulk-- soley for making luminarias. We spent a few hours filling them and putting the candles in. It turned out pretty cool.
Today, we went to my grandparents house. My aunt and uncle and cousin are visiting from Ausitn, TX. And my other uncle and aunt (who is pregnant) were there too. It was good to see my cousins- they are both 11, and they remind me that there is some youthfulness in my family still. We watched the Lakers Heat game and then had a grip of posole and tamales and biscochitos (New Mexican sugar/cinnamon cookies) My grandma's posole is bomb....
I have slept a LOT this week. Partly, it is catching up on sleep from the fall, but a lot of it is, I just become very lethargic and unmotivated when i am home. I have not had much good reflection time, or prayer time, which i am irritated about. But isnt it ok? I dont know.
For the last 3 days, my brother, dad and I have watched the Matrix Trilogy for like 8 hours a day. My dad is funny that way, becasue he'll go to bed in the middle of Matrix Revolutions, and then the next morning, we tell him "This is the scene we left off at" But he has no memory of it, so he starts it like 15 scenes back, so we actually watched the bulk of Matrix Revolutions about 3 times in the last 2 days. I have also been playing a lot of Halo II with my brother. It is shocking how lethal he is at this game. I may have tied Ernie for 2nd place in NWN, but Joe is on a whole other level.
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Thursday, December 23, 2004
"rappers always talk about back to the old school....you never should have left in the first place, fool"
So many people want me to come back to New Mexico, settle down, make change, have kids, bring something new.
This place makes me sad every time I come back. It is hard, coming from California-- a place that for me has meant constant change and growth and progress and healing. And then coming back to New Mexico, where I see the same things, the same patterns, the same darkness, slowness, oldness.
I love it, but it is a bittersweet love. I am always confused about this dual-living God has me on, taking me from Cali to Burque and back. Where do I belong, God? Why do i feel like a stranger in the place I grew up in? Why do they not understand me here? Or in Cali, for that matter?
New Mexico has those landscapes that are vast, cold and dark. Hundred mile plains and mesas, dotted with juniper bushes, brown grass and tumbleweed. They strike to your soul, revealing empty places and longings that you have been content to drown out by moving to a crowded, loud, fast, modern place like Los Angeles.
But when I come back, i hear them again. They speak to a place that is older in me than anything I know. In December, Albuquerque is a small city, surrounded by a high desert that is so cold and so dark. I remember going hunting in Corona with my dad one January when the ground was covered in snow and there was no light except for the stars. Looking out with frosty breath, I could feel the place pull on me...the utter silence, the smell of sage in the night. I was scared because I felt like it would never let me go, like it knew me better than i knew myself....that it would see through my ambition, my goals of leaving New Mexico and seeing the world and making my own life for myself. It did see through me. As did the Pecos mountains, the river valleys by Taos, the pueblos along the Rio Grande.
thats why i'm scared to go back even though i love them.
)))
then there are the homies. They are like blood to me, Jay and Anthony. It was always the three of us. Move back, they say.
"We'll start a movement, son--- remember how it was back in high school? B-boys rocking every weekend, graffiti at its peak, all the famous writers getting up, DJs getting out and finding all the dopest shit...We can make that again, bro! Our place will be the spot-- we'll work all day and then come back and it will be all about music-- making beats, listening to all the cool-out shit, throwing jams, perfecting styles, talking for hours about hip hop, music, culture. We'll be unstoppable.."
sometimes i think about what it would be like. It is tempting. But for real though- me and God got thangs to do...
This place makes me sad every time I come back. It is hard, coming from California-- a place that for me has meant constant change and growth and progress and healing. And then coming back to New Mexico, where I see the same things, the same patterns, the same darkness, slowness, oldness.
I love it, but it is a bittersweet love. I am always confused about this dual-living God has me on, taking me from Cali to Burque and back. Where do I belong, God? Why do i feel like a stranger in the place I grew up in? Why do they not understand me here? Or in Cali, for that matter?
New Mexico has those landscapes that are vast, cold and dark. Hundred mile plains and mesas, dotted with juniper bushes, brown grass and tumbleweed. They strike to your soul, revealing empty places and longings that you have been content to drown out by moving to a crowded, loud, fast, modern place like Los Angeles.
But when I come back, i hear them again. They speak to a place that is older in me than anything I know. In December, Albuquerque is a small city, surrounded by a high desert that is so cold and so dark. I remember going hunting in Corona with my dad one January when the ground was covered in snow and there was no light except for the stars. Looking out with frosty breath, I could feel the place pull on me...the utter silence, the smell of sage in the night. I was scared because I felt like it would never let me go, like it knew me better than i knew myself....that it would see through my ambition, my goals of leaving New Mexico and seeing the world and making my own life for myself. It did see through me. As did the Pecos mountains, the river valleys by Taos, the pueblos along the Rio Grande.
thats why i'm scared to go back even though i love them.
)))
then there are the homies. They are like blood to me, Jay and Anthony. It was always the three of us. Move back, they say.
"We'll start a movement, son--- remember how it was back in high school? B-boys rocking every weekend, graffiti at its peak, all the famous writers getting up, DJs getting out and finding all the dopest shit...We can make that again, bro! Our place will be the spot-- we'll work all day and then come back and it will be all about music-- making beats, listening to all the cool-out shit, throwing jams, perfecting styles, talking for hours about hip hop, music, culture. We'll be unstoppable.."
sometimes i think about what it would be like. It is tempting. But for real though- me and God got thangs to do...
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Pa’ arriba y pa’ abajo
Saturday night I went to see my friend Jay and his girlfriend and their new daughter, Zaria Loren, one month old. I’m Uncle Jake now.
I stayed that night at my friend Anthony’s—who is the world’s greatest DJ, beat-miner and record digger. He put me down on all the new samples, beats, hot jointz and what not. We played some Xbox, had some dranky drank and crashed until the next day.
Today I slept in pretty late. It always makes my mom a little irritated, because she loves to get up at the break of dawn and be finished with the day by 1 pm. Joe’s final exams in geometry were today, and i am going to pick him up from school.
I dont have many coherent thoughts right now. I havent had time to reflect much since I’ve been here. It feels very far from my life in California, i feel that.
I’ll write more later. I just wanted to update for ya’ll
I stayed that night at my friend Anthony’s—who is the world’s greatest DJ, beat-miner and record digger. He put me down on all the new samples, beats, hot jointz and what not. We played some Xbox, had some dranky drank and crashed until the next day.
Today I slept in pretty late. It always makes my mom a little irritated, because she loves to get up at the break of dawn and be finished with the day by 1 pm. Joe’s final exams in geometry were today, and i am going to pick him up from school.
I dont have many coherent thoughts right now. I havent had time to reflect much since I’ve been here. It feels very far from my life in California, i feel that.
I’ll write more later. I just wanted to update for ya’ll
Sunday, December 19, 2004
home
i am at home...
i am glad to be here, but there is always something hard about being here, ways that I see myself acting and reacting that are too much of my past. It is always a sad feeling I have here that my life the last 4-5 years in California has become something so different from what my family knows. I still lack the words or the courage or the trust to share it with them..
One thing-
today my brother John was on the internet....he had a webcam, so we could see him as he instant messaged me, my dad and my brother Joseph.
it was hard to see him, becasue he was depressed. We could see him started to cry. I stood behind my dad as he tried to think of what to type to John...as we all tried to not cry.
here is some of what he said...
John says:
what is dad up to is he there
Joseph says:
yeah
John says:
looking
Joseph says:
do you want to tell him something
John says:
ask him how his son looks
John says:
i hate this place dad
Joseph says:
Hey son! Its good to see you.
John says:
i wish i could see you guys
Joseph says:
I know it's tough son, but you have be strong! Stronger than you have ever been in your life. We all are all praying for and thinking of you all the time so take heart.
John says:
i know but its hard
John says:
im giving up so much for this
John says:
and i dont think its worth it
Joseph says:
You do what you have to do son. We are proud of you. We will always be here for you. This time will be over before you know it.
John says:
i know and then just two more years
.......................
John says:
i dont like being part of this war
John says:
the people dont want us here
John says:
i took pictures of the armor that we have to put on the trucks
John says:
it stupid
Joseph says:
How many computers are there? It looks like a lot
John says:
on the pickup humvees, the 2 seeters, there are benches that we have to stack sandbags on and under and put plywood against it, and thats all the gunner has int he back, a foot and a half stack of sandbag and plywood
John says:
the metal that they use for doors is being cut off of dumpsters, rusted old pieces of jaged cut metal
Joseph says:
Nobody wants an occupying force in their country. Remember to represent us well no matter how you are treated you must rise above it.
John says:
not even a 4th of a centimeter thick
John says:
my friends are going to die on that road out there i know it
(*@&(*&@(*&#@(&@(@*#&(*@
We logged off the internet and said goodbye to John. I couldnt look at my dad. It was hard to hold the tears back. Later that afternoon, we went to see a movie, and on the drive there I knew my dad was crying but would not let it all out. I was angry. I was so angry.
I hate this war. I hate this imperialist, arrogant, violent, ignorant, greedy bullshit. It kills me to think of John and his words, his fear, the utter sickening futility of the 'mission' I cant stand the lying, the justifying, the bold-faced lying that is perpetrated on us every day, every day....I hate their words like 'freedom' 'collateral damage' 'homeland security' I get so fucking sick.....
My anger grips me, but it also makes me feel powerless. I feel powerless when I think of what goes on in this world.
God would not have that for me, I know. Not only that, but the powerlessness I feel is becasue i do not fully take hold of the power that Jesus has in the face of evil and oppression. In being small, in prayer, in humble solidarity, servanthood, suffering, sacrifice-- there is Jesus' power.
but it is hard. it is hard to invite God into this raw anger.
Psalm 6
1O LORD , do not rebuke me in your anger
or discipline me in your wrath.
2 Be merciful to me, LORD , for I am faint;
O LORD , heal me, for my bones are in agony.
3 My soul is in anguish.
How long, O LORD , how long?
4 Turn, O LORD , and deliver me;
save me because of your unfailing love.
5 No one remembers you when he is dead.
Who praises you from the grave [b] ?
6 I am worn out from groaning;
all night long I flood my bed with weeping
and drench my couch with tears.
7 My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
they fail because of all my foes.
8 Away from me, all you who do evil,
for the LORD has heard my weeping.
9 The LORD has heard my cry for mercy;
the LORD accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies will be ashamed and dismayed;
they will turn back in sudden disgrace.
Psalm 9:7-10
7 The LORD reigns forever;
he has established his throne for judgment.
8 He will judge the world in righteousness;
he will govern the peoples with justice.
9 The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed,
a stronghold in times of trouble.
10 Those who know your name will trust in you,
for you, LORD , have never forsaken those who seek you.
Psalm 10
1 [a]Why, O LORD , do you stand far off?
Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
2 In his arrogance the wicked man hunts down the weak,
who are caught in the schemes he devises.
3 He boasts of the cravings of his heart;
he blesses the greedy and reviles the LORD .
4 In his pride the wicked does not seek him;
in all his thoughts there is no room for God.
5 His ways are always prosperous;
he is haughty and your laws are far from him;
he sneers at all his enemies.
