Violent Beats

Vulnerability is most beautiful.

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My Calling Dilemma

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Hey, I was just wondering something. Why are you so awesome?

Because I have amazing friends like you! =]

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I hope you're doing alright and that you're still going through your steps. I worry about you sometimes.

Thank you, do not worry about me though =] I am doing great. God's got me.

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The Oppressor

I do not dare to call you Father right now because you would not want to be known with a sinner like me. I call you "Lord" because I am so aware of great distance between us. The amazing distance that is thick with sin, and hate, and worthlessness, and rejection. My revolting sin against black and minority people is inexcusable. I have no ancestors' sin to blame or horrible past beatings to use as my basis for prejudice...I am sinful. By my own accord. I take full responsibility, Lord. I have absolutely taken advantage of the white privilege; I got everything out of it. I sucked it dry. I knew I would never get arrested or would rarely get a ticket...I am a cute white girl with a bright future who will become someone one day. Of course I would go to college like my other white friends and then laugh at those black kids from my class who are just now getting their associate degrees, not realizing, not wanting to see that they actually started from a negative, and I was born into prosperity. Not just in the US. Everywhere! Strong Russian blood rushes through my veins, and not only that, but I am also Slavic. Crème de la crème. Top of the world. Set apart. That is the tension I will always have. Always and forever on top! So I must always and forever step down and empower other. Always and forever I will step down. Relinquish my throne. 

Lord, my God, forgive me. But do I even want forgiveness? Do I want "hope?" I want the tension. Finally, I was recognized for who I am; an oppressor and an opportunist. I was so thankful to sit with the white folk because for the first time, I was not given the luxury of being "white but not really." Too many times I have been given a choice to stand with the oppressor or hide in "solidarity" with the minorities. All simply because I am an immigrant. "White but not American white, your hands aren't stained with blood." But in fact, they are even worse, they are not stained because the blood is fresh and I can wash it off quickly...just in time for the next wound I will create. But who would ever know? I am the oppressor and finally, I am thankful that I can stop hiding. Stop pretending that I totally understand the minority struggle. I am me. An oppressor and a sinner. And I am not worthy of your forgiveness or your grace. 

I am not worthy of anyone’s love. Even as a mere human tries to embrace me, to comfort me, to show their love and affection...even that I cannot accept. If only he knew who I was...he wouldn't want to come near me. He wouldn't want to love me. Of course, I would deny affection. As always. People want to love me but I do not know what to do with it. They want to touch me but I don't know what that feels like. They want me to know that they love me and I just want them to know that I simply want to protect them from the controlling, oppressive monster that I am. And to know this is hard, but also liberating. To know myself on such a deep rooted sinful level. I am free in some way because I have put it all out on the table, all in the open. 

Then Jesus says, "Let me pick that up for you. Even better, let me die for you so you can live in freedom from condemnation forever." So I hand it all over, all of my secret ammunition and concealed weapons, and my badge of "white privilege," like a crooked cop who did not protect the people but abused them instead. And Jesus takes it, cleans my record, and gives me a new identity. A new slate, a clean beginning. "You are my servant, so fight for justice, stand on the behalf of the oppressed, love the enemy, but never forget how easy it is to become crooked again, beware." So as I stand here, remade, mended back together, my identity restored, I simply say, "Father, have mercy on me, a sinner."

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My Friends

As I reflect on my experiences with the poor in the past year, I realized the amazing effect these people have had on my life. This is just a small summary of the amazing lessons I have learned on the streets of my city.

 I have been going out with my friend for a while now, and have met a lot of people in the downtown areas as well as built deeper relationships with a handful of them. I have noticed that as I keep going out weekly or a couple times a week, I am more and more involved in their daily struggles. These relationships are so beautiful and vulnerable, but naturally, they also cause a great deal of tension as I leave my friends at the end of every outreach, knowing that I am going home to my comfortable bed while they have to find a spot to sleep with their switch blade at hand. Realizing that this tension will never go away has been a hard lesson to learn and on so many occasions, I have felt absolutely helpless to their situations. Feeling like I cannot offer anything to my brothers and sisters breaks my heart. And the things I am trying to offer are not actually making any kind of change to the system which is always going to title them as less than human, dirty, and forever marginalized. Honestly, overtime, my heart has become hardened to this reality and before starting Urban Theology, I was feeling weak, tired and wanting to give up on the outreaches we do every week. It felt more and more hopeless every time we ran out of food before everyone was fed, or we didn't have the things they needed, or we couldn't provide a real release from the struggles they face daily. Being in class has opened by eyes to gods amazing power and to the suffering he calls us to. I have embraced the tension I will forever feel and let it propel me to further action, for a louder voice to speak on the behalf of the voiceless. I have looked for every opportunity to embrace them and reaffirm their purpose and their dignity and to never be the one to rob them of that. There is so much they have taught me about simplicity, patience, endurance, importance of deeper relationships, and so much more.

