The Hirsal Grounds

Back to China

2010-02-16T17:45:00.000-08:00

In less than 3 days, I will board a plane headed back to China. It has not been any time at all since the graduation, and now I am off to another side of our world. Though the setting is familiar, it is a new experience, a new side, and a new job that I return to.

I will be working with college-aged students this time around, helping their language adjustment as they embark on studying abroad in English-speaking countries. It's a far more technical job than I've had in the past, relying on a more nuanced style of teaching. It is also the first time I'll be a teacher in a heavily structured environment of a predetermined curriculum. So, as I was told by a future co-worker of mine, "It's a good job that just lets you work with people."

I'll also be searching for a new, non-blocked blog site in China, so I will be able to update at regular intervals.

Thank you all for your prayers and keeping up with my life. I'll do my best to keep you posted.

Things As Of Late

2009-12-23T14:57:00.000-08:00

It has been quite some time since I've updated my blog. Much has happened in the last few months.

As of December the 18th, I am done with my academic career. A journey of six years, transfers, papers, tests, books, reading, writing, and teaching. This culmination gives only a small indication of what this journey is truly like. To put it lightly, it is an ending I've welcomed far before it made itself a reality.

The last few months also allowed me to appreciate my situation in Buena Park. Though my apartment was on the end side of a total of 9 guys living in it over the last 3 years, it is a place that held a deeper significance that just a crappy place to live. I made good friends that will stay with me (in spirit, of course) for the rest of my life.

I was asked by Jenny who my friends were; who the men in my life I considered important and great for my development. I could only really think of a select few, with these two in attendance of that list. I've learned of the importance of friends in life and how deeply that affects the way we live our lives.

For the near future, I'm returning to China. Shortly following my time last summer, I was offered a job from a friend I made while in Shantou, working as a teacher/lecturer for his English teaching company. It's a 6 month commitment, but it gives room for the Lord to act as He would during my time there.

Something that has given me truth was the way I came about going to China. It was not "I'm going, pray that the Lord blesses it." It rather came from God' giving. Asked to come back, I had to think on my time, asking for the next step. I've learned that it is never about what I would want to do, but where I'm being led. I do want to go to China, but it is not my desires or wishes that has led me there. In that, I'm incredibly thankful and look forward to what that future looks like.

I've enrolled in a TESOL course, starting the end of January. This will give me further help in teaching as well as an outlet for future job prospects wherever I may go. As was the last time I was in China, the greatest things I will need is prayer. The Lord will provide all that I need and I hope that you would be willing to join me in bringing all these things before Him. The future is bright and I look forward to seeing how God will work in the lives of myself, the people I meet, and the people who keep me in their prayers.

The Onramp to the Road to China

2009-06-17T23:05:00.000-07:00

Today marks the first day of real progress to China. After waiting a good deal at the Consulate General's offices in LA, I am in possession of a Chinese visa, bound for Shantou, Guangdong, China.

My travels this summer have already been great in distance and lessons: from New York City, to Guangdong Province, China and the 20,000 some-odd miles I will travel in my remaining time this season, I look forward to all that God will bring to me.

I was told always end with a sunset, but this desolate clearness was a sight from the bus.

My Summer

2009-04-16T22:12:00.000-07:00

For the last three years I have been attending Biola University, majoring in Intercultural Studies. For the final summer at Biola, I have the privilege to go out on a cross-cultural internship that allows me to apply what I have learned in ethnic studies, cultural adjustment, and overseas ministry.

This summer, I will be going to Shantou, China, which is located in the southeastern most province, called Guangdong. In my time there, I will be teaching English in the summer program at a local school of elementary aged children. Shantou is a city that has over 1100 years of history, starting sometime during the Song Dynasty. It is now a prominent port city where over 4.9 million people live and work, making it one of the most densely populated places in China. It is a city made primarily of industry, large with exports and factories that house tens of thousands of workers. Much of the population lives in relative poverty, taking factory jobs and working many hours of the day. This leaves parents on assembly lines and children taking care of their siblings at home. This job will allow me to reach out to the local children at the Rong Chang Hope School, many of which do not have much of a summer outside of the programs offered through the school. I will teach these children English as well as play games and allow them to enjoy their summer.

My internship will start June the 28th and will last until the final week in August. I will be embarking on many firsts this summer: my first time in Asia, my first job overseas, and the first time I will have spent an extended period outside of the US. At Rong Chang Hope School, there is a general openness to Christianity, but a strict adherence to ancient traditions and ancestor placation. It is a hard ground, but the Lord has begun His tilling in China. I will also be living and commuting with the local people, giving me many chances for interaction and cultural experiences.

