I watched a report on this video last week on The News Hour With Jim Lehrer. It was created by a group of AP English students at Village Academy High School in Pomona, California in reaction to their teacher asking them how they were doing in lieu of the current economic crisis. Their thoughts are heartfelt, well articulated and very, very real. I think they express really well what so many people around the world are thinking and feeling right now. Take a look:
President Obama watched the video and adressed the students directly in a speech he gave earlier this month, mentioning a student on the video by name. Although the president's shout out was no doubt flattering and boosted morale, I think the students realize it's going to take more than an economic stimulus package to turn things around. This community has banded together to support each other emotionally and practically through donating food and other basic items at school. Hopefully they've discovered the power of their own voices to bring awareness and effect change. And hopefully they've discovered that people are listening and together we can make a difference.
For further reading, click on the link to read more about the Village Academy video in the LA Times
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-pomona-school13-2009mar13,0,2036324.story
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Spring!
Happy spring, everyone! Here in Detroit, the sun is out, the piles of snow are gone and the sap is making sticky rivers on its way down the trunks of the sugar maple trees.
For me, though, the sure sign that spring is coming is when I see the first crocuses peek their heads above ground and give us some of the year's first color. So in tribute to these very small but very brave flowers, I'll share a reflection I wrote last year about this time on some of my favorite harbingers of hope:
Pick a symbol that represents who you are becoming in Christ;
or
If you could be a flower, what flower would you be?
Winter in Michigan is long and its hold on us is deep. It is bitterly cold, often windy and the sun rarely shines. The snow that blankets our world in white quickly turns brown from the dirt of our lives. Muddy piles of crusty snow accumulate along the roads and ice coats the sidewalks, making a simple stroll around the neighborhood a slippery, inconvenient and sometimes dangerous journey. By early March, we are so hungry and so needy for warmth that we'll roll down the windows in our car and parade around in shorts the first day the temperature goes over fifty degrees. In spite of spring's valient efforts to arrive bringing warmth and color, winter's nails dig deep and it will still snow well into the late part of March making us wonder if spring might forget to come alltogether this year.
But every year as I'm walking along bundled up, I'll see a flash of purple or yellow peeking through the patches of snow on the ground. I'll look closer and see a crocus, the tiny, colorful flowers with grass-like leaves that are the first flowers to bloom in spring. Crocuses are amazingly resilient flowers. They bloom at the first touch of warmth and can withstand the snow, wind and rain even after they've pushed through the ground. I welcome their presence on my late winter walk with a grateful smile and return home with an extra jump in my step, knowing that despite the bitter wind and the cold that lingers, spring is on its way.
I traveled to Staten Island, New York in March of 1999 on a mission trip in college. My favorite picture I took during my stay was a picture of the first crocus I saw that year. We were working at a church that had burned down in a fire, helping to clear away rubble so the construction workers could build a new sanctuary. The crocus I saw was blooming under a broken crate, making its home among the rubble and ash in the side lot of the church. I instinctively new that this flower was symbolic and I am so grateful I took that picture.
I love that picture. And I love the crocus. I love these tiny ambassadors of hope, these little touches of beauty blooming from the ashes, these splashes of color among the grey and the brown.
I have a lot I can learn from crocuses. And I know that as I continue to watch and pray and connect to the Sower of every good seed, I, too, am becoming an ambassador of hope, a sign of beauty growing from the ashes, a splash of color among the grey and the brown.
For me, though, the sure sign that spring is coming is when I see the first crocuses peek their heads above ground and give us some of the year's first color. So in tribute to these very small but very brave flowers, I'll share a reflection I wrote last year about this time on some of my favorite harbingers of hope:
Pick a symbol that represents who you are becoming in Christ;
or
If you could be a flower, what flower would you be?
Winter in Michigan is long and its hold on us is deep. It is bitterly cold, often windy and the sun rarely shines. The snow that blankets our world in white quickly turns brown from the dirt of our lives. Muddy piles of crusty snow accumulate along the roads and ice coats the sidewalks, making a simple stroll around the neighborhood a slippery, inconvenient and sometimes dangerous journey. By early March, we are so hungry and so needy for warmth that we'll roll down the windows in our car and parade around in shorts the first day the temperature goes over fifty degrees. In spite of spring's valient efforts to arrive bringing warmth and color, winter's nails dig deep and it will still snow well into the late part of March making us wonder if spring might forget to come alltogether this year.
But every year as I'm walking along bundled up, I'll see a flash of purple or yellow peeking through the patches of snow on the ground. I'll look closer and see a crocus, the tiny, colorful flowers with grass-like leaves that are the first flowers to bloom in spring. Crocuses are amazingly resilient flowers. They bloom at the first touch of warmth and can withstand the snow, wind and rain even after they've pushed through the ground. I welcome their presence on my late winter walk with a grateful smile and return home with an extra jump in my step, knowing that despite the bitter wind and the cold that lingers, spring is on its way.