 As I begin entering into a relationship with them, one of the most beautiful experiences I've had is listening to their dreams and aspirations for the future. The poor’s pursuit of luxuries and unnecessary comforts is virtually nonexistent. The things they want from life are as simple as a job that gives them dignity, a place to live that is simple but safe, and reconciliation with family who have not forgiven them or quickly forgotten them. Some want to change the world and the systems that have been against them for years and others simply want to remember what it is like to have peace. Some want to lead rallies and speak prophetically about the injustices while others want to buy a trailer and park it on the beach. Their dream is simply to have choices, to regain their dignities, and almost always, to help other as they have once been helped. As they so patiently wait for these dreams to come true, for justice to be served and for promises to be fulfilled, they have trust, in God and in people. Even after years of abuse and unfaithful promises, they are still hopefully that one day everything will change, one day people will do what they promised. And I see their despair when a promise does not come through or when a plan to finally get off the streets falls apart. It is painful to watch them being let down over and over again as their destinies are in clenched in someone else’s hand. And I know I have let them down too. I also have been part of the “just like everyone else” statistic that the homeless are far too familiar with. But even in my shame and embarrassment, I come back to see them, maybe have a conversation or two if they will allow it, but they welcome me with open arms every time, as if old friends are once again reunited.

I am still only brushing the surface of what it means to live in solidarity with the poor and honestly, I don't think I'm even close. But still, I cannot live without the poor. I need them way more than they need me. I would be the one who is less than human without them. 

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Always by my side

The closer I try to get to God, the closer the enemy starts following me. As I run toward God, I hear my past and my sins running right behind me. As I fall to my knees before the Lord, the devil jumps on my back. He is pushing me down more, trying to choke out all my air, reminding me of my own disgusting sin that is still somewhere deep inside my heart.  He pulls out my darkest memories and all my unforgetful sins. As I cry out in worship, he taunts me by asking, “Who do you really worship though?” As I lift my hands to the Lord, he laughs at me and questions my authenticity. As I desperately search for Jesus’ face, he questions in me whether god is even real. As tears rush down my face from God’s overwhelming love, he calls me boastful and fake. I sing out in my total, pure, unadulterated love for God, but he mocks, “As if you know what that kind of love feels like.” So I keep praying and I keep praising, but the constant voice does not seize. “What are you doing? He doesn’t hear you. Even more, he doesn’t want to! Why would he? You are not special. You’re not his child. Children are innocent and obedient…” So I sing louder, I pray faster, I cry harder. I walk in confidence, knowing that Jesus is by my side. But at the same time, knowing that the devil is on my other side. 

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My Groom

I love you. I cannot go a day without seeing your face and basking in your presence. I get absolutely lost in your eyes filled with wisdom and grace. Every time my eyes fall upon you, I am more and more amazed by your glory and selflessness. Simply being with you brings me joy, and being away from you, I just realize how much I truly need you and how much I can’t be without you. Without you, there is no love, no breath, no life. You are the Creator, the King, the Great I Am. And because I am your bride, you share with me all of your treasures and blessings! You are so good! There is no prenup and there will never be a divorce. You will forever share your perfect self with me even if I waver and cheat and dishonor you. Every time, you will let me back into your house and embrace me in your arms. Oh your embrace! There is no sensation like it! There is no greater ecstasy and joy in the world that compares to your loving touch. The only appropriate answer to your embrace is to fall at your feet and worship your forgiveness and grace. But even then, you pick me up, lift my chin so I am staring straight into your eyes, and you say the words I am not worthy to repeat. “I love you. You are forever Mine”. To that there is no reply. There is only an overwhelming feeling of acceptance, wholeness and happiness. All I can reply with are tears of pure joy and a smile. There are no words uttered, but you already know. You know that I love you more than I can myself comprehend. I need you more than I could ever imagine. You know there is no where I would rather be than in your arms! Where I am protected, loved and forever belonging. Where else can I find someone like you? You are the only Savior, the only Messiah, the only answer. Your character is only what is good and you are the only one to truly win over all evil. You are all powerful, forever glorious, and eternally amazing. Angels aren’t worthy of you! And here I am. I am only a human, just a girl, I am not worthy! But nevertheless, every time I say I am ugly, you say I am beautiful. I say I am broken, you say I am perfect. I say I cannot be redeemed, you say I am already forgiven. I say I am dirty with sin, you say you’ve already bought me new garments of grace. How can I accept this? How can I repay you? I can’t. So I submit. I lay down everything before your feet, I give you my life. I will serve you like a good, faithful wife for eternity. I will love you endlessly and without boundaries. I give myself fully to you and though it’s not enough, it is all I have. It is my greatest possession; my life. And still, you’re the one who gave it to me! So in my worthlessness, and selfishness, I cry out and ask for you to be with me forever though I still have nothing to offer. And you simply reply, “For eternity you are Mine, Beloved”.