6 He says to himself, "Nothing will shake me;
I'll always be happy and never have trouble."
7 His mouth is full of curses and lies and threats;
trouble and evil are under his tongue.
8 He lies in wait near the villages;
from ambush he murders the innocent,
watching in secret for his victims.
9 He lies in wait like a lion in cover;
he lies in wait to catch the helpless;
he catches the helpless and drags them off in his net.
10 His victims are crushed, they collapse;
they fall under his strength.
11 He says to himself, "God has forgotten;
he covers his face and never sees."
12 Arise, LORD ! Lift up your hand, O God.
Do not forget the helpless.
13 Why does the wicked man revile God?
Why does he say to himself,
"He won't call me to account"?
14 But you, O God, do see trouble and grief;
you consider it to take it in hand.
The victim commits himself to you;
you are the helper of the fatherless.
15 Break the arm of the wicked and evil man;
call him to account for his wickedness
that would not be found out.
16 The LORD is King for ever and ever;
the nations will perish from his land.
17 You hear, O LORD , the desire of the afflicted;
you encourage them, and you listen to their cry,
18 defending the fatherless and the oppressed,
in order that man, who is of the earth, may terrify no more
i am glad to be here, but there is always something hard about being here, ways that I see myself acting and reacting that are too much of my past. It is always a sad feeling I have here that my life the last 4-5 years in California has become something so different from what my family knows. I still lack the words or the courage or the trust to share it with them..
One thing-
today my brother John was on the internet....he had a webcam, so we could see him as he instant messaged me, my dad and my brother Joseph.
it was hard to see him, becasue he was depressed. We could see him started to cry. I stood behind my dad as he tried to think of what to type to John...as we all tried to not cry.
here is some of what he said...
John says:
what is dad up to is he there
Joseph says:
yeah
John says:
looking
Joseph says:
do you want to tell him something
John says:
ask him how his son looks
John says:
i hate this place dad
Joseph says:
Hey son! Its good to see you.
John says:
i wish i could see you guys
Joseph says:
I know it's tough son, but you have be strong! Stronger than you have ever been in your life. We all are all praying for and thinking of you all the time so take heart.
John says:
i know but its hard
John says:
im giving up so much for this
John says:
and i dont think its worth it
Joseph says:
You do what you have to do son. We are proud of you. We will always be here for you. This time will be over before you know it.
John says:
i know and then just two more years
.......................
John says:
i dont like being part of this war
John says:
the people dont want us here
John says:
i took pictures of the armor that we have to put on the trucks
John says:
it stupid
Joseph says:
How many computers are there? It looks like a lot
John says:
on the pickup humvees, the 2 seeters, there are benches that we have to stack sandbags on and under and put plywood against it, and thats all the gunner has int he back, a foot and a half stack of sandbag and plywood
John says:
the metal that they use for doors is being cut off of dumpsters, rusted old pieces of jaged cut metal
Joseph says:
Nobody wants an occupying force in their country. Remember to represent us well no matter how you are treated you must rise above it.
John says:
not even a 4th of a centimeter thick
John says:
my friends are going to die on that road out there i know it
(*@&(*&@(*&#@(&@(@*#&(*@
We logged off the internet and said goodbye to John. I couldnt look at my dad. It was hard to hold the tears back. Later that afternoon, we went to see a movie, and on the drive there I knew my dad was crying but would not let it all out. I was angry. I was so angry.
I hate this war. I hate this imperialist, arrogant, violent, ignorant, greedy bullshit. It kills me to think of John and his words, his fear, the utter sickening futility of the 'mission' I cant stand the lying, the justifying, the bold-faced lying that is perpetrated on us every day, every day....I hate their words like 'freedom' 'collateral damage' 'homeland security' I get so fucking sick.....
My anger grips me, but it also makes me feel powerless. I feel powerless when I think of what goes on in this world.
God would not have that for me, I know. Not only that, but the powerlessness I feel is becasue i do not fully take hold of the power that Jesus has in the face of evil and oppression. In being small, in prayer, in humble solidarity, servanthood, suffering, sacrifice-- there is Jesus' power.
but it is hard. it is hard to invite God into this raw anger.
Psalm 6
1O LORD , do not rebuke me in your anger
or discipline me in your wrath.
2 Be merciful to me, LORD , for I am faint;
O LORD , heal me, for my bones are in agony.
3 My soul is in anguish.
How long, O LORD , how long?
4 Turn, O LORD , and deliver me;
save me because of your unfailing love.
5 No one remembers you when he is dead.
Who praises you from the grave [b] ?
6 I am worn out from groaning;
all night long I flood my bed with weeping
and drench my couch with tears.
7 My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
they fail because of all my foes.
8 Away from me, all you who do evil,
for the LORD has heard my weeping.
9 The LORD has heard my cry for mercy;
the LORD accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies will be ashamed and dismayed;
they will turn back in sudden disgrace.
Psalm 9:7-10
7 The LORD reigns forever;
he has established his throne for judgment.
8 He will judge the world in righteousness;
he will govern the peoples with justice.
9 The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed,
a stronghold in times of trouble.
10 Those who know your name will trust in you,
for you, LORD , have never forsaken those who seek you.
Psalm 10
1 [a]Why, O LORD , do you stand far off?
Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
2 In his arrogance the wicked man hunts down the weak,
who are caught in the schemes he devises.
3 He boasts of the cravings of his heart;
he blesses the greedy and reviles the LORD .
4 In his pride the wicked does not seek him;
in all his thoughts there is no room for God.
5 His ways are always prosperous;
he is haughty and your laws are far from him;
he sneers at all his enemies.
6 He says to himself, "Nothing will shake me;
I'll always be happy and never have trouble."
7 His mouth is full of curses and lies and threats;
trouble and evil are under his tongue.
8 He lies in wait near the villages;
from ambush he murders the innocent,
watching in secret for his victims.
9 He lies in wait like a lion in cover;
he lies in wait to catch the helpless;
he catches the helpless and drags them off in his net.
10 His victims are crushed, they collapse;
they fall under his strength.
11 He says to himself, "God has forgotten;
he covers his face and never sees."
12 Arise, LORD ! Lift up your hand, O God.
Do not forget the helpless.
13 Why does the wicked man revile God?
Why does he say to himself,
"He won't call me to account"?
14 But you, O God, do see trouble and grief;
you consider it to take it in hand.
The victim commits himself to you;
you are the helper of the fatherless.
15 Break the arm of the wicked and evil man;
call him to account for his wickedness
that would not be found out.
16 The LORD is King for ever and ever;
the nations will perish from his land.
17 You hear, O LORD , the desire of the afflicted;
you encourage them, and you listen to their cry,
18 defending the fatherless and the oppressed,
in order that man, who is of the earth, may terrify no more
Friday, December 17, 2004
suficiente para la mente
i just came back from work, it took me a damn hour to drive back from South LA. The freeway was backed up so i took this random route through downtown and Lincoln Heights. I love driving through the city, but i wish it wasnt becasue traffic is caca and I am so exhausted from the day. It was a hectic but fun day. We had our end of the semester holiday party in Ms. Moore's class. Some more of the kids brought me gifts. We did a lot of decorating Christmas projects, and reading final drafts of published stories. It was cool to hear from the kids that they wil miss me for these next two weeks. I will miss them too.
Last night I had the chance to visit with David Dilworth, my homeboy from Pomona. He was out here in the 626, and we were able to catch up and speak into each others lives. It is always so encouraging when I can really share my spiritual life with the peoplw who knew me well through the thick of it. I am grateful to God that he has kept up our friendship and continued to make it a blessing to me. Thanks David, if you're reading this.
i realized i never blogged about the Posada the other night---- it was a really great time. Like Jason said, it was a curious amalgam of cultural things, but the kids really liked it, and had fun. I always love when all the youth and kids are together. It was cool having some of the newer kids from the Reading program there. It was a really fun and peaceful time....I felt like it was a good way to close the semester. When we sat in Larry's backyard on piles of straw and he talked about Jesus the humble king, it was such a warm and afirming time.....It was a reminder that there is something good to believe in, that God loves the youth in this city so much, and that he has been faithful to them and to me, that i can say that I have a home and a family here only a few months after leaving college. There was a lot of hope visible for me that night.
When all this Posada business started, it had immediately reminded me of New Mexico. I knew the word posada and I knew it was a deep and particular part of New Mexico culture. But I had never seen one. I had been feeling kind of ashamed whenever people would mention Posada, because I knew that i should have expereince with it, but i dont.---only from afar. In New Mexico, the Posada is an old tradition, much like the Mexican posada, except some of the songs might be different, and in New Mexico during the holidays the most distinctive thing you can see are the luminarias, or farolitos, which are paper bags filled with sand and a small candle.... they burn through the night with a warm deep yellow glow, marking the way for the Posada. If you go to Albuquerque, Santa Fe or Taos, everyone puts up luminarias, and it is a New Mexico tradition to take your family out to the Plaza in Old Town or the neighborhoods and just take in the sight. Ad to that the ristras of green chile, the posole, the adobe houses, tamales.......
in mere hours, i will be going home. I am so eager to rest....aaaahhh!! I have work to do, though. I need to make bible studies for the next term for NWN, I have to get my college loans deferred, I have to get my finances in order, finish off my findraising for Servant Partners, look for full time jobs for after the spring, hang out with friends and family.....
oh well...
i will also blog. It will be a good time to reflect on what God has been doign the last 5 months.
Last night I had the chance to visit with David Dilworth, my homeboy from Pomona. He was out here in the 626, and we were able to catch up and speak into each others lives. It is always so encouraging when I can really share my spiritual life with the peoplw who knew me well through the thick of it. I am grateful to God that he has kept up our friendship and continued to make it a blessing to me. Thanks David, if you're reading this.
i realized i never blogged about the Posada the other night---- it was a really great time. Like Jason said, it was a curious amalgam of cultural things, but the kids really liked it, and had fun. I always love when all the youth and kids are together. It was cool having some of the newer kids from the Reading program there. It was a really fun and peaceful time....I felt like it was a good way to close the semester. When we sat in Larry's backyard on piles of straw and he talked about Jesus the humble king, it was such a warm and afirming time.....It was a reminder that there is something good to believe in, that God loves the youth in this city so much, and that he has been faithful to them and to me, that i can say that I have a home and a family here only a few months after leaving college. There was a lot of hope visible for me that night.
When all this Posada business started, it had immediately reminded me of New Mexico. I knew the word posada and I knew it was a deep and particular part of New Mexico culture. But I had never seen one. I had been feeling kind of ashamed whenever people would mention Posada, because I knew that i should have expereince with it, but i dont.---only from afar. In New Mexico, the Posada is an old tradition, much like the Mexican posada, except some of the songs might be different, and in New Mexico during the holidays the most distinctive thing you can see are the luminarias, or farolitos, which are paper bags filled with sand and a small candle.... they burn through the night with a warm deep yellow glow, marking the way for the Posada. If you go to Albuquerque, Santa Fe or Taos, everyone puts up luminarias, and it is a New Mexico tradition to take your family out to the Plaza in Old Town or the neighborhoods and just take in the sight. Ad to that the ristras of green chile, the posole, the adobe houses, tamales.......
in mere hours, i will be going home. I am so eager to rest....aaaahhh!! I have work to do, though. I need to make bible studies for the next term for NWN, I have to get my college loans deferred, I have to get my finances in order, finish off my findraising for Servant Partners, look for full time jobs for after the spring, hang out with friends and family.....
oh well...
i will also blog. It will be a good time to reflect on what God has been doign the last 5 months.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
"every ghetto, every city and suburban place I've been, make me recall my days in the New Jerusalem..."