I traveled to Staten Island, New York in March of 1999 on a mission trip in college. My favorite picture I took during my stay was a picture of the first crocus I saw that year. We were working at a church that had burned down in a fire, helping to clear away rubble so the construction workers could build a new sanctuary. The crocus I saw was blooming under a broken crate, making its home among the rubble and ash in the side lot of the church. I instinctively new that this flower was symbolic and I am so grateful I took that picture.
I love that picture. And I love the crocus. I love these tiny ambassadors of hope, these little touches of beauty blooming from the ashes, these splashes of color among the grey and the brown.
I have a lot I can learn from crocuses. And I know that as I continue to watch and pray and connect to the Sower of every good seed, I, too, am becoming an ambassador of hope, a sign of beauty growing from the ashes, a splash of color among the grey and the brown.
I hope you find your own "crocus" today and it makes you pause, reflect and smile.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Oh Danny Boy
In celebration of all things green and Irish, here's something silly to put a smile on your face. Enjoy!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Where did you get the name for this blog?
Last year I took my second mission trip to Honduras. As usually happens with these trips, the transition back into American life was much more difficult than the transition to Latin America. A thousand thoughts and emotions were swirling around my heart and head as I desperately tried to put words to what I had seen, thought and felt on the journey. Last February I reflected:
I flew, stumbled, jumped, sang, kicked, ran, swam and stood, sometimes all at the same time. I saw so many things that make me want to shake my fist at the sky. I heard too much that makes me want to cry. I’m trying to get used to life in the States again. But a huge part of me is still watching orphans jump for joy, still singing silly songs and giggling, still staring at the Caribbean with the breeze in my face, still listening to the Honduran rain drown out the noise in my head. I am still in the bed of a Honduran pickup truck, zooming down the highway in a haze of blue and green, my face to the wind and my back to the world. I am ruined for the ordinary.
This is the mess of the Kingdom. This is the reality of love. Not every story ends with a swelling crescendo of orchestra strings, a kiss and a ride into the sunset. We are hurting, we are bleeding and we are desperately searching for some light. But as we seek, we find glimpses of glory and tiny sparks of joy. When the thunder, lightning and rain stop for a moment, we find ourselves standing knee deep in a pool of grace.
I hope you get a taste of grace today.
I flew, stumbled, jumped, sang, kicked, ran, swam and stood, sometimes all at the same time. I saw so many things that make me want to shake my fist at the sky. I heard too much that makes me want to cry. I’m trying to get used to life in the States again. But a huge part of me is still watching orphans jump for joy, still singing silly songs and giggling, still staring at the Caribbean with the breeze in my face, still listening to the Honduran rain drown out the noise in my head. I am still in the bed of a Honduran pickup truck, zooming down the highway in a haze of blue and green, my face to the wind and my back to the world. I am ruined for the ordinary.
This is the mess of the Kingdom. This is the reality of love. Not every story ends with a swelling crescendo of orchestra strings, a kiss and a ride into the sunset. We are hurting, we are bleeding and we are desperately searching for some light. But as we seek, we find glimpses of glory and tiny sparks of joy. When the thunder, lightning and rain stop for a moment, we find ourselves standing knee deep in a pool of grace.
I hope you get a taste of grace today.
Monday, March 9, 2009
From the D to the V
People naturally have lots of questions when I tell them I'm on my way to Venezuela. The questioning usually starts with, "what will you do?" and "is it safe?", which are both difficult questions I'll answer in a later post. But here are some basic facts to get you acquainted with my future home. Please let me know if there's questions you have that you'd like me to post. And thanks for bearing with my inner teacher. I LOVE trivia!
Population of Venezuela: 26 million
Population of Caracas: 4 million (but depends on which areas you include)
A Few Quick Facts About Venezuela:
Location: Northern part of S. America (yellow country on map)
Flag:
Capital City: Caracas
Language: Spanish
Population of Venezuela: 26 million
Population of Caracas: 4 million (but depends on which areas you include)
Average Temperature in Caracas: 73 degrees Farenheit
President: Hugo Chavez
President: Hugo Chavez
Venezuelans' Favorite Sport: Baseball
Here are some of my favorite guys born in Venezuela:
Here are some of my favorite guys born in Venezuela:
Carlos Guillen and Magglio Ordoñez
Miguel Cabrera
Armando Galarraga
I'm Glad You're Here
Welcome to my blog!
Several friends have convinced me that blogging is a good idea and at least a few people will stop by from time to time to see what's new. So in addition to my regular newsletters from Venezuela, here's another place to keep up with what's going on in the life of Beth. So sit back, enjoy, and let me know what's going on in your life as well. And together let's celebrate all that God has done and continues to do in us, around us and through us.
I'm glad you're here.
Several friends have convinced me that blogging is a good idea and at least a few people will stop by from time to time to see what's new. So in addition to my regular newsletters from Venezuela, here's another place to keep up with what's going on in the life of Beth. So sit back, enjoy, and let me know what's going on in your life as well. And together let's celebrate all that God has done and continues to do in us, around us and through us.
I'm glad you're here.
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