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His

For what seems like my entire life, I’ve been trying to figure myself out. Who am I? Where do I belong? How will people remember me once I’m gone? What am I made for? These are all very cliché and normal questions to ask yourself, but this does not take away from their very real, very scary uncertainty. I have tried to use everything to define myself. I often referred to my origin and my nationality to define my culture and my behavior but even this didn’t tell me much about my core self. I defined myself by my friends and whom I surrounded myself with and whom I felt most at home and comfortable with, but even that only covered the surface of my character. I’ve looked for myself in my past and among my many scars. Like many others, I believe that everything you have been through makes you the person that you are today. While this is true, who was I before the scars? Before I had my first memory? At many points in my life I defined myself with my issues, my failures, my weaknesses. They were my true self that I couldn’t hide and I couldn’t run away from. “Hi, my name is V and I am ______ .” The blank was often occupied with an addiction, obsession or downfall. I was my mistakes, my actions, and my past. But again, this definition of self was destructive and kept me from any forward movement. On the other hand, I couldn’t define myself with my strengths and success either. Quickly, they become sources of pride and self-love which also kept me from moving forward. I defined myself by trends in my life, my looks, my relationships, my abilities, my emotions, my habits. Still, all this seemed so shallow and boring. Since I can remember I always looked for something deeper, not knowing where to find it. Until I found Him. His eternity didn’t bore me. His love intrigued me. His selflessness had no example in the world. His character had no match. His grace had no limits. His glory I can never wrap my mind around. This was what I was looking for; something beyond me. Bigger than my own understanding. Greater than the world itself. In Him, I found something that I didn’t realize was lost; belonging, acceptance, love, favor. In Him, I found my own identity. “Hi, my name is V and I am His.”

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Unconditional forgiveness

Every day I wake up with you on my mind

Knowing you are always here

Every day I fall asleep to your voice oh so kind

Knowing you will forever be near.

Still sometimes I run away

Not knowing why I leave

Still I try to hide the pain

Watching myself uncontrollably bleed

I am like a wounded soldier

Angry with myself, regretful of the past

I am like a dying animal

Scared to not know how much longer I will last

This whole time knowing

What name I need to call

Not for a second stirring

To make the first step home

I know your name has power

I know my cry will be heard

Still my tongue isn’t moving

A curse of a voiceless bird

You watch me get close to death

Almost slipping away, you want to rescue me quickly but

You want me to take a breath

Of your everlasting power

Of your life-giving spirit

Take a sip of your precious water

Dive into a pool of holy merit  

As if brought back to consciousness

With a shot of adrenaline

I open my eyes for the first time

To see how my life has been

So shattered and broken

All of my wounds quickly open

I am scared and quiet alone

I shout your name, the only I know

But you’re already coming, quick to the rescue

Your daughter is bleeding,

She is starting to turn blue.

You heal all her wounds

And dry all her tears

But you leave the scars

So she will forever remember that you are always near.