Brothers and sisters, when you pray for God to show you what he is doing and to go before you into a place, he answers the prayer
Today was one of those days at work that made me love what I do....one of those days where every little piece comes together to make you believe that God is good.
First of all, all the copiers finally worked in the teacher's breakroom, so I was able to print out the homework for my class for two weeks in advance. I was cruisin.
Parent conferences had been the night before, and I heard they went well. We had spent all of Wednesday and Tuesday preparing the room and getting the kids to finish all the projects they needed to have done to show their parents for conferences. It is always the most stressful time of the year. But today we had finished and so we got to have some fun. Ms. Moor (the teacher I work with) read the Polar Express to our class and another 2nd grade class. Then we started a project where we wrote letters to Santa and short stories about our own imaginary trips to the North Pole-- complete with little train cut outs and sponge painting of night skies with stars....
Here was where it hit me today.
The whole class was busily working on their project, everyone staying on task--some busily writing, others painting, some asking for help on spelling....
I was walking around the desks, checking in on whoever needed help. I was standing up by the dry erase board when Maria, one of my favorite students in the class, came up to me for some help on spelling. She tapped my arm and looked up at me, in her characteristic way, bending her neck all the way back as if I was a hundred feel tall. She said, "Mr Vigil, how do you spell 'believe' ?" I said "here, I'll show you..." and I grabbed a dry erase marker- usually, Ms. Moore and I will write words on the board when students ask us how to spell them, so we can sound them out as we write, and so that they can see what the written word looks like. I took the orange marker in my hand, and put it to the white board....the ink form the felt tip came out in thick broad strokes as a formed a 'b' then the 'e'......And then it hit me. It was some kind of beauty and inspiration at work because I suddenly became consciuous of what I was doing...
'Believe'
Believe. My hand slowed down as I got to the middle of the word. I stopped and stared at it.
'Believe'
Yes, God. I am writing 'Believe' on the white board of Ms. Moore's 2nd grade class at the Accelerated School in South L.A.
What did it mean to me? I smiled as I thought about it. I thought, 'Yeah, believe. This is right. This is the writing on the wall. This is the writing that God has for me each day.' I prayed that morning'God, show me how you are in this place.' Of course he is, but the simplicity of that action on the white board just hit me.
Am I someone that can see and understand when God writes 'Believe' in front of my eyes?
What am I to believe?
I believe in God for those children, for Walden School's children, for the youth of NWN. I live here because something in me has answered God's call to beleive in another future for his son's and daughters on the city. It is right that I should write 'believe.' It is right that I should be reminded--but not only be reminded-- I should be one who helps to open up eyes and minds and hearts to that earnest plea: "Believe!" Look around you! Look at this city, this beautiful sun, the people you work with, how much they love and serve their classes....Look at Ms. Moore, who unyeildingly and relentlessly teaches and serves and provides and uplifts these children. Look at the skills God has given you! Look at the places he has put you, the things he has allowed you to be a part of! Look at the hope that is springing up for this city right under your nose...in the everyday gritty education of 7 and 8 year olds. In the every day fights, arguments, reprimands, encouragements, injuries, insults, soothing words, laughter, friendships.......The hope...
Look at the relationships among the youth in your neighborhood! Look at how they are entering a kingdom that is not of this world....and how community is born and grows. Look at these people who make a time and a place for teenagers to learn, love, seek and find in Northwest Pasadena.....
What reason have I not to believe?
It is good.
There is a book in our classroom called 'America is her name' It was written by Luis Rodriguez, a social activist and ex gang member from LA. He wrote this story about a Mixteca Indian girl whose family lives in poverty in iner-city Chicago. She wants to be a poet. She wants to use her words, Spanish and Mixtec...to create a more beautiful world than the one she walks through every day to get to school. Her teachers and family do not all appreciate her love for poetry and language, as they are struggling to survive a harsh reality.
But in the end, her family finds her voice. She got an A on a paper, and her family saw that it was not all a waste of time.
I love that. I love it becasue it speaks to my displacement. It speaks to the redemption of a people in a land not their own. Soon I will go back to New Mexico. There, I hear a different language than I do here. There, I can walk along the Rio Grande, and look across the mesa... Navajo hunters once rode there, they provided for their families, and told their stories to their children there....
I am in LA now. So are many families from the heartland of their ancestors--- Michoacan, Oaxaca, Geurrero, Guatemala, El Salvador..... How is it that they arrived here? What did they find? How did God meet them?
I seek to know these answers for myself, too.
But tomorrow,when I roll past the Azteca Carnicerias and the Taquerias, when I hear the beautiful accents of the kids at TAS, or hang out with George or Juan or Frankie in my apartment......I will believe.
Today was one of those days at work that made me love what I do....one of those days where every little piece comes together to make you believe that God is good.
First of all, all the copiers finally worked in the teacher's breakroom, so I was able to print out the homework for my class for two weeks in advance. I was cruisin.
Parent conferences had been the night before, and I heard they went well. We had spent all of Wednesday and Tuesday preparing the room and getting the kids to finish all the projects they needed to have done to show their parents for conferences. It is always the most stressful time of the year. But today we had finished and so we got to have some fun. Ms. Moor (the teacher I work with) read the Polar Express to our class and another 2nd grade class. Then we started a project where we wrote letters to Santa and short stories about our own imaginary trips to the North Pole-- complete with little train cut outs and sponge painting of night skies with stars....
Here was where it hit me today.
The whole class was busily working on their project, everyone staying on task--some busily writing, others painting, some asking for help on spelling....
I was walking around the desks, checking in on whoever needed help. I was standing up by the dry erase board when Maria, one of my favorite students in the class, came up to me for some help on spelling. She tapped my arm and looked up at me, in her characteristic way, bending her neck all the way back as if I was a hundred feel tall. She said, "Mr Vigil, how do you spell 'believe' ?" I said "here, I'll show you..." and I grabbed a dry erase marker- usually, Ms. Moore and I will write words on the board when students ask us how to spell them, so we can sound them out as we write, and so that they can see what the written word looks like. I took the orange marker in my hand, and put it to the white board....the ink form the felt tip came out in thick broad strokes as a formed a 'b' then the 'e'......And then it hit me. It was some kind of beauty and inspiration at work because I suddenly became consciuous of what I was doing...
'Believe'
Believe. My hand slowed down as I got to the middle of the word. I stopped and stared at it.
'Believe'
Yes, God. I am writing 'Believe' on the white board of Ms. Moore's 2nd grade class at the Accelerated School in South L.A.
What did it mean to me? I smiled as I thought about it. I thought, 'Yeah, believe. This is right. This is the writing on the wall. This is the writing that God has for me each day.' I prayed that morning'God, show me how you are in this place.' Of course he is, but the simplicity of that action on the white board just hit me.
Am I someone that can see and understand when God writes 'Believe' in front of my eyes?
What am I to believe?
I believe in God for those children, for Walden School's children, for the youth of NWN. I live here because something in me has answered God's call to beleive in another future for his son's and daughters on the city. It is right that I should write 'believe.' It is right that I should be reminded--but not only be reminded-- I should be one who helps to open up eyes and minds and hearts to that earnest plea: "Believe!" Look around you! Look at this city, this beautiful sun, the people you work with, how much they love and serve their classes....Look at Ms. Moore, who unyeildingly and relentlessly teaches and serves and provides and uplifts these children. Look at the skills God has given you! Look at the places he has put you, the things he has allowed you to be a part of! Look at the hope that is springing up for this city right under your nose...in the everyday gritty education of 7 and 8 year olds. In the every day fights, arguments, reprimands, encouragements, injuries, insults, soothing words, laughter, friendships.......The hope...
Look at the relationships among the youth in your neighborhood! Look at how they are entering a kingdom that is not of this world....and how community is born and grows. Look at these people who make a time and a place for teenagers to learn, love, seek and find in Northwest Pasadena.....
What reason have I not to believe?
It is good.
There is a book in our classroom called 'America is her name' It was written by Luis Rodriguez, a social activist and ex gang member from LA. He wrote this story about a Mixteca Indian girl whose family lives in poverty in iner-city Chicago. She wants to be a poet. She wants to use her words, Spanish and Mixtec...to create a more beautiful world than the one she walks through every day to get to school. Her teachers and family do not all appreciate her love for poetry and language, as they are struggling to survive a harsh reality.
But in the end, her family finds her voice. She got an A on a paper, and her family saw that it was not all a waste of time.
I love that. I love it becasue it speaks to my displacement. It speaks to the redemption of a people in a land not their own. Soon I will go back to New Mexico. There, I hear a different language than I do here. There, I can walk along the Rio Grande, and look across the mesa... Navajo hunters once rode there, they provided for their families, and told their stories to their children there....
I am in LA now. So are many families from the heartland of their ancestors--- Michoacan, Oaxaca, Geurrero, Guatemala, El Salvador..... How is it that they arrived here? What did they find? How did God meet them?
I seek to know these answers for myself, too.
But tomorrow,when I roll past the Azteca Carnicerias and the Taquerias, when I hear the beautiful accents of the kids at TAS, or hang out with George or Juan or Frankie in my apartment......I will believe.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
peace in the Middle East
last night my brother John called me from Kuwait. He is doing well. He wishes it felt more like Christmas. I was glad to hear from him, especially since he sounded like he is doing ok, and things have been pretty chill-he has had work detail in an internet cafe.
I will go home in a few days. Home will not be the same without John, but I am hoping that I can get deeper in my relationships with my parents and especially my brother Joe, who is 14 and really thirsting for guidance and companionship and affirmation, especially from an older brother figure. Him and I have always been really close
Today at work, we began making report cards and preparing for parent conferences. THe school is also having a book fair, which brings back a lot of memories. I just felt really fulfilled and useful and happy at The Accelerated School today. I love it there.
Interestingly enough, things have also been much better at the Walden School. I dont know if things have changed that much externally, but I think my atitude has changed a little. I have tried to take initiative in relating to the kids on a more meaningful level. Before, I was hesitant, becasue they did not come off as warm or affectionate as most kids I am used to working with in urban and mostly black and latino schools. But the last week or so, it has becoem evident that I actually have gained some trust with them....
I havent seen the youth in our neighborhood that much recently. I miss them. I am looking forward to the Posada tomorrow.
I will go home in a few days. Home will not be the same without John, but I am hoping that I can get deeper in my relationships with my parents and especially my brother Joe, who is 14 and really thirsting for guidance and companionship and affirmation, especially from an older brother figure. Him and I have always been really close
Today at work, we began making report cards and preparing for parent conferences. THe school is also having a book fair, which brings back a lot of memories. I just felt really fulfilled and useful and happy at The Accelerated School today. I love it there.