My budget for my time is a flexible blessing: the company I am to work for has footed the bill for my round trip ticket. What lies ahead is $500-650 left in support to raise, which will pay for food and general expenses while in China. Most of all, I need prayer to support this time. Specifically, I need prayer for:
>the logistics of the trip and travel process
>the visa application process and verification
>Shantou, as foreigners are a rare occurrence in much of the city
>the language barrier and an ability to work around it
>my job in teaching and playing with children and that it would always be to the best of my ability
>the preparation I need for my heart, head, and spirit
>the fun, the experiences, and the relationships that I will make
>living with nationals and learning from their lives
>learning all that I can from my experiences

Thank you so much in advanced for all the support you are giving. "Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God." (John 1:12-13). These are His children and, with your support, I will work to show them that in all that I do. It is my honor and excited privilege to work this job in the coming summer and share all that I learn with you.

Something Funny I Thought About...

2009-03-07T21:46:00.001-08:00

Welcome to California State's budget meetings...

Culture Give-Ins?

2009-02-25T11:44:00.000-08:00

I spoke recently with a friend of mine. He's a brilliant fellow, studying the deep areas of philosophy and religion and focusing in on how the two intersect. It has become more and more apparent to me lately that much theory is taught and learned, yet most people graduate with little to no true understanding of what the message of Christ-in-culture truly is.

As I spoke with my friend, he brought an interesting point up: Christian sub-culture, as it has been deemed, has decided that it, for the most part, is most satisfied with partitioning itself off with its own music, book, and self-help section that all reflect a Christianized version of a secular concept. In my mind, I feel that the Christian sub-culture, itself, has proved to engage very few people, satisfying many with warm feelings of sentiment, Thomas Kinkade-branded theology, and a reactionary stance on nearly everything. In fact, the largest and strongest graduate program at my current university is apologetics.

Why do we react instead of act? Where have the culture makers gone? Where is the Lewis, Chestertons, and Augustines of our time? Why have so many influential Christian authors seen fit to merely preach to the choir and stand in the background? Why have so many students, like myself, seen fit to listen to the cultural backlash against beliefs and not met them head-on?

I am convinced that God works through culture. In my major, that is called contextualization. It is a ministry happening all over the earth, showing with definitive evidence that the gospel is for all and redeems culture. But my question comes down to this: why have we not contextualized a message for the "Christian" nation of America; for the politicians; for those who need to hear it? Why have I not made this effort?

Because...

2008-12-09T17:13:00.000-08:00

Because beautiful sunrises need beautiful music:

Charlie Parker Sessions
1:

"Improvised"
Coleman Hawkins-alto saxophone
Charlie Parker-alto saxophone
Buddy Rich-drums
Ray Brown-bass

2:

"Pennies From Heaven" and a blues tune
Lester Young-tenor saxophone
Bill Harris-trombone
Hank Jones-piano
Ray Brown-bass
Buddy Rich-drums
Harry "Sweets" Edison-trumpet
Flip Philips-tenor saxophone
Ella Fitzgerald-vocals

Praise the LORD
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty heavens

Praise him for his acts of power;
praise him for his surpassing greatness.

Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,
praise him with the harp and lyre,

praise him with tambourine and dancing,
praise him with the strings and flute,

praise him with the clash of cymbals,
praise him with resounding cymbals.

Let everything that has breath praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD.

Psalm 150

Thanks

2008-11-28T22:06:00.000-08:00

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I had the privilege of spending time with this woman's family. Residing a recently remodeled, two-room beauty, Big Bear stands as a somewhat last vestige of natural beauty amongst the San Gorgonio mountains. The recent influx of seasonal skiers and renters leave hundreds of new homes built, with little addition to the city year round. The little, 6,000 person town swells to over 50,000 residents during ski season, though the weather has refused to give any decent snow so far. One more reason to be thankful, I suppose.

The cold was a welcomed change, steaming breath escaping with every sentence spoken in our party. I enjoyed the realization that weather actually happens in places during the fall. Not everywhere wakes to a morning of sun, 65 degrees, and workers maintaining their lawns. The cold reminded me that I am in a new place, in a memory to be known through the jackets and thick socks that don my person. Some thoughts on cold...