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Valentina

Valentina walks into her church. Though she comes every week, she always forgets exactly how huge it feels when you first walk in, how majestic; especially to a little ten-year-old girl. The walls are ornate and covered in hundred-year-old hand painted art. Murals of Jesus and the Saints are everywhere including the ceiling. The smell of the incense is overwhelming; making the air heavy and almost unbearable. Valentina’s mind flashes back to a moment a couple months ago, when she was in the very same church with her grandmother. That day she felt especially sick from the intense and was told by Babushka, “If you can’t stand the smell of the church, it only means the demons are inside you and they aren’t welcomed here.” And now standing here, being comforted by the smell rather than repelled by it, Valentina is glad she no longer was possessed by the demons and her prayers were answered. As she keeps looking about, mentally preparing herself for confession that morning, she looks at all the people around her. At this hour, earliest in the morning, before the service even starts, there are only the most devoted women and men in the church. They are all wearing their pain on their faces and their desperation in their eyes. They are never happy. As a matter of fact, Valentina believed that people only go to church when they are struggling in life or battling their own demons. There is no joy, there are no blissful hymns. “How dare you rejoice when Jesus had to suffer for you, sinner?” But Valentina had no real struggle in her life. She wasn’t in pain and she was fed every day. Instead, she kept coming back because she was in awe of the altar. Dressed in all gold, the wall separated the rest of the congregation from the space where the Father was; where God was. The three doors on the wall were closed most of the time, but when during communion, they were opened the most, Valentina couldn’t help but look inside. What beautiful treasures would be kept behind a wall made of gold? What was so amazing and great that it had to be kept away from everyone else because they were not worthy enough? What holy presence was there, that the congregation had to be protected against its overwhelming power? One of the few times that her mother came to church with her, Valentina asked what was behind the wall. Sadly, she didn’t know. No women were allowed back there. Mostly, the Father was only allowed to step through the doors, but I have seen other men go behind there, even boys. But no women. Not even the Father’s wife, the holiest woman, the one who held the entire perish upon her shoulders, couldn’t see behind the golden wall. For Valentina, this only further fuelled her desire to see what was there. She wanted to so badly see what was so holy and awesome. She was convinced that Jesus was present and His Spirit lived behind the wall. However, Valentina knew she was a girl and she would never be able to step into His true presence. She needed the Father to bring out the Holy Sacraments, and feed them to her. That was as close as she could get to God, during communion; when everyone walked up almost to the doors, to meet the Father with the Body and Blood of Christ. And because of this, Valentina also wore pain on her face and desperation in her eyes while she was at church, as she looked unto the altar with awe.

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My perfection

Perfection is such a faraway dream, such a childish thought, such a silly delusion. What is perfection? Who is truly perfect? Nothing and no one. Even when I see perfection right in front of me, I am doubtful. I don’t want to believe. I don’t want to be hurt by disappointment. I am always afraid that it’s too good; that one day I will wake up and everything will be gone and taken away. Maybe a part of me thinks I’m not worthy, maybe a part of me is scared to find out once again that I’m not worthy. But that is quickly covered up by my favorite excuse; I’m just a realist. I’ve seen life, I’ve been there, and it sucks. People change, people get hurt, people die. After experiencing that, I can’t help but be on the guard, to look for way to protect myself. Sometimes I ask myself, “What is the worst thing that could happen right now?” just to see where I am vulnerable and where I need to put up walls around myself. But once again, I’m realistic. I know there will always be casualties no matter what kind of defensive measures I take, but at least, I will be prepared. At least I’ll know when to brace myself. It’s like flexing your muscles before a hit that you’ve been anticipating. It still stings but at the same time, somehow you look tough and composed. But I didn’t always look so tough. I had no idea that my “perfect” family was going to fall apart. I wasn’t ready to find out that the only man in my life that resembled a real dad was abandoning our family. I was never prepared to for my grandmother to have cancer and then loose that fight so quickly. I never expected to get my heart broken by a guy that I trusted and loved so much. So I learned and I adapted. I built a stronger castle with a higher and thicker wall around it. I no longer believed in perfect families and quickly realized that all of the families surrounding me were flawed too. As much as I was welcomed and loved by them, I didn’t step too close and was always ready for a quick break. I promised myself that I will never call another man my father because I am too grown up to believe that I still need a daddy. I made myself absolutely numb when my other two grandparents passed away, as though it never happened, just so I wouldn’t be fazed. It was very hard for me to trust any guy who claims to care about me because one day, he’s there, and then next he’s gone, because life is just perfect like that. But where did we get this sense of perfect, why even have such an idea? So I ask myself again, “Who is truly perfect?” God is. And just like that all of my previous thinking is erased. There is a perfect family of the Holy Trinity. There is a perfect father up above. There is no death or sorrow in Heaven. There is a perfect man that walked this earth that will love me forever; Jesus.

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My letter to dad

Dear father,

Forgive me, for it has been so long since I have tried to seek you. My throat was parched and my mouth was dry, but I forgot how to thirst for you. My stomach was turning and my energy was depleted, but I didn’t remember how to hunger. But it is father’s day, so I am reminded of your presence. I am reminded of you and desperate to remember. And so I thank you. For everything. You are the only father that stuck around. Even when I was lonely and saw no one around me, I was not alone. You were watching and protecting me the whole time. You always cared about me. You cried and hurt with me when I was in pain. You calmed me when I was angry and desperate. You always listened to me and came when I cried for you. I know you love me and I thank you for remembering me. Unlike others, you have never cheated me out of my childhood, or innocence, or love; you were always faithful. And you will continue to be. I know I don’t have a father to physically take me down the aisle when I get married but I know you will be there, holding my hand, encouraging me into the arms of my husband. But for now, you will be there to see me grow and I only hope to make you proud. And even if I don’t, you will remain with me. You will hold me when I cry. You will remember me when I feel forgotten. You will be by me when everyone has left. You will be there for every loss and win, for every defeat and victory, for every rejection and acceptance. You will know my children and you will be there for them, just like you were for me this whole time. Because you are my dad. The only I ever needed or will ever need. The one I can’t wait to walk with in the end.