Interestingly enough, things have also been much better at the Walden School. I dont know if things have changed that much externally, but I think my atitude has changed a little. I have tried to take initiative in relating to the kids on a more meaningful level. Before, I was hesitant, becasue they did not come off as warm or affectionate as most kids I am used to working with in urban and mostly black and latino schools. But the last week or so, it has becoem evident that I actually have gained some trust with them....
I havent seen the youth in our neighborhood that much recently. I miss them. I am looking forward to the Posada tomorrow.
Monday, December 13, 2004
please visit www.northwestneighbors.org for those of you who are not from the community. Through the leaders' Blog links you will get an idea of what we are like and what our lives are like.
Personally, I think the SP people should have Blogs too. I dont know which of you read this on a regular basis ( i hope all of you do ;-) but I think you all need to get on the online journal bandwagon
anyway....
Personally, I think the SP people should have Blogs too. I dont know which of you read this on a regular basis ( i hope all of you do ;-) but I think you all need to get on the online journal bandwagon
anyway....
Sunday, December 12, 2004
a poem i wrote, God talking
carry me in your bones my son
you are yet far...
go away from this wasted land, theatre of the dead,
their unreal dancing
contagious to your heart.
keep me in the curves of your fists, son
so your fight will heal you.
name yourself Hero, make
a fire for your flesh
build quiet altars for
loving me.
I am your blood,
your forgotten song
I walked over mountains to rescue you
the light and the shadows on the curves of your face,
I painted them there
keep me, my son!
I wrote your life
for a thousand years before you.
I carried your child's voice
in my ear
every time
every time
you are yet far...
go away from this wasted land, theatre of the dead,
their unreal dancing
contagious to your heart.
keep me in the curves of your fists, son
so your fight will heal you.
name yourself Hero, make
a fire for your flesh
build quiet altars for
loving me.
I am your blood,
your forgotten song
I walked over mountains to rescue you
the light and the shadows on the curves of your face,
I painted them there
keep me, my son!
I wrote your life
for a thousand years before you.
I carried your child's voice
in my ear
every time
every time
the old and the new
I just came back from a weekend long Luke manuscript study dig in with Servant Partners. This weekend was so important. It was refreshing, fun, convicting, hard, fulfilling, mind-expanding,.... I really really love these dig in's i have decided....God has spoken to me through the word in community in incredible ways druing these times. I feel so full and satisfied and energized right now...
God was telling me, among other things, that I should stay at Walden School. Behind this is the deeper issue: Like Simon the fisherman, will I refrain from making decisions based on what I know/want/will make me comfortable? This is something we say all the time, but Lord it is hard. It is hard for me to not take a job opportunity that I am being so freely and generously offered. It is hard for me to choose to stay in a place where my gifts (as I see them) are not needed/actualized, where I am not respected, as 'ministry of insignificance,' to name a major theme of our time in Luke so far. It is hard for me to decide to serve and committ to a group of people and an institution whose values, personalities, agendas are so oppositional to my own and uncomfortable for me to work within and among.
I want God's will to be done in my life, but so rarely do I choose against my will and into something that God might be saying to me in subtle ways. Not that God would always have the hardest thing for us. But can I say that I follow Him if i never choose the illogical, the obscure, the insignificant, the inefficient, the uncomfortable?
There was so so much God taught me this weekend. Praise Him. I saw our SP community grow so much and take major steps toward becoming a deeper, more vunerabel one....I just have a deep love for all of you guys, and it is so clear that this community is an answerto prayers I prayed back in college. He has been faithful, and I know he will take us together into beautiful things....
God was telling me, among other things, that I should stay at Walden School. Behind this is the deeper issue: Like Simon the fisherman, will I refrain from making decisions based on what I know/want/will make me comfortable? This is something we say all the time, but Lord it is hard. It is hard for me to not take a job opportunity that I am being so freely and generously offered. It is hard for me to choose to stay in a place where my gifts (as I see them) are not needed/actualized, where I am not respected, as 'ministry of insignificance,' to name a major theme of our time in Luke so far. It is hard for me to decide to serve and committ to a group of people and an institution whose values, personalities, agendas are so oppositional to my own and uncomfortable for me to work within and among.
I want God's will to be done in my life, but so rarely do I choose against my will and into something that God might be saying to me in subtle ways. Not that God would always have the hardest thing for us. But can I say that I follow Him if i never choose the illogical, the obscure, the insignificant, the inefficient, the uncomfortable?
There was so so much God taught me this weekend. Praise Him. I saw our SP community grow so much and take major steps toward becoming a deeper, more vunerabel one....I just have a deep love for all of you guys, and it is so clear that this community is an answerto prayers I prayed back in college. He has been faithful, and I know he will take us together into beautiful things....
Thursday, December 09, 2004
"but some days I sit and wish....."
daaaaam
All I can say is, today was one of those "I earned my paycheck" days. No joke. It was stress all day...
Really though.....Recently I have been kind of asking God--- why is working with kids (listening to them, mediating, managing, organizing, supervising) one of my gifts/skills? Sometimes I wish I was good at something else :-P
But I prayed about it....becasue it got kind of intense for me today...coming back from work I just feel spent, I feel like I have no emotional energy left, like I am just an authoritarian...like I have failed in loving them as much as i could have. I prayed, and started to cry, just from the sheer relief and weight of the day washing over me.
And God spoke. he said,
"Jacob, you DO love those kids! You care about them and the details of their lives more than many others. I have given these gifts to you. I am teaching you while you are at work and in your neighborhood, relating to kids and youth. Your gift are an expression of my love in the world. Do not be afraid...."
word up
tomorrow, another day
All I can say is, today was one of those "I earned my paycheck" days. No joke. It was stress all day...
Really though.....Recently I have been kind of asking God--- why is working with kids (listening to them, mediating, managing, organizing, supervising) one of my gifts/skills? Sometimes I wish I was good at something else :-P
But I prayed about it....becasue it got kind of intense for me today...coming back from work I just feel spent, I feel like I have no emotional energy left, like I am just an authoritarian...like I have failed in loving them as much as i could have. I prayed, and started to cry, just from the sheer relief and weight of the day washing over me.
And God spoke. he said,
"Jacob, you DO love those kids! You care about them and the details of their lives more than many others. I have given these gifts to you. I am teaching you while you are at work and in your neighborhood, relating to kids and youth. Your gift are an expression of my love in the world. Do not be afraid...."
word up
tomorrow, another day
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
morning notes
On the drive to LA this morning, I put on Brother Ali's first album, "Rites of Passage"--- Brother Ali is an underground MC from Minneapolis' Rhymesayers Crew. This is an amazing album.....I got out of the car and for the first time in a long time i had that 'i love hip hop' warm and fuzzy feeling inside. I coudl feel my faith in hip hop culture being renewed. So positive, so positive.
Tonight we have high school bible study....i am really looking forward to it....
Gotta go to work now.
Tonight we have high school bible study....i am really looking forward to it....
Gotta go to work now.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
I got more lines than a fake Adidas sneaker
last spring i asked myself, what do i value, what makes my heart come alive. it was a helpful thing to do...affirming the way God made me.....i thought i'd share a few
seeing families together, loving each other, talking, being there for each other
seeing a child learn something new
seeing a child who is excited about someone, something or some idea
seeing humble people listen and serve
music!
seeing children love one another
laughing and joking
seeing wisdom in a friend, a parent, a grandparent or old person
hearing people pray and praise God
Seeing people happy and proud about something they created
good weather
acting a fool
barbecues in the park with neighbors and family
hugs
seeing people cry tears of joy
seeing people with hope an passion in the midst of oppressive situations
being encouraged and complimented
good food
people who do not seek recognition for their talents or appearacne or posessions
people speaking Spanish
my grandparents
chilling with Scooter
chilling with my brother Joe
making fun of myself
playing basketball or football outdoors with people i love
NEW MEXICO
making people laugh
mountains, deserts, rivers, mesas, forests
justice
unlikely people coming together
thinking about Zion
riding a bike downhill
a good book
hip hop
seeing a child trust in God , make a mature decision, be articulate
Talking to my brother John
my grandma Vigil
my family history
comforting people who mourn
good teaching
seeing families together, loving each other, talking, being there for each other
seeing a child learn something new
seeing a child who is excited about someone, something or some idea
seeing humble people listen and serve
music!
seeing children love one another
laughing and joking
seeing wisdom in a friend, a parent, a grandparent or old person
hearing people pray and praise God
Seeing people happy and proud about something they created
good weather
acting a fool
barbecues in the park with neighbors and family
hugs
seeing people cry tears of joy
seeing people with hope an passion in the midst of oppressive situations
being encouraged and complimented
good food
people who do not seek recognition for their talents or appearacne or posessions
people speaking Spanish
my grandparents
chilling with Scooter
chilling with my brother Joe
making fun of myself
playing basketball or football outdoors with people i love
NEW MEXICO
making people laugh
mountains, deserts, rivers, mesas, forests
justice
unlikely people coming together
thinking about Zion
riding a bike downhill
a good book
hip hop
seeing a child trust in God , make a mature decision, be articulate
Talking to my brother John
my grandma Vigil
my family history
comforting people who mourn
good teaching
take me out to Thug Mansion
Miles Davis is floating out of the stereo speakers right now. Its been a long day....a rich day. I love hanging out at the guys house on 65th. I love driving to work in the morning through the city. I love the Accelerated School, and walking with my coffee across King St. and through the crowds of kids and families gathered in the courtyard eating breakfast , waiting for the bell to ring. I love being greeted by Maria, Moises, Adriana, Guillermo....the kids in my class as I walk up the stairs. I love going to the copy room to copy the week's homework, and having a conversation with the other classroom aides about college, food, justice, the kids in our classes, language.....
I learned today that the mother of a boy named Luis in my class is illiterate. This woman is in her late 40's and she cannot read in either Spanish or English. It made me think about the children at my other job, whose parents are professors at USC, or scientists at JPL.. What, then, is the meaning of education? What is God doing here? Why am I in both of these places? Think about the challenges that Luis will face in getting an education, in growing up well adjusted in a city that is not well adjusted.
there is a lot to consider
I was offered a job as a sunstitute teacher for the Alhambra Unified School District. I am not sure I will take it. It is an on-call position, and I would not really take advantage of it until next fall, it at all. I am also close to getting a part time job with the Pasadena Unified School District-- their after school program at Edison Elementary. I will have to decide whether I will really leave the Walden School
The more I work in places and with people who are rich, the more i see that injustice leaves both sides in bondage and brokenness.
