Moved.
I don’t write here anymore. But you can read what I write at desertsanddreamers.com.

oozey mess
Not today Justin
trying on a metaphor
ojovivo
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
NASA
taylor price

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tannertan36

Origami Around

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if i look back, i am lost
occasionally subtle
Sweet Seals For You, Always
hello vonnie
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
we're not kids anymore.
Sade Olutola
AnasAbdin
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@thepainteddeserts
Moved.
I don’t write here anymore. But you can read what I write at desertsanddreamers.com.
How We Tell a Story Shows Who We’ve Allowed to Shape It.
In my last year of college, I decided to move into a studio apartment in a not-so-desirable neighborhood of Santa Cruz. I remember being somewhat uneasy about the neighborhood because the pavement was uneven and because the street looked like a scene out of some indie movie tragedy. I found out later that my suspicions were correct: my neighbor, on the day I was moving out, told me that two people had died in a drive-by shooting the year before and the year before that, the person who lived in the unit next to me had died in his sleep from a terminal illness.
I was just thankful he told me this on my last day there.
It was the first time I had ever lived completely by myself. Being an introvert, I thought it would be glorious. But I quickly realized that being alone seven days out of the week is also a very lonely time, introvert or not. Even though I was busy, I was lonely. To be honest, I felt like I was going a little crazy, because no human is ever designed to live completely in isolation for an extended period of time. I would eat Little Caesar’s five days out of the week, and after about a month I had a leaning tower of pizza boxes next to my front door. I remember thinking that whoever invented YouTube had probably saved my life.
But that season of loneliness slowly began to transform into solitude. I remember eating dinner by myself every night, and then I began to imagine what it would have been like to eat with Jesus, because Jesus never turned down a free meal. People always found him eating with the ‘undesirables,’ who were probably very lonely. And I was very lonely.
I remember transforming my prayers from the generic ‘Lord, today I praise thee’ into prayers of conversation, where I would talk to God as though he were sitting across from me on the bus, and where he would respond and we would talk to one another on the ride to school. I remember riding my scooter from campus after work, down three miles to my apartment, feeling the wind on my face and the words being carried on a breeze, and the unmistakable sensation in my bones of being accompanied by Someone.
Looking back, as lonely as that period was, I found myself utterly and completely dependent on God for His friendship, for His presence, for His love. I don’t think I would have traded that year alone with him for anything else, because I began to understand that God was a relational Being, someone who enjoyed spending time with me. In the words of Eugene Peterson, God does not abandon us to our loneliness and our chaos—he enters into it to save us, to fix us, to meet with us. And we find that our pain can be redeemed for something greater: a better story.
I was reading an article on BBC the other day about how and why we retain painful memories, and one part of the article stuck out to me:
“Decades of psychological research on memory show that we reconstruct memories slightly differently every time we recall them. Our memories are not like a DVD library which we can browse through, replaying any past event exactly as it happened—instead, the context of the original memory and the way we tell the story each time makes a difference.”
As humans, we are designed with the power to shape our own story—and we shape our stories by the way we tell it. How I choose to remember and retell that period of my life leads me to the unmistakable establishment of a true friendship with God. And if we believe He is good, that He loves us, that He is on our side, then the way we begin to remember the past and tell the stories about ourselves can actually rewrite what we remember. The prophet Isaiah talks about God giving us beauty for ashes, joy for doom, and I can’t help but think that when we choose to tell a story where God is for us—not against us—then we actually begin to mend the past. That our pain has not been wasted. That our chaos, with the help of God, can actually become Eden.
thoughts on serving well.
Today, as I was washing dishes and tidying up our apartment, I was struck by the thought of resurrection--something that has been on my mind a lot, lately, and probably something I will write on at length in the future--and how so often we tend to think that resurrection is an event that occurs many years after we die, for those of us who are disciples of Jesus.
One of the things I realize now is that resurrection involves actual intentions combined with tangible acts. Yes, there will be a time after Jesus returns to earth when our human bodies will be resurrected, restored, and renewed in heavenly glory, but there are also moments and glimpses of resurrection that take place every morning when we wake up and consciously choose to follow Jesus.
For instance, chores.
I do not enjoy taking out the trash. I don't know anybody who does, unless their nose happens to not work and the smell doesn't bother them. My wife described the odor associated with taking out a pail of diapers as 'hell on earth.' But taking out the trash is a choice of resurrection, for two reasons: it is an act of service for other human beings, and it is an act of rebellion against the sinful desires that we are inherently predisposed to. Service is a way we actively choose to stand against sin, which is a way of life opposed to God and others. When I choose to take out the trash, it is my way of saying that I am willing to do that which I do not want to do, so that I can express my love for others.
When I wash dishes.
When I vacuum the floor.
When I greet the new people at church.