Love,

Your daughter

[violentbeats]

My love

My love for him is so pure, so blameless. It’s not tarnished by lust or bruised by the rawness of jealousy or sense of possession. When he pains, I pain. When he rejoices, I rejoice. But we are not dependent, we are not each other’s “other half.” We are absolutely independent children of god who are simple victims of his complicated plan. We are pawns to be used only by Him. But all the same, we are so much more than that. We are specifically placed together with a passion to glorify and praise God with our lives. We are special and perfect for each other but only because we were created and then thrown together by the Perfect of Them All, the Great I Am. 

[violentbeats]

My opinion of color blindness

Color blindness is a Caucasian concept. For some time, white people have believed that being American white is “non-ethnical” and they feel empty in that. There is something missing. There is no faraway place to call home or any “roots” to return to. And because of their own lack of identity, they came up with the color blindness theory which virtually strips all other races and ethnicities of their identity. Rather than celebrating our differences, people want to camouflage them and hide behind the title of “American.” So, in claiming that everyone should be colorblind, white people are dragging everyone else into an abyss of ethnical denial. Why would you choose to be colorblind when the rainbow is so beautiful? Why would you choose not to recognize all of God’s beautiful creations?

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My peaceful place

As long as I can remember, I have always loved the sea. Something about the water simply mesmerized me. Maybe it’s the sound of the waves rushing in that would bring calm to my mind. Maybe it’s the smell of salt that always reminded me of home and my childhood. Maybe it’s the way the waves rush in and then pull back, teasing the beach with their touch. I catch myself breathing to the ocean’s addicting beat. Every time the waves pull away, I want to go with them, only imagining all of the other shores those waters must have seen.  I love floating on my back, being rocked so close to sleep by each wave, so gently. My ears submerged, all I can hear is the surf and my own heartbeat, so steady.  The rays of the sun are piercing my skin and warming me from the inside out, reminding me of how I felt the very first time I encountered His love. I love the sand, how fine and miniscule it is, but how flawless it makes me feel when it molds perfectly to my body. When I look at the ocean, I love how alone I feel. The sound of the surf drowns out all other noise; soon I feel like I’m the only one here. I stare into the vast, never ending waters, and I am at peace, but I’m not lonely. I am just finally alone with my ocean.

[violentbeats]

My bittersweet juice

My memories are like the bittersweet juice of the forbidden apple. The taste of it on my lips is so sweet and satisfying. Every sip quenched my thirst for adventure and acceptance. The drunkenness folds over me and takes me into a dream of gratification and recognition. Quickly, this dream turns into a nightmare. I am alone, in pain and paralyzed. The juice is no longer sweet, just bitter. I am not satisfied by the warm feeling rushing through my body for my heart is still ice cold. There is no recognition in a room full of people if you are the only one in pain. Even if for a second you forget, soon you will be reminded again of your insecurities and doubts. Soon you will see that you are not accepted or loved. You are just a face in a crowd, just another drink to pour. You are no special. Your sips are not exceptional and your juice is everybody else’s poison. Still, for some reason, you only focus on the sweet memories.

[violentbeats]

My opinion on weed

The matter of legalizing marijuana has been a heated and debated topic for some time now. There are so many different opinions and views on this issue; it is difficult to know what the right decision is. I believe that no matter how many statistics you review about marijuana use or how many people tell you about their miraculous recovery from their disease because of weed, it all boils down to your own culture and beliefs. For a person who grew up around drugs and alcohol, legalizing weed could be no brainer. For a person who grew up in a very conservative, dry household, the opinion might be different. Since I grew up around drugs and alcohol and I have personally witnessed its “marvelous” effect on people, I always thought I would stand by legalizing marijuana no matter what. However, this opinion changed later when I began to realize what the statement, “everything is permissible for me – but not everything is beneficial” really meant. Even though the government right now would disagree, but weed is permissible, accepted and even idolized in our society. But is it beneficial? This is the question I think more people need to ask themselves. I don’t think that smoking anything is benefiting your lungs or that depending on a drug really benefiting the final outcome of the recovery.  I do not think marijuana should be legalized because I believe there is only a small percent of the population that would actually benefit from it. And how much can His Kingdom actually benefit from weed?