I learned today that the mother of a boy named Luis in my class is illiterate. This woman is in her late 40's and she cannot read in either Spanish or English. It made me think about the children at my other job, whose parents are professors at USC, or scientists at JPL.. What, then, is the meaning of education? What is God doing here? Why am I in both of these places? Think about the challenges that Luis will face in getting an education, in growing up well adjusted in a city that is not well adjusted.
there is a lot to consider
I was offered a job as a sunstitute teacher for the Alhambra Unified School District. I am not sure I will take it. It is an on-call position, and I would not really take advantage of it until next fall, it at all. I am also close to getting a part time job with the Pasadena Unified School District-- their after school program at Edison Elementary. I will have to decide whether I will really leave the Walden School
The more I work in places and with people who are rich, the more i see that injustice leaves both sides in bondage and brokenness.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
we finally got a working computer back in our apartment. this means i will be blogging a lot more often, i guess. ya'll better recognize and keep faithfully reading my posts.
last night was Justice or Just Us....a good talk bythe brother from Malawi....I had just come down with a cold the day before, so I was struggling with dry eyes, runny nose and tiredness..
anyway, what had happened was...
afterward a grip of the SP homies came over to the house on Kenwood to watchthe DVD Elf....funny movie. I had a lot of fun, which included mooching food off the girls :-)
pero....
this has been a tiring week, but rich. A lot of affirmation and challenges at work. Some really good times with friends in the midst of it. The people in my NWN/Sp community this week really got me through. On tuesday, my brother called from Kuwait at 6 am. He flew to Maine, to Iceland, to Romania, then to Kuwait..must have beeninteresting. so far, it looks like he is doing alright. he said it was cold there.
last night was Justice or Just Us....a good talk bythe brother from Malawi....I had just come down with a cold the day before, so I was struggling with dry eyes, runny nose and tiredness..
anyway, what had happened was...
afterward a grip of the SP homies came over to the house on Kenwood to watchthe DVD Elf....funny movie. I had a lot of fun, which included mooching food off the girls :-)
pero....
this has been a tiring week, but rich. A lot of affirmation and challenges at work. Some really good times with friends in the midst of it. The people in my NWN/Sp community this week really got me through. On tuesday, my brother called from Kuwait at 6 am. He flew to Maine, to Iceland, to Romania, then to Kuwait..must have beeninteresting. so far, it looks like he is doing alright. he said it was cold there.
Monday, November 29, 2004
live fast, breathe slow
holler
i havent updated this piece in a minute. its been thanksgiving weekend. I am grateful for the time i had with my new family here in 'Dena and LA. Thanksgiving dinner was really nice, a beautiful day with some people that i have really come to see as family. Then another highlight was ±Reza;s birthday party-- the karaoke was in full effect.....it is a healing and soothing thing to just sing with no shame into an amped mic in front of a lot of friends. i was pretty proud of my self for the cooking i did. It was raining all that day, and i drove to the HK market in Glendale to get the ingredients for Duk Bok Ki-- a Korean dish i learned how to make this summer. i came home, and got to cooking......the kitchen turns into chaos. i really am not good at thinking ahead when i cook, interms of measurement, preparation, etc. so while the ground beef is rapidly getting dark, i was scrambling to chop and mash the garlic (which i did not even have the tools for, so i had to use the butt fo a butter knife and my hand) ayway, i cooked up a fat ass batch of it, and took it over to Reza's, and i was happy. another fun thing about that night was bringing some of the youthseses from our neighborhood over.....we started an all out wrestling match, in which i was picked up, all 160 lbs of me, by a 14 year old. i also got scissor locked by one of them, and almost got suffocated. i have a lot to learn
after more karaoke, Reza's brother got us into a trance club in Los Feliz for free. that was a new experience, but also very freeing. we all felt like we could just let it loose on the dance floor, more that you can at a hip hop club. it was breezy
overall, it was a cool night, a lot of fun.
the weekend was good for me. i needed a break from my jobs. i needed solitude and fun with peers. i needed time at home with my roommate. and to go to PCOG, and to talk to my brother before he leaves, and to spend a day in Borders. i needed to get words from God about some things i my life. last night i stopped the car on an overlook point just past the Rose Bowl, looking over the valley and mountains north of pasadena. I poured it all out to God, and for the first time in a long time, i felt like I heard from him, and i was comforted.
recently, i have been looking for jobs again. i have applied for a few education jobs in pasadena. really, i am looking for anything full time, becasue my current jobs will end with the school year in June
When i was in Borders, i came up on some interesting books. one was called "Blue Dreams" and it was about Korean-American/African American relations before during and after the LA riots of 92. I also got a chance to look at some grafitti mags, which always takes me back, and wish i had continued with that form of artistic expression.
i havent updated this piece in a minute. its been thanksgiving weekend. I am grateful for the time i had with my new family here in 'Dena and LA. Thanksgiving dinner was really nice, a beautiful day with some people that i have really come to see as family. Then another highlight was ±Reza;s birthday party-- the karaoke was in full effect.....it is a healing and soothing thing to just sing with no shame into an amped mic in front of a lot of friends. i was pretty proud of my self for the cooking i did. It was raining all that day, and i drove to the HK market in Glendale to get the ingredients for Duk Bok Ki-- a Korean dish i learned how to make this summer. i came home, and got to cooking......the kitchen turns into chaos. i really am not good at thinking ahead when i cook, interms of measurement, preparation, etc. so while the ground beef is rapidly getting dark, i was scrambling to chop and mash the garlic (which i did not even have the tools for, so i had to use the butt fo a butter knife and my hand) ayway, i cooked up a fat ass batch of it, and took it over to Reza's, and i was happy. another fun thing about that night was bringing some of the youthseses from our neighborhood over.....we started an all out wrestling match, in which i was picked up, all 160 lbs of me, by a 14 year old. i also got scissor locked by one of them, and almost got suffocated. i have a lot to learn
after more karaoke, Reza's brother got us into a trance club in Los Feliz for free. that was a new experience, but also very freeing. we all felt like we could just let it loose on the dance floor, more that you can at a hip hop club. it was breezy
overall, it was a cool night, a lot of fun.
the weekend was good for me. i needed a break from my jobs. i needed solitude and fun with peers. i needed time at home with my roommate. and to go to PCOG, and to talk to my brother before he leaves, and to spend a day in Borders. i needed to get words from God about some things i my life. last night i stopped the car on an overlook point just past the Rose Bowl, looking over the valley and mountains north of pasadena. I poured it all out to God, and for the first time in a long time, i felt like I heard from him, and i was comforted.
recently, i have been looking for jobs again. i have applied for a few education jobs in pasadena. really, i am looking for anything full time, becasue my current jobs will end with the school year in June
When i was in Borders, i came up on some interesting books. one was called "Blue Dreams" and it was about Korean-American/African American relations before during and after the LA riots of 92. I also got a chance to look at some grafitti mags, which always takes me back, and wish i had continued with that form of artistic expression.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
hip hop baby
one of the things I always like to ruminate on is the current state and history of hip hop culture. Most of my friends are now agreed that at this point, things are at an all time low. Turn on the radio, and what you hear is product for mass-consumption. The polished, temporary, disposable club-bangers that form a commercial industry, not a cultural movement. There is a finite amount of live artistic expression, and where it does exist, it is overshadowed and enveloped by the insatiable greed of corporate profit.
I was watching a documenary about New York city this evening. It is a trip to see the social and economic context out of which hip hop arose--- the urban blight and devestation of post-war Bronx........a city that literally burned up in the economic downfall precipitated by the Vietnam War and the destructive forces of 'urban renewal' in the 1950s and 1960s. It was here that African American and Puerto Rican youth initiated a surge, a subterranean battle against anonymity, hopelessness, the cold ugliness of federal housing projects, the flight of capital and resources from the inner city and ...injustice.
Now, hip hop (albeit in a much altered and bloated form) is a multi billion dollar global industry and a common cultural language for people all over the world.
We must know its context. We must know how White corporate America has perpetrated a monumental pillaging and plunder of Black culture......it is ironic that hip hop can now be a road to wealth for some African American men, but that the pathway to that wealth--- from the content of the music to the manufacturing of the artist's image--is controlled by massive multi-media conglomerates. CEOs and exectutives recognized that they could become rich by selling and sensationalizing an image of Black masculinity-- it is a masulinity defined by bravado, materialism, violence, aggression, misogyny........the very things that have defined America's rise to world power. These are also the ways that mainstream White America want to believe about Black males. The image of the hip hop thug is a ubiquitous and powerful one. It is an image of Black masculinity that white youth and their families will be comfortable consuming (parents may rail against it becasue it is loud, offensive, suggestive, but fundamentally, they are comfortable with the perpetuation and consumption of images and product that portray Blacks in the stereotypical ways they are comfortable with) The fashion of the 'hood' has become mainstream, and with it, an implied solidification of the status quo. Whatever Black people in their neighborhoods can come up with that is marketable, we will capitalize on.
How often do you hear on the radio or in the club music that portrays Black men as conscious, articulate, spiritual, critical of the status quo? It would not be marketable, because White America--the largest consumers of hip hop culture-- will by and large consume only images of Black people that do not suggest a threat to the status quo or challenge the racial hierarchy.
these are just some theories. it is much more complicated than this. There are exceptions to the rule, where mainstream America has allowed and embraced alternative voices.
Where are there grassroots hip hop movements in America? All over the place. In Albuquerque, local youth led the way in a Renaissance of sorts in the late 1990s with a suge of graffitti, DJing and breakdancing all united by the appeal to 'take it back to the old school.' A sizeable population of mostly Latino, but many White, Native American, Black and a few Asian youth sought to learn the roots of hip hop culture and bring it back to its pure form. This was the era of Puff Daddy and Co., larger than life icons that were far removed from the needs, desires and experiences of these kids in a mid-sized Southwestern city. Breakdancing spoke to them...they mixed it with Capoiera, a Brazillian martial arts form, and started crews all over the state. Grafitti came up, and began to thrive in an atmosphere of friendly competition and open artistic exchange and critique. DJs focused on 'digging' -- the exploration and discovery of the old funk and disco jems that formed the backbone of primordial Hip Hop. Artists, activists, and cultural figures came out of the woodwork and joined forces, exploring the links between New Mexico's indignous culture and Hip Hop, working with small time graffitti heads on non-profit funded public mural projects and collaborating with universities, schools, prisons, and youth centers.
For a while there, it almost looked like we would start 'doing it in the park,' tapping power from the streetlights for the DJs to rock a party all night long.
things done changed. It is different now, tha many people have moved on. Some still Dj, some still dance. Some went to prison. My brother joined the Army. Others got white collar jobs, or had babies. Some moved away.
it was good while it lasted.
I was watching a documenary about New York city this evening. It is a trip to see the social and economic context out of which hip hop arose--- the urban blight and devestation of post-war Bronx........a city that literally burned up in the economic downfall precipitated by the Vietnam War and the destructive forces of 'urban renewal' in the 1950s and 1960s. It was here that African American and Puerto Rican youth initiated a surge, a subterranean battle against anonymity, hopelessness, the cold ugliness of federal housing projects, the flight of capital and resources from the inner city and ...injustice.
Now, hip hop (albeit in a much altered and bloated form) is a multi billion dollar global industry and a common cultural language for people all over the world.