... are all indicators of whether I have the mind of heaven implanted in me. And if I cannot be trusted with the 'little' things, like these chores, then I probably cannot be trusted reliably with the 'big' things (Luke 16:10). I put them in quotes because whether they are 'little' or 'big,' from the perspective of heaven, they are all the same...
Like praying for healing.
Like counseling and leading inner healing for broken people.
Like prophesying and encouraging.
Like teaching.
So my prayer today is... let me have eyes and a willingness for the 'little' things so that I can be trusted and reliable with the 'big things,' all the while knowing that God takes pleasure in everything...
Lent.
“When we sin and mess up our lives, we find that God doesn't go off and leave us--he enters into our trouble and saves us.” – Eugene Peterson
I don’t really remember much of my high school years. I’m not sure whether that’s conscious or subconscious—probably a little of both. I do remember being terribly lonely and depressed during my last two years of high school. I walked away from the church when I was 17 and swore off Jesus after one of my Bible Study teachers pointed out my baggy hand-me-downs and told me that normal people don’t dress like that to church. She, of course, did not know that my father had been laid off a month earlier and there was no money for new clothes…
In my senior year of high school, I was working at a coffee shop on the other end of town and I had skipped out on the Sunday ritual altogether. I did this for about two months until my parents announced they were foregoing their own service to take me to a church that was meeting an Edwards Cinema theater on the other side of town.
At this church, coffee canisters replaced concession stands, banners for upcoming films were replaced by signage for the church, and the one thing I noticed was that everyone was Caucasian. (This was not surprising—I grew up in a town with four Koreans in my graduating class.) I was more struck by the fact that my parents, who had given up their comfortable circle of friends and their language and their Sabbath rhythms, had chosen to accompany me to a completely foreign world because they grieved for me. They did not understand the world that we had entered, but they loved me more than their own comfort.
They did not abandon me.
They sought to understand me.
They sought to connect to me.
I don’t remember the sermon for that day. I remember the preacher said something about carrots and sticks and thinking, my parents shouldn’t have to deal with this, they should be talking to their friends and enjoying themselves on their day off. Afterwards, I told my parents that I would go try out church one more time once I graduated. And that’s when I met Jesus.
I write all this as a way of remembrance: the simple acts of love we experience in this world are only shadows of how God loves us. That when humanity had been led astray, seduced by lies and idols, God did not forget about us—but that he grieved over us, he pursued us, and he gave up his own comfort for us.
He did not abandon us.
He sought to understand us.
He sought to connect to us.
This season of Lent was so powerful because it reminded me that God was here… but more than that, he is here. Someone—I forgot who—said that Jesus is the language by which we can understand God. In the season of death and self-denial, I was reminded that God entered into our mess to speak to us, to love us, and to remind us that he is alive.
riding bikes.
One of my fondest memories as a kid was learning how to ride the bike. I would strap on my helmet, grip the handles, and hold on for dear life as my dad pushed me around the cul-de-sac of our neighborhood in circles in a vain attempt to get me to learn how to balance on the bike without the extra wheels or his physical exertion.
There was one day when we repeated the ritual; when I turned around to talk to my dad, I realized he had left me behind about five minutes before and I had been riding entirely on my own power.
And then I crashed.
2013 has come and gone. Hello, 2014.
So often, I believed that the goal to satisfaction and fulfillment was riding the proverbial bicycle through life: learning how to balance and journey on my own power and strength. And in the past year, through graduations from master degree programs and new jobs and new places to call home and people to journey in covenant together with, I have crashed and fallen off the bike more times than I can remember. I have been more depressed and unfulfilled more in the past year than probably my entire life. I have read more books, been exposed to more of God’s presence, and been busier in the past year. And every time I crash or fall off, I learn the lesson that the goal of life is not how to learn how to ride the bike alone, but to cherish the memories of the times I rode the bike with my Father pushing me.
It is only by the power of God that we realize our own brokenness.
It is only by the power of God that we are transformed.
........
There’s a story where Jesus is with several thousand people and they’re hungry and Jesus turns to his disciples and tells them to feed the people, and they think he is a bit delusional, because they have only seven loaves of bread—and here, there must have been a little twinkle in Jesus’ eye where he thinks, that’s enough—and takes what little they have to offer and breaks it up and hands the bread to the disciples so that the people can be fed. And everyone ate until they were full with food to spare.
What little we have to offer can be taken and broken by Jesus and redeemed for the sake of the world… but only if we’re willing to offer what little we have.
2014: the year when I ride my bike with my Father.
Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
What is the Bible? Part 7: The Revolutionary Nature of the Book of Leviticus
Isn’t Leviticus a prime example of why the Old Testament is so archaic and irrelevant? Who in their right mind puts Leviticus and ...