The winter weather
Hits my bones like a cold hug
How I love these thoughts

I wish to wear plaid
Don the lumberjack garb and
Remember fondly

A day to recall
All that we are thankful for
And cover with love

How I wish to tell
Speak of all the love I have
Too awesome for words

The local Vons was the vista for my view of Big Bear. Though the sun's retreat was early this time of year, families still gathered with cold weather gear, mismatched and tightly ziped plaid, striped, and waterproof jackets swishing their ways down the frozen foods aisle; the delightful chaos of families on vacation, of newcomers and old citizens of Big Bear. Frank and I liked it so much, we managed to make a few return trips (forgetting the bread and other small items before...).

After a meal of year-old spaghetti and freshly baked bread, conversation abounded. It was a moment in time I can never forget: the wisdom and love of a beautiful woman's family spread so generously over the toast of my life. A truly persistent memory that will accompany me forever.

The drive North, to the jewel of the Central Valley that is Modesto, was quite a change of pace. You see, I needed to take the 18, winding down the mountain, meet up with Bear Valley Road once I passed through Victorville, connect to the 395, slice east on the 58, and finally get dumped back onto the 99 like so many ants along a trail of sugar. As the road lumbered on ahead of me, consistencies changing from smooth and easy to riddled and jarring, clouds collided with the crowded hills, the trees hidden in a deep fog of rain and frost. Switch-backs sliced beside the mountain, which stood tall and translucent behind the fog and diffused sun. Soon, fir and pine gave way to oak, and eventually the Joshua and low, dry, crusty scrub of the desert floor. The lone freeway of the 395 seemed to float atop the arid landscape, pounded every thirty miles or so by harsh showers that seemed to jet sideways from the sky. Somehow, the ugly beauty of the desert marveled me; how some brown and barely green landscape, looming with purple and blue hills in the distance, could so masterfully show the fingerprints of God.

Thanksgiving in the valley was quite small this year. Usually associating with mobs of family, this feast was met with almost quiet reflection. The meal had started long before I arrived, but a steaming plate awaited me as I entered the house. The tones of home seemed to take on a warmer hue, conversation, a fuller and more colorful verse, and food, a deeper and richer feeling. Somehow, God met me with the family and food for the best Thanksgiving yet. Though the one I care about the most is thousands of miles away, I was complete that day. Full, warmed, and loved, I fell into the "food coma" of annual yore and slept off the six and a half hours of driving.

It was truly a time for thankfulness: though I miss many in my life, am unable to spread myself around to enjoy the company of those I love, and long to see them all, I feel the love of God around me this day. Looking back on the memories from this time, I am awestruck at the grace of the Lord and how in His infinite wisdom has seen fit to not only acknowledge my life but fulfill it so fully everyday I breathe and move. How great is the God I serve.

Thanksgiving is not a day, but a lifestyle of constant observance of the outpouring of grace from a loving and devoted Father.

O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
above the heavens.

From the lips of children and infants
you have ordained praise
because of your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger.

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,

what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
Ps. 8:1-4

True Rouge

2008-11-25T14:06:00.000-08:00

I came across this piece yesterday. The simplicity of the piece struck me upon my first gaze. Looking into the piece, I found that this net suspended mixed media installation contains crosses, blown glass funnels and balls, and an assortment of materials ranging from sea sponges to billiard balls. This careful balance disperses toward the edges of the installation. The red color appears to drip down onto the floor below.

It is by a Brazilian artist named Tunga. Known for being generous with his opinion and often loudly outspoken, his demeanor has often been described as prickly. He is of the mindset that our destiny, be it art or madness, is set out and unchangeable. When asked if one could live without art, he had this to say:

"I think a person can live without the idea of art, without the idea of love, but not without art, and not without love... In other words, we don’t necessarily live with poetry, or with art, or with love on the other side. We can certainly believe that we live without it. However, the profoundest existence is existence with the symbolic. That is to say, you sleep, you dream—any human being sleeps and dreams—and in dreams the mode of organizing oneself as subject is very close to poetry. And that’s also where the true nature of love is revealed...

To take this reasoning to an earlier realm, we could say that we do not choose to be born. If there is fatalism, then fatalism precedes us. We are here, we did not ask to be."

But this stance seems contradictory to the nature of the created art. We cannot say that we are in command of our destiny. So, then, can we say that we choose to make art?

"Maybe. I mean, I just make myself available. Going back to Lautréamont, I think we are all artists, we are all poets. Now, some people open themselves up to the self-discipline of practicing this mode of existence, this ascension. The practice of this mode of existence, this discipline, brings us closer to those fleeting glimpses of our essence as human beings. How unfortunate that this territory should exist. How unfortunate that art and poetry should become specializations. But, in fact, they are not specializations but a spice we are all able to produce."