We must know its context. We must know how White corporate America has perpetrated a monumental pillaging and plunder of Black culture......it is ironic that hip hop can now be a road to wealth for some African American men, but that the pathway to that wealth--- from the content of the music to the manufacturing of the artist's image--is controlled by massive multi-media conglomerates. CEOs and exectutives recognized that they could become rich by selling and sensationalizing an image of Black masculinity-- it is a masulinity defined by bravado, materialism, violence, aggression, misogyny........the very things that have defined America's rise to world power. These are also the ways that mainstream White America want to believe about Black males. The image of the hip hop thug is a ubiquitous and powerful one. It is an image of Black masculinity that white youth and their families will be comfortable consuming (parents may rail against it becasue it is loud, offensive, suggestive, but fundamentally, they are comfortable with the perpetuation and consumption of images and product that portray Blacks in the stereotypical ways they are comfortable with) The fashion of the 'hood' has become mainstream, and with it, an implied solidification of the status quo. Whatever Black people in their neighborhoods can come up with that is marketable, we will capitalize on.
How often do you hear on the radio or in the club music that portrays Black men as conscious, articulate, spiritual, critical of the status quo? It would not be marketable, because White America--the largest consumers of hip hop culture-- will by and large consume only images of Black people that do not suggest a threat to the status quo or challenge the racial hierarchy.
these are just some theories. it is much more complicated than this. There are exceptions to the rule, where mainstream America has allowed and embraced alternative voices.
Where are there grassroots hip hop movements in America? All over the place. In Albuquerque, local youth led the way in a Renaissance of sorts in the late 1990s with a suge of graffitti, DJing and breakdancing all united by the appeal to 'take it back to the old school.' A sizeable population of mostly Latino, but many White, Native American, Black and a few Asian youth sought to learn the roots of hip hop culture and bring it back to its pure form. This was the era of Puff Daddy and Co., larger than life icons that were far removed from the needs, desires and experiences of these kids in a mid-sized Southwestern city. Breakdancing spoke to them...they mixed it with Capoiera, a Brazillian martial arts form, and started crews all over the state. Grafitti came up, and began to thrive in an atmosphere of friendly competition and open artistic exchange and critique. DJs focused on 'digging' -- the exploration and discovery of the old funk and disco jems that formed the backbone of primordial Hip Hop. Artists, activists, and cultural figures came out of the woodwork and joined forces, exploring the links between New Mexico's indignous culture and Hip Hop, working with small time graffitti heads on non-profit funded public mural projects and collaborating with universities, schools, prisons, and youth centers.
For a while there, it almost looked like we would start 'doing it in the park,' tapping power from the streetlights for the DJs to rock a party all night long.
things done changed. It is different now, tha many people have moved on. Some still Dj, some still dance. Some went to prison. My brother joined the Army. Others got white collar jobs, or had babies. Some moved away.
it was good while it lasted.
feet dont fail me now
i realize that my blog posts have been more toward the intense side. I am grateful that peopel have still been reading, though. i dont often have the patience to sit and read through my own friend's writing.
i am thinking of re-posting the little semi-devotional i wrote the other day--with all the successive posts i've been making i'm afraid things are getting lost in the struggle.
last night after Melinda's party and prayer with peeps about my brother and the war and hope, i went to spend the night at the guy's house on 65th street. It was a great opportunity to illuminate to them the philosophical underpinnings of 'your mom' jokes (i.e. the Universal/Platonic Ideal MOM vs. the particular, individual mother.)
Woke up at 6:30 and had a good breakfast with Jeremy before I drove to TAS. We had a staff meeting in the morning, where all of us instructinoal aides talked about supervision problems ont he playground and our roles in the clasroom. I really respect the people I work with. Most are from the neighborhood, and most are looking toward beign teachers.
Sometimes I see myself gettign a little bit mean with the kids....strict to the point where i catch myself, and have to remember that my own belief system about behavior management takes a lot of effort to put into practice. if i do not put effort into it, I will default to being rigid and authoritarian when faced with kids who are constantly making (and learning not to make) poor choices.
I've been learnign a lot about childhood behavior management these days.....
no Walden School today!! I am happy about that. It is a hard place to me, after coming from TAS....I'll explain about that later
peace
i am thinking of re-posting the little semi-devotional i wrote the other day--with all the successive posts i've been making i'm afraid things are getting lost in the struggle.
last night after Melinda's party and prayer with peeps about my brother and the war and hope, i went to spend the night at the guy's house on 65th street. It was a great opportunity to illuminate to them the philosophical underpinnings of 'your mom' jokes (i.e. the Universal/Platonic Ideal MOM vs. the particular, individual mother.)
Woke up at 6:30 and had a good breakfast with Jeremy before I drove to TAS. We had a staff meeting in the morning, where all of us instructinoal aides talked about supervision problems ont he playground and our roles in the clasroom. I really respect the people I work with. Most are from the neighborhood, and most are looking toward beign teachers.
Sometimes I see myself gettign a little bit mean with the kids....strict to the point where i catch myself, and have to remember that my own belief system about behavior management takes a lot of effort to put into practice. if i do not put effort into it, I will default to being rigid and authoritarian when faced with kids who are constantly making (and learning not to make) poor choices.
I've been learnign a lot about childhood behavior management these days.....
no Walden School today!! I am happy about that. It is a hard place to me, after coming from TAS....I'll explain about that later
peace
my God.....thank you so much.
never did i think i would have richer and richer experiences of community in each season of my life. i am so grateful for the brothers and sisters around me. my thanks to them for caring, for loving, for having fun. my thanks to God for feeding our souls.
tonight was beautiful...we came before you, God in prayer, in intimacy with each other and a desperation to seek your face
:::::::::::::::::::::::
captive Zion
captive Zion
fly us to that mountain
liberate us toward that fresh air, your healing streams....
God looks with tender compassion on his small warriors, the ones who come before him to sojourn on an unknown adventure.
Where the dignity and lives of your people are profaned, Lord, there your name is also profaned. Would that we taste and recognize the character of our times.
In my mind, in my words and my human understanding, anger can gain a ready foothold when I am confronted with the world's devastation and the temptation to become hopeless.
More than 300 years ago, my ancestors came from Spain via Mexico and stepped onto a land of sacred green mountains, pink deserts and golden flowing plains. They made this place their home, called it Nuevo Mexico, after the vanquished Mexica peoples of the valley a thousand miles to the south. Already at home there were the Dine people (known today as the Navajo) the Apache, the Comanche, the Tewa, the Towa and the Tiwa Pueblos. Also the Zuni and the Hopi. From the beginning there was the fear and hatred of people who are different. Warfare, slavery and genocide marked their early history, but it is that strange paradox of the Mexican soul that these two worlds, alien and hostile to each other, would come together to make a new, beautiful, tragic, heroic, poetic race of people......a people with no home, a people with no people, stuck between worlds and apart from the flow of 'civilized' history. My grandfathers’ grandfathers were the nomadic Indigenous of the Sangre de Cristo mountains and the plains east of the Rio Grande. Their names are forgotten to me, their ceremonies and their laughter i can no longer trace in my veins. They were also the displaced, sojourning Iberians-- bold men who came across and ocean to a new land, to begin their lives again in a strange land with strange new people. They farmed the isolated river valleys in the mountains of Northern New Mexico and Colorado. They grazed their sheep and goats on the plains between Belen and Socorro. They were Spanish, but they were also Indian....and their hearts spoke to them in both languages....
In 1848, their way of life changed. A new nation from the East spoke of a manifest destiny, ambitious designs on the continent. These were whiter people, more European people, a people who did not know the soul of the land like the people of New Mexico did. A war was fought. Treaties signed. Borders changed. But it was more than that. This, in a way, was a beginning for the person that I am today. My ancestors foun themselves subject to new laws, new government, new economics, new social arrangement. Beneath it all, the brokenness of human dignity and relationship, expressed most violently in the form of racism. it was a racism that could be seen and heard in public society, but it was also a racism that imbedded itself deeply into the consciousness of my family.
By the 1930's it was clear that their way of life was going to be gone permanently. Their land taken, their livelihoods altered by industrialization, their culture debased. As elementary school students, my grandparents were punished for speaking Spanish. The schools taught not only reading and writing, but they were places where those children could unlearn themselves, and learn to 'fit into' a society that would never fully accept them. These painful lessons sunk in deep.
Cesario Maxmiliano Chavez, born in 1925, decended from ranchers and farmers from the Rio Abajo with names like Nepomuceno Lopez, Domingo Castillo, Gabriel Pena and Luz Lucero--- was 18 years old in 1943. This government, whose global power had been built on the forcible conquest of land and resources from Brown people, now thought it necessary that Cesario, my grandfather, go to fight a war in defense of a way of life he or his family could scarcely be said to have enjoyed. He was not even allowed to finish high school. The war was for the liberation of the world from evil, they said. It would also ensure that this modern Babylon would be the world's uncontested economic an political power, and that consensus at home would be enforced by any means necessary (suppression of minority groups, political radicals, labor)
On the islands of the western Pacific, Cesario fought against another people who were different...in behavior, belief an appearance. It was easy to convince the common soldier that his enemy was evil and must be destroyed. After all, the powers of this nation had been doing that for generations, even succeeding in convincing the alien peoples within their borders that this was true. Many slaves, immigrant laborers and indigenous people know all too well the self hate of internal racism that leads to self destruction. On the reservation, alcoholism and suicide are the largest social problems.
Maybe it was those lessons of fear and mistrust of the 'other' that my grandfather learned from being in the military that made it natural for him to strive for the normalcy of White middle class Americanism and separate his children from the culture that was already dying in him.
It did not die, however. It lives on. It lives on in him, and in his children and children's children, however faintly.
This is my journey. I was born with two warring worlds already a part of me. I was born in the midst of the death of one world and the triumph of another. In elementary school, I was socialized into the majority culture-- both by the school and by my parent, who were themselves culturally dislocated and trying to know what to do with the tension. Later on in my life, I made choices with the information I had at hand.....the people who looked like me an had the same last names were the ones who are ignored, got in trouble, feared, hated. I would consciously turn away from that part of me an become as 'white' as I could. It was not hard. My parents had done it, and the schools were ample training grounds.
After several years, I did arrive at a liberated consciousness of myself. I began a path of healing. I became angry, I backlashed, got militant, struggled with my identity and shame issues, blamed my parents, looked in many places for answers.
It is another long story about how God met me in the midst of my journey and began to work a powerful healing in me from the inside out.
In that, I am becoming one with a heart for reconciling, for joining others on the path of pilgrimage-- so that we can find our true names and re-learn our true languages. New Mexico is my home, and I carry its contradictions and pains in my blood. But in a truer sense, Zion is my home, and I carry the contradiction and pains of living in a world where I do not really belong.....where I cannot fulfill my destiny, my identity because of sin, my separation from God. We are all sojourners moving toward a land that was promised to us, a land where sorrow will be wiped away and the rightful King will reign with justice and healing. Yet our God builds this kingdom in the midst of a flawed reality.
Why does my brother have to go fight a war with a military machine whose purpose it is to protect with violence and destruction the economic dominance, comfort and leisure of the world’s wealthy few? Why is the destruction of innocent Iraqi cities, families, women, men and children necessary for the ‘homeland security’? Why are prison and the military the only choices men of color in urban areas have in this country?
I am tempted to be hopeless about the world. These questions and questions about my identity come up, and I struggle to know how to cope and understand in a way that God would want me to.
Yet, in my friends, those willing to pray with me and be in solidarity, I have found peace and hope. In God’s promises I find hope. The prophet Jeremiah says ‘Because my people are rushed, I am crushed.’ The exiles in Babylon wept, and hung up their harps when they remembered their homeland, the land of their ancestors that God had been so gracious to give to them. There is a time for grief, for lament.