"Be still | God is here" | Inspired by the Genesis series of Ekko Church
Just a quick one today. Background pulled from Flickr, Avenir Next mixed with italicized Bodoni. Meditating on the promises of Ephesians 1 & 2.
wrestling.
There's an interesting story in Genesis, about a man named Jacob who was on his way to reconcile with his estranged brother Esau. And right before they're supposed to meet, Jacob begins wrestling with a man, who remains unnamed but implied to the readers of the ancient Near East that the lack of his name was because God transcends names. And they wrestle, and Jacob is left wounded but with a new name and identity: Israel.
Israel means "he will persist with God."
God puts this story in my heart as I'm driving home.
I.
Am.
Wrestling.
And I am very tired.
But I'm also just waiting for my new name. Waiting for that new identity. Waiting for God to emerge from our fight club, blessing me with a different story and identity that reassures me that I will persist with him. Who knows when that will happen?
Until then, I'll just keep on wrestling.
Preaching is proclamation, God's word revealed in Jesus, but only when it gets embedded in conversation, in a listening ear and responding tongue, does it become gospel.
George Arthur Buttrick
“We only want to link up with people whom we like, admire, and trust. … We do not wish to join with managers who lack admirable qualities, no matter how attractive the prospects of their business. We’ve never succeeded in making a good deal with a bad person.”
- Warren E. Buffett
wednesday design.
Just for fun. Self-initiated design for The New American, a hypothetical apparel line with its roots in American Apparel. Red pantone for boldness, Avenir Next and Lovelo type for simplicity.
I give it all to you, God, Trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me.
This has been my prayer/struggle for the past two weeks... It's difficult to put it into words but the song does it magnificently. Awaiting the days when I see the product of God's genius, love, and care...
monday redesign.
I wonder if this will be a weekly thing…
This time around, I chose to redesign the cover for the book Covenant Relationships. Personally, I love the book itself, but if you’ve ever seen the cover, it looks like a badly illustrated shot from an 80s comic book. I took out the images and used white Bodoni type for a clean, minimalist look on a maroon red background. A simpler, cleaner cover for a book of elegant and utmost importance.
Monday Inspiration | inspired by the Genesis Series by Ekko Church
work FROM or work FOR
The lesson & question I’ve been learning this season:
“Are you working for identity?”
Or.
“Are you working from identity?”
Before the fall, the man was given a vocation. After sin was introduced to creation and his relationship with God was fractured, his work became toil. His son Cain became enamored with what the work could give him, instead of what his work could give to God, while Abel was simply content to give God the best. And on and on it goes.
Sabbath can seem foreign to someone if they are insecure in themselves and their identity with God… so they keep working. The one who is fully engaged with God is the one who gladly rests, because they have no need to cover themselves up with the illusion that their work defines them, instead of the other way around.
It gets easier to rest. And rest is not the same as not working. It requires a conscious effort to turn down work, to set aside time in the presence of the Lord, and to just be happy with yourself for who you are, not what you accomplish. In the past few months, my ‘no’ came stuttering at first, haltingly, and as I grow deeper in this story with God, it comes confidently and with the assurance that there will be more. That there will be a time for me to say ‘yes.’ But that time is not now, because now is the time for Sabbath and to be taught how to be one who works from identity.
God, I pray for rest to be easier. I pray for Sabbath to get sweeter. And love to be greater.
heavenly glimpses
Malcolm Gladwell says that in order for one to be considered iconic in a particular field or talent, one must invest at least 10,000 hours into it. Bill Gates programmed for 10,000 hours before he began Microsoft. The Beatles played 10,000 hours in a club in Germany before they became a worldwide sensation. Jesus spent 26,280 hours in ministry and discipleship, walking for three years with twelve men who did not truly comprehend his true nature until he died and rose again from the dead.
This year, I want to experience heavenly glimpses.
I want to see heaven breaking in to earth. And it doesn't have to be spectacular, but I would love to see people changing and orienting their faces towards Jesus. I would love to see more people experiencing restoration. I want to make more music. I want to shoot more photos. I want to write more pages. I want to be a much more effective counselor. I want to speak more. I want to love more.
And there is less than 9,000 hours in an entirely year.
But one of the things God has been putting on my heart this year has been excellence. Not just in school, but in my marriage. Being an excellent husband means I have to spend more time investing in my marriage, cleaning, cooking, dying to myself. Being excellent in the way I speak and counsel. Being excellent in the way I speak encouragement. So this year I will be open to what God wants to do in my life. I want Jesus to be much bigger than my own knowledge, than what I think about him or what I think I know about him. I know that he is infinitely more interesting, compassionate and powerful than I tend to give him credit for.
So come, Jesus. I know that 10,000 hours with you is only a glimpse of what eternity will look like, that it's only a tiny taste of future glory in heaven, but I want to taste what it would be like to fully understand God's love.