Tunga's work is based in an odd equation of his psychoanalytical ideals combined with science, theater, philosophy, and theological thoughts. This piece represents a red shift occurring in the gallery; a constant contamination of the space through exponential, yet organic increase of the "abstract state of red." It is an odd mix of confrontational imagery and aesthetic enjoyment. It seems to place the viewer at odds with the material Tunga places before him, yet simultaneously allows the viewer to enjoy its visual and conceptual beauty.

Simon Lane on Tunga
Tunga's other works
Further info on Tunga and his current displays

Hate

2008-11-24T17:04:00.000-08:00

Recently, because of popular media and all the fuss over proposition 8, hate has become associated with something that has been tangible for years.

The second image downright sickens me. To see the undeniable bigotry that comes from certain parties in my own faith! The hatred for those they protest is just as palpable. The love and caring that should reflect a life in Christ has been stripped to something ugly and power-hungry. Yet in all this mess of political rivalry, inconsistent philosophy, and heavy handed media, hate has also gone unnoticed.

A roommate of mine led me to a story about an incident at a Yuba Community College District campus. This student, Ryan Dozier, was handing out tracts and speaking with people about his faith when a campus safety officer stopped him, saying that he could be arrested for "sharing without a permit."

ADF stepped in to protect Dozier's first amendment right, but was met with a letter from the president of the college stating that "his actions were the subject of a campus crime report."

The schools under the YCCD are public, endorsed and accredited by the University of California, California Community Colleges, US Office of Education, the Veterans Administration, and the American Association of Collegiate Registrars and Admissions Office. Still, these government funded schools limit the free speech and expression of their students.

It makes me curious: had Dozier been gay, trying to hand out tracts with phrases like "Prop 8 = H8," would the district reacted as harshly?

This next story barely made city news, let alone statewide attention. Is this what the founding fathers had in mind when they penned the ideal of free speech and religion?

Somehow, a consensus must be reached. Hate needs to stop on both sides. These knee-jerk reactions from groups on either side must stop, and a rational, open dialogue has to emerge. Otherwise, the chaos of voices will drown out any attempts to reconcile one another in this dire situation.

I am an opponent of pro-choice, homosexual marriage, child-enabled abortions, and many other liberal ideals. But I am not their enemy. I do not agree with them, but I do not hate them. In order for my position to mean anything, I cannot hate. I hope the words I can live by, as well as the nation, are those of Jesus:

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be holy, therefore, as your heavenly Father is holy."
Matt. 5:43-48

The Freedom of Working

2008-11-22T18:15:00.000-08:00

Today was definitely one of the most humbling days of my recent time in LA.

A few weeks ago, we decided as a small group to change things up a bit. Instead of doing the meetings in strict, standardized, ordained to speak of the Sunday message fashion, we opted for a more organic approach. This was met with a great meeting last week in which a hang out time before we met was enacted. It was a chance to decompress from the week, enjoy Ben and Kelly's coffee, and just be with people. I had forgotten how amazing and fulfilling the family of God really was. Another principle we had developed is the idea of serving together. Being that the church is where teaching happens, but our group is where the reality of church occurs, we elected the hope of joining together to work in the community.

We put this into action today. The Union Resc ue Mission organized their annual Thanksgiving meal for the local population. Located on San Pedro Street in the downtown section known as Skid Row, this organization has been around for over 100 years. This event, known this year as the "Horton Hears a Who" Thanksgiving meal, serves an average of 3500 people every year.

Ben, Kelly, Jack, and I trekked downtown this morning, ready to work the moment we walked out of the parking lot just off Wall Street. It was the downtown I remembered: covered in a layer of rust, government colored-antigraffitti paint, and rolls of razor wire; a concrete conglomeration of cubic stacks and a wireframe maze of stores, homes, and alleyways that led to dozens of cell-phone, t-shirt, souvenir, and smoke shops, none of which seemed that they could pass an inspection of any kind. Thousands of homeless people lined the streets we walked, crowded around in small groups in huddled conversations and pushing stringy smoke clouds from amidst their cliques. The light diffused oddly around these streets, the buildings were monoliths blocking out the brightness of the morning.