But remember, brothers and sisters….we will enter Zion with singing!
There will be no more curse
And the Lion will lie down with the Lamb
And our King will sit on his throne.
Let us pray for that day, today and each day.
never did i think i would have richer and richer experiences of community in each season of my life. i am so grateful for the brothers and sisters around me. my thanks to them for caring, for loving, for having fun. my thanks to God for feeding our souls.
tonight was beautiful...we came before you, God in prayer, in intimacy with each other and a desperation to seek your face
:::::::::::::::::::::::
captive Zion
captive Zion
fly us to that mountain
liberate us toward that fresh air, your healing streams....
God looks with tender compassion on his small warriors, the ones who come before him to sojourn on an unknown adventure.
Where the dignity and lives of your people are profaned, Lord, there your name is also profaned. Would that we taste and recognize the character of our times.
In my mind, in my words and my human understanding, anger can gain a ready foothold when I am confronted with the world's devastation and the temptation to become hopeless.
More than 300 years ago, my ancestors came from Spain via Mexico and stepped onto a land of sacred green mountains, pink deserts and golden flowing plains. They made this place their home, called it Nuevo Mexico, after the vanquished Mexica peoples of the valley a thousand miles to the south. Already at home there were the Dine people (known today as the Navajo) the Apache, the Comanche, the Tewa, the Towa and the Tiwa Pueblos. Also the Zuni and the Hopi. From the beginning there was the fear and hatred of people who are different. Warfare, slavery and genocide marked their early history, but it is that strange paradox of the Mexican soul that these two worlds, alien and hostile to each other, would come together to make a new, beautiful, tragic, heroic, poetic race of people......a people with no home, a people with no people, stuck between worlds and apart from the flow of 'civilized' history. My grandfathers’ grandfathers were the nomadic Indigenous of the Sangre de Cristo mountains and the plains east of the Rio Grande. Their names are forgotten to me, their ceremonies and their laughter i can no longer trace in my veins. They were also the displaced, sojourning Iberians-- bold men who came across and ocean to a new land, to begin their lives again in a strange land with strange new people. They farmed the isolated river valleys in the mountains of Northern New Mexico and Colorado. They grazed their sheep and goats on the plains between Belen and Socorro. They were Spanish, but they were also Indian....and their hearts spoke to them in both languages....
In 1848, their way of life changed. A new nation from the East spoke of a manifest destiny, ambitious designs on the continent. These were whiter people, more European people, a people who did not know the soul of the land like the people of New Mexico did. A war was fought. Treaties signed. Borders changed. But it was more than that. This, in a way, was a beginning for the person that I am today. My ancestors foun themselves subject to new laws, new government, new economics, new social arrangement. Beneath it all, the brokenness of human dignity and relationship, expressed most violently in the form of racism. it was a racism that could be seen and heard in public society, but it was also a racism that imbedded itself deeply into the consciousness of my family.
By the 1930's it was clear that their way of life was going to be gone permanently. Their land taken, their livelihoods altered by industrialization, their culture debased. As elementary school students, my grandparents were punished for speaking Spanish. The schools taught not only reading and writing, but they were places where those children could unlearn themselves, and learn to 'fit into' a society that would never fully accept them. These painful lessons sunk in deep.
Cesario Maxmiliano Chavez, born in 1925, decended from ranchers and farmers from the Rio Abajo with names like Nepomuceno Lopez, Domingo Castillo, Gabriel Pena and Luz Lucero--- was 18 years old in 1943. This government, whose global power had been built on the forcible conquest of land and resources from Brown people, now thought it necessary that Cesario, my grandfather, go to fight a war in defense of a way of life he or his family could scarcely be said to have enjoyed. He was not even allowed to finish high school. The war was for the liberation of the world from evil, they said. It would also ensure that this modern Babylon would be the world's uncontested economic an political power, and that consensus at home would be enforced by any means necessary (suppression of minority groups, political radicals, labor)
On the islands of the western Pacific, Cesario fought against another people who were different...in behavior, belief an appearance. It was easy to convince the common soldier that his enemy was evil and must be destroyed. After all, the powers of this nation had been doing that for generations, even succeeding in convincing the alien peoples within their borders that this was true. Many slaves, immigrant laborers and indigenous people know all too well the self hate of internal racism that leads to self destruction. On the reservation, alcoholism and suicide are the largest social problems.
Maybe it was those lessons of fear and mistrust of the 'other' that my grandfather learned from being in the military that made it natural for him to strive for the normalcy of White middle class Americanism and separate his children from the culture that was already dying in him.
It did not die, however. It lives on. It lives on in him, and in his children and children's children, however faintly.
This is my journey. I was born with two warring worlds already a part of me. I was born in the midst of the death of one world and the triumph of another. In elementary school, I was socialized into the majority culture-- both by the school and by my parent, who were themselves culturally dislocated and trying to know what to do with the tension. Later on in my life, I made choices with the information I had at hand.....the people who looked like me an had the same last names were the ones who are ignored, got in trouble, feared, hated. I would consciously turn away from that part of me an become as 'white' as I could. It was not hard. My parents had done it, and the schools were ample training grounds.
After several years, I did arrive at a liberated consciousness of myself. I began a path of healing. I became angry, I backlashed, got militant, struggled with my identity and shame issues, blamed my parents, looked in many places for answers.
It is another long story about how God met me in the midst of my journey and began to work a powerful healing in me from the inside out.
In that, I am becoming one with a heart for reconciling, for joining others on the path of pilgrimage-- so that we can find our true names and re-learn our true languages. New Mexico is my home, and I carry its contradictions and pains in my blood. But in a truer sense, Zion is my home, and I carry the contradiction and pains of living in a world where I do not really belong.....where I cannot fulfill my destiny, my identity because of sin, my separation from God. We are all sojourners moving toward a land that was promised to us, a land where sorrow will be wiped away and the rightful King will reign with justice and healing. Yet our God builds this kingdom in the midst of a flawed reality.
Why does my brother have to go fight a war with a military machine whose purpose it is to protect with violence and destruction the economic dominance, comfort and leisure of the world’s wealthy few? Why is the destruction of innocent Iraqi cities, families, women, men and children necessary for the ‘homeland security’? Why are prison and the military the only choices men of color in urban areas have in this country?
I am tempted to be hopeless about the world. These questions and questions about my identity come up, and I struggle to know how to cope and understand in a way that God would want me to.
Yet, in my friends, those willing to pray with me and be in solidarity, I have found peace and hope. In God’s promises I find hope. The prophet Jeremiah says ‘Because my people are rushed, I am crushed.’ The exiles in Babylon wept, and hung up their harps when they remembered their homeland, the land of their ancestors that God had been so gracious to give to them. There is a time for grief, for lament.
But remember, brothers and sisters….we will enter Zion with singing!
There will be no more curse
And the Lion will lie down with the Lamb
And our King will sit on his throne.
Let us pray for that day, today and each day.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
props to the guys for the conversation last night. It has been a while since I had a good, substantive conversation about race. It was so important that we had that conversation. I find that there is a lot I need to learn (and un-learn) about the way I percieve other people and myself in the context of race and class. I am grateful for a context in which I can be blessed by a group of men who want to learn from each other, teach each other, offer and recieve wisdom, humbly serve and understand and move into deeper, more interdepended reconciled relationships.
the conversation was the latest of many recent siginificant moments in my thinking about race and my own identity. Recently, I have been considering the meaning of my ethnic/cultural identity in light of the Gospel and Gods action in my life. The insights I have gained have pointed toward what I think are clearer paths of healing for me. I will write more in detail about what i have been thinking of in my next post. stay tuned.
the conversation was the latest of many recent siginificant moments in my thinking about race and my own identity. Recently, I have been considering the meaning of my ethnic/cultural identity in light of the Gospel and Gods action in my life. The insights I have gained have pointed toward what I think are clearer paths of healing for me. I will write more in detail about what i have been thinking of in my next post. stay tuned.
rocking
i gotta say its been a good day
a couple more, then we can commence the maxin'
i have to come up with some bible studies for the spring for the high school youth.
and read for SP.
I like the commute from Pasadena to LA. I get to listen to my music, and also take in the physical geography of the city...the graff on the overpasses, the different residential and commercial areas...
It is interesting seeing the different sectors of South LA around the 110 corridor. For Servant Partners meetings, we are in the old residential tracts.....historical neighborhoods that have been centers of demographic and social changes for decades...
For my job, I find myself in the light industrial areas of the city....the textile factories, sweatshops....
a couple more, then we can commence the maxin'
i have to come up with some bible studies for the spring for the high school youth.
and read for SP.
I like the commute from Pasadena to LA. I get to listen to my music, and also take in the physical geography of the city...the graff on the overpasses, the different residential and commercial areas...
It is interesting seeing the different sectors of South LA around the 110 corridor. For Servant Partners meetings, we are in the old residential tracts.....historical neighborhoods that have been centers of demographic and social changes for decades...
For my job, I find myself in the light industrial areas of the city....the textile factories, sweatshops....
Monday, November 22, 2004
"...like birds from Egypt, like doves from Assyria..."
In Genesis, when Adam and Eve decided to hide the shame of their nakedness from God, hiding among the trees, God walks through in the cool of the day to find them. The strangeness and tenderness of his words always drew me: The Lord God called to them, "Where are you?"
Of course God probably knew where they were. But he asked anyway. What tone must that question have been in? What intimacy, what concern? This was when things were perfect, when we knew our true names, and lived in our true homes. The tragedy of the fall is in man's rejection of God, but when I read these words of God, the gravity of this monumental fall hits home to me. GOD for the first time, has to ask the disturbing question, the question whose implications are so sad, and will permeate all subsequent history. "Where are you?" "Where have you gone?"
it implies that we are not where we should be
it implies that someone who cares about us is seeking us.
In asking that question for the first time, I think we also asked ourselves that question for the first time. "Where am I?" "What is my name?" "Where do I belong?"
In the world i live in, I see so many people who are spending their energy beneath their dignity as God's beloveds. If only the children and youth of Los Angeles knew their true names! If only they lived in a world that did not assign value to them based on economic status, language ability, immigration status, produtcivity.....would that they be FOUND.......would that they find themsleves in their true homes, free of shame and alienation.
in my own ways i hide my shame from God. In all the stress and activity of my car accident, my jobs, the day-to day chores of life, i know God is there, saying "Where are you?"
Isaiah 25 says that in Zion, God will remove that shroud that covers all nations, he will swallow up death forever and wipe the tears from every eye.
That is what it means to be found. That is what it means to be where you belong.
Of course God probably knew where they were. But he asked anyway. What tone must that question have been in? What intimacy, what concern? This was when things were perfect, when we knew our true names, and lived in our true homes. The tragedy of the fall is in man's rejection of God, but when I read these words of God, the gravity of this monumental fall hits home to me. GOD for the first time, has to ask the disturbing question, the question whose implications are so sad, and will permeate all subsequent history. "Where are you?" "Where have you gone?"
it implies that we are not where we should be
it implies that someone who cares about us is seeking us.
In asking that question for the first time, I think we also asked ourselves that question for the first time. "Where am I?" "What is my name?" "Where do I belong?"
In the world i live in, I see so many people who are spending their energy beneath their dignity as God's beloveds. If only the children and youth of Los Angeles knew their true names! If only they lived in a world that did not assign value to them based on economic status, language ability, immigration status, produtcivity.....would that they be FOUND.......would that they find themsleves in their true homes, free of shame and alienation.
in my own ways i hide my shame from God. In all the stress and activity of my car accident, my jobs, the day-to day chores of life, i know God is there, saying "Where are you?"
Isaiah 25 says that in Zion, God will remove that shroud that covers all nations, he will swallow up death forever and wipe the tears from every eye.
That is what it means to be found. That is what it means to be where you belong.
life as a shorty shouldnt be so rough
man
i was flossin in my two-door Hyundai
It was early in the morning on a Sunday,
I was going down the one-way
in the rain and dark, i took the sharp turn from the 10 eastbound to the 110 northbound. i lost control and started spinning around, slammed over the curb and popped my tire. i pulled over, cussing, anticipating the worst. i got out, and saw green fluid leaking out rapidly. i set to work changing my tire...which took a good hour becasue the bolts were on so tight.....i drove slowly, blindly and lop-sided through downtown, Chinatown and finally ended up in south pas. got home at 3 30 am. All day Sunday i was stressing aboout insurance, paying for repairs, tires, getting to work on time the next day and all of that...
today my back and shoulders are sore, i think becasue of stress.
Today at work, I learned a little bit more about how to resolve conflict among 2nd graders, and mold little people's character in positive ways. I observed the teacher i work for, Ms. Moore ( a teacher of 27 years, and a really good one) work some quality reconciliation between two girls who are 'best friends' but cant seem to stop hurting each other's feelings. I respect that so much, and I cherish the opportunity to learn from teachers who love their students and communities like those at the Accelerated School do.
on another note, right across the street from TAS, on Main and MLK Blvd., I have found bar-none the best taco spot I have yet been to. What makes it good is that they hand-make the tortillas right there***** they're all nice and fluffy and isht. And the meat is fresher than a moist towelette. Word to Big Bird.
i was flossin in my two-door Hyundai
It was early in the morning on a Sunday,
I was going down the one-way
in the rain and dark, i took the sharp turn from the 10 eastbound to the 110 northbound. i lost control and started spinning around, slammed over the curb and popped my tire. i pulled over, cussing, anticipating the worst. i got out, and saw green fluid leaking out rapidly. i set to work changing my tire...which took a good hour becasue the bolts were on so tight.....i drove slowly, blindly and lop-sided through downtown, Chinatown and finally ended up in south pas. got home at 3 30 am. All day Sunday i was stressing aboout insurance, paying for repairs, tires, getting to work on time the next day and all of that...
today my back and shoulders are sore, i think becasue of stress.
Today at work, I learned a little bit more about how to resolve conflict among 2nd graders, and mold little people's character in positive ways. I observed the teacher i work for, Ms. Moore ( a teacher of 27 years, and a really good one) work some quality reconciliation between two girls who are 'best friends' but cant seem to stop hurting each other's feelings. I respect that so much, and I cherish the opportunity to learn from teachers who love their students and communities like those at the Accelerated School do.
on another note, right across the street from TAS, on Main and MLK Blvd., I have found bar-none the best taco spot I have yet been to. What makes it good is that they hand-make the tortillas right there***** they're all nice and fluffy and isht. And the meat is fresher than a moist towelette. Word to Big Bird.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
get evaporated
I want to get back into the stream of consciousness....
When I went back to Albuquerque, and was driving around I realized that the city I grew up in is a lot like many of the small, western towns I have driven through--Flagstaff, Holbrook, Winslow......Gallup...Places where the railroad was the genesis, where downtowns are small, nostalgic and dusty...places that seem to be defined by their insignificance in the vastness of the Western desert. Albuquerque is surrounded by a landscape more ancient, more vast, more beautiful than anything people could hope to construct on that spot betwen the Sandias and the West Mesa volcanoes. Yet, Burque is different, because in its bulging size (by NM standards) it is reminescent of Los Angeles, with its mix of high and low density residential tracts, the military/prison industrial complex, the ubiquitous automobile, the strip malls, and the Valley-Heights inequality.
This combination perplexes me. Damn.
Culture seems more unified there in Burque. People cling to a small-town mentality, choosing to ingore the growing pains of a mid-sized metropolis. I roll through Los Duranes, Los Candelarias, San Jose Barrio.....places where the original Burquenos lived simple farming lives for generations....they are forgotten, archaic, decayed, remnants of a dignified (and shameful) past.
Los Angeles confuses me. Where is its historical core? Where is its memory?
Last weekend, i was with my brother along the train tracks. It was a cold, grey day. John, me and Evan Moore(by brother's friend from middle school) had gone down to San Jo to take flicks of the piece John, Rock, Buket and Banks had rocked the night before on a new chrome holy roller in main yards. We were walking along the tracks, between abandoned warehouses, dead grass, industrial wreckage....a place that was depressing in its forgotten-ness. This is the residue of industrialization...so familiar in this country's cities. rusted barbed wire fences, unused rail spurs overgrow with tumbleweeds and vagrants' garbage, piled of old scrap metal that had been sitting there for years. No other people to be seen. We came to a place by a crumbling brick building sat beside an old rail spur. A chain link fence with razor wire on the top. apparently someone still thought it was worth their effort to protect the rooftop from guerilla artists like my brother, known as Veck on the streets by taggers, OG''s, homeless people and 16-20 year old Jainas from Belen to Santa Fe.
I sat watch while Evan and John climbed through the delapitated mess to catch the flicks. I sat crouched and i watched the wind blow across the grass and old newspaper in frot of me. I realized, this is the kind of place I am drawn to. My parents think it strange that i would choose to live in an "urban area." But this is not a new tension. since i was young, i loved the chaos of obscure corners, decaying city blacks, old buildings and refuse with stories to tell. crouching there by the tracks, I felt like i could read this place like no one else could. It, and every place like it, was like a home that would hide me, understand me, protect me from the polished and busy mainstream, the glare of material life and consumption and image in the world on the outside.
John loved this reality more than I did. he made his home in the urban wastelands of this city, of Denver, Las Vegas, El Paso, New York.......
I remember last march when him and i got off the subway on a random stop in the south Bronx. Sidewalks torn up, empty lots beside warehouses and tenements littered with garbage, dirty melted snow collecting in muddy puddles under graffiti stained walls. i felt the same feeling. we didnt have to talk to each other. we knew it was a place of repose and affirmation to us. on the other side of the country, but the same home.
for me, it is imperative that i enter into the human life of these places. i am called to love the city, to become a neighbor. to John, he is alone in this hostile environment. Writing a stylized name on the trains and rooftops is a way to solidify his place here. it is an empassioned strike against the anonymity that engulfs the lives of so many kids like him.....warfare...over who will have a name in the urban space---McDonalds, or John Vigil. The corporations, or the culturally dislocated youth of a forgotten city. Who decides who will have the right to occupy that public space? Why is his art, his name less legitimate than the billboards for beer, cars, TV shows and fast food places that thrust themselves into our field of vision at every turn....
more later
When I went back to Albuquerque, and was driving around I realized that the city I grew up in is a lot like many of the small, western towns I have driven through--Flagstaff, Holbrook, Winslow......Gallup...Places where the railroad was the genesis, where downtowns are small, nostalgic and dusty...places that seem to be defined by their insignificance in the vastness of the Western desert. Albuquerque is surrounded by a landscape more ancient, more vast, more beautiful than anything people could hope to construct on that spot betwen the Sandias and the West Mesa volcanoes. Yet, Burque is different, because in its bulging size (by NM standards) it is reminescent of Los Angeles, with its mix of high and low density residential tracts, the military/prison industrial complex, the ubiquitous automobile, the strip malls, and the Valley-Heights inequality.
This combination perplexes me. Damn.
Culture seems more unified there in Burque. People cling to a small-town mentality, choosing to ingore the growing pains of a mid-sized metropolis. I roll through Los Duranes, Los Candelarias, San Jose Barrio.....places where the original Burquenos lived simple farming lives for generations....they are forgotten, archaic, decayed, remnants of a dignified (and shameful) past.
Los Angeles confuses me. Where is its historical core? Where is its memory?
Last weekend, i was with my brother along the train tracks. It was a cold, grey day. John, me and Evan Moore(by brother's friend from middle school) had gone down to San Jo to take flicks of the piece John, Rock, Buket and Banks had rocked the night before on a new chrome holy roller in main yards. We were walking along the tracks, between abandoned warehouses, dead grass, industrial wreckage....a place that was depressing in its forgotten-ness. This is the residue of industrialization...so familiar in this country's cities. rusted barbed wire fences, unused rail spurs overgrow with tumbleweeds and vagrants' garbage, piled of old scrap metal that had been sitting there for years. No other people to be seen. We came to a place by a crumbling brick building sat beside an old rail spur. A chain link fence with razor wire on the top. apparently someone still thought it was worth their effort to protect the rooftop from guerilla artists like my brother, known as Veck on the streets by taggers, OG''s, homeless people and 16-20 year old Jainas from Belen to Santa Fe.
I sat watch while Evan and John climbed through the delapitated mess to catch the flicks. I sat crouched and i watched the wind blow across the grass and old newspaper in frot of me. I realized, this is the kind of place I am drawn to. My parents think it strange that i would choose to live in an "urban area." But this is not a new tension. since i was young, i loved the chaos of obscure corners, decaying city blacks, old buildings and refuse with stories to tell. crouching there by the tracks, I felt like i could read this place like no one else could. It, and every place like it, was like a home that would hide me, understand me, protect me from the polished and busy mainstream, the glare of material life and consumption and image in the world on the outside.
John loved this reality more than I did. he made his home in the urban wastelands of this city, of Denver, Las Vegas, El Paso, New York.......
I remember last march when him and i got off the subway on a random stop in the south Bronx. Sidewalks torn up, empty lots beside warehouses and tenements littered with garbage, dirty melted snow collecting in muddy puddles under graffiti stained walls. i felt the same feeling. we didnt have to talk to each other. we knew it was a place of repose and affirmation to us. on the other side of the country, but the same home.
for me, it is imperative that i enter into the human life of these places. i am called to love the city, to become a neighbor. to John, he is alone in this hostile environment. Writing a stylized name on the trains and rooftops is a way to solidify his place here. it is an empassioned strike against the anonymity that engulfs the lives of so many kids like him.....warfare...over who will have a name in the urban space---McDonalds, or John Vigil. The corporations, or the culturally dislocated youth of a forgotten city. Who decides who will have the right to occupy that public space? Why is his art, his name less legitimate than the billboards for beer, cars, TV shows and fast food places that thrust themselves into our field of vision at every turn....
more later
In The Beginning.....
This is it....I am beginning this Blog action. I dont even have a computer, but i was feeling left out and i figured this could be a good way for me to rock the metaphorical M I C in a public and candid way. Keep an eye out for upcoming installments.
word up
word up
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