Ben, Kelly, Jack, and I walked along those dirty streets, often being confronted for change, or simply by a confused look of someone who wasn't quite home. As we climbed the steps into the building, hundreds of people lined the benches within, waiting for a bed, hot meal, or a chance to get a job. As we relayed our info to try to figure out where we were to work, only confusion took over. Soon, it became apparent that these people had no idea who we were, where we were working, or what we were even doing there. Fortunately, moments later, the man in charge of this mission, named Anthony, and told us we were at the wrong mission.

Though the Union Rescue is one of the oldest, it is, by no means, the only. In fact, there are about 6 missions in less than 5 square miles of Skid Row. From what I saw in the LA Mission, I had never been more thankful that these had been founded and are in action now.

Anthony led us down the street, talking with the waiting people on the sides of the walk as he went. The community of the homeless, despite the rigidly rough and scary exterior, is filled with hurt and loss like I have never seen. These prickly and unkempt people, most of which looked 10 years older, sleep deprived, and frustrated, feel to me like the biggest group of overlooked sub-cultures LA has ever known. They have every race, language, and culture of the city of LA within them, yet most, including me, still walk by on the other side. We came to the end of the street, Anthony waved us on, and we headed to the "Horton Hears a Who" celebration.

Within a few hours, donned in orange volunteer shirts, we headed to the food line and started our serving. The guests would sit at the tables nearby while the volunteers near them would signal those in line to bring food to them. This simple system enabled volunteers to serve thousands of impoverished guests a warm, and quite amazing, Thanksgiving meal.

Though slightly inefficient, volunteers gathered their Styrofoam plates and sporks, walked hurriedly to the hungry, waiting guests, and deposit food before them. This started out quite frantic: one woman was so adamant about receiving her food sooner than others, that I nearly got my arm taken off in a barrage of hands and profanity. But soon, within an hour, the food supply was obviously not lacking. The guests relaxed, the volunteers chilled a little, and things got done rather well.

As the entertainment blasted away mid-level hearing through turntables and Christian hip-hop, I entered the line, time after time. One photographer came to me with a smile and said, "Either this line is really long, or you've been here more than once."

It was interesting to think about the day. As Ben, Kelly, Jack, and I sat at a table in the Mission's cafeteria, eating half-warmed but still delicious Thanksgiving dinner, I reflected on what I had seen that day.

The people, the kids, the food, the conversation, and the countless "thank-you"s that came flying across the air in the dirty San Julian street. It comes once a year. Too often, the attitude regarding this time of year comes just as often. Though the people in need are still there, the gratitude and service fade when the weather becomes warmer. LA's Skid Row is filled with tens-of-thousands of hurting, broken, damaged, lovely, beautiful, and worn people who want nothing more than love in this world.

I felt Jesus today, but not from the chow line I stood in for hours. I felt it in the hands of the women who would touch my shoulder as I handed them their plate, deep eyes looking into mine as they said thank you. I felt it when I heard kids laughing, climbing rock walls, and eating enough cotton candy to kill a diabetic. While some celebrities showed up for an hour or so with cameras in tow to document their good deeds, I felt Jesus in the other volunteers as they handed out, dished out, gave out, and served these broken people.

When I think of my volunteer time this afternoon, I am reminded of a quote which was first seen in regards to forgiveness. Instead, I feel like it meant more in the terms of volunteering: "You don't volunteer to help others. You volunteer to get help." I didn't want to volunteer because it was a good thing to have on a resume or a nice pin to put in the lapel. I volunteered so that for one brief moment in my life, I can be absolutely sure that I display Jesus Christ to at least one other person; for one shining moment, the glory of the Will of God through Christ Jesus was completely aligned with my desires; for this one time in my life, I am absolutely sure that I have loved others as Christ has loved them.

The Enemy was in subtle form today, probably sickened by all the love shown by God's children. As we walked back to the car, a man asking Ben for money took a swing at him when he realized he wasn't going to get anything. Since our serving time earlier in the morning, Wall Street had come back to life: we were one of a hundred ants snaking along the all-too-thing sidewalk lined with "legal" street vendors selling peppers and tamales, toys, shirts, songs, and a chance to win through a fair-looking shell game. It wasn't actually fair, but it looked like it. I heard at least nine languages as I walked, mingling together with the smells and sights of the city.

This is where Jesus lives today. The hearts of the world, striving to fulfill a meaningless existence in a crowded city with little opportunity, cry out for salvation from the mundane and din filled lives. The white noise of traffic can not dampen their pleas, the buildings' walls can not block out the needs of these in the city. So many broken, so many in need, and so many that have yet to hear what Jesus really means to them.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'"
Matt. 25:34-40