Beauty Out of Dust

Hello! Sorry for the lack of posting in the last few weeks--we have been busy, busy, BUSY wrapping up our classes.

Nothing much has been happening around here, just lots of studying and watching movies for mental breaks.

One of our last classes, Thai Arts & Culture, required us to create an art project reflecting the themes of Thai art. Some frequent themes are the shape of the lotus flower, curves and swirls and intricate designs that only a master of Thai art would be able to accurately depict. In fact, in Thailand the only way to become an "independent" artist is to serve under the tutelage of an older master. Even then, the master is only passing on his knowledge to the student--the student can never surpass his master.

So, I decided to create a poem (go figure!). The poem I created, which I have posted below, is written in what is called Pantoum form. The form is from the late 16th century. It takes the 2nd and 4th line of each stanza and uses those lines as the 1st and 3rd for the next stanza. The second to last and final stanza are an odd and complex combination of both the first stanza and some other stuff...

I chose this form to pay homage to the intricate nature of Thai art that is so highly venerated here. The poem itself turned out to be a dialogue among six characters. First is the Raconteur, which is just a fancy name for storyteller or narrator. The second in appearance is Mara, who is the satanic figure in Buddhist tradition. This demon god was the same who tempted Buddha with his three daughters under the Bo tree where Buddha reached enlightenment. The third is Siddhartha, which is Buddha's birth name. Then come the Cowering Skulls, and I will let you read into that yourself. Next is Father, who is the first person of the trinity and lastly comes the Son of Man.

My intention with the poem was to illustrate the horrifying, powerful and strategic evil I have encountered in my time in SE Asia. From there, I sought to critique the Buddhist ideal of a human with no desires and how this philosophy completely invalidates suffering in general. When the Son of Man comes in, he is meant to validate the suffering of us poor sinners by not only acknowledging it but suffering for and with us. Finally, I wanted to discuss God's intention to use our tired, doubtful souls to relieve the suffering and injustice seen in this world.

In presenting the poem to my fellow students, it was insight-fully mentioned that the poem gave a good summary of all we have be learning and wrestling with this semester. There are many more personal allusions to my experience here, but I have a paper to write and need to make this short. :)

I will say this, though: we have been asked many times to preform songs at random churches, and have since the beginning of the semester preformed Gungor's "Beautiful Things." Who knew that song would actually teach me so much this semester.

Without further ado:

Have you passed through this night?

Raconteur:

Have you passed through this night?

With eyes wide open or half closed?

Is there anything left that is right?

Or is morality strictly imposed?

Mara:

With eyes wide open, half closed

I take, I deceive, I make bleed.

Morality is strictly imposed.

So what, for Truth, do I have need?

I take, I deceive, I make bleed.

Confidence is so easily lost…

So what, for Truth, do I have need?

Allegiance has a very cheap cost.

Confidence is so easily lost!

Preying on those with no defense,

allegiance has a very cheap cost.

Do I make no sense?

Preying on those with no defense,

those destitute, dismal dulls.

Does it make no sense,

to feed on their cowering skulls?

Raconteur:

Those destitute, dismal dulls.

The ones with no power and no luck.

To feed on their cowering skulls?

…They fall without having to be struck.

Siddhartha:

Those with no power, no luck,

Need not to lament.

They fall without having to be struck,

because they, on silly desire, depend.

Cowering Skulls:

Need not lament, you say?!

Than you, I dare, take our place!

Because we, on ‘silly desire’ depend,

for us, there is no grace?

Father:

Than you, I ask, take their place.

Pass through the night wide awake.

For them, there is no grace,

unless the earth, for your blood, quakes.

Son of man:

Pass through the night wide awake?

Of this, I am willing.

Unless the earth, for my blood, quakes

they’ve no chance to meet the King.

Of this, I am willing.

Hear, ye cowering skulls,

ye, who’ve no chance to meet the King:

Your demerits will be null.

                                    

Hear, ye cowering skulls,

ye trembling and ye lost,

your demerits will be null.

Though free, this has a high cost.

Ye trembling, ye lost,

my riches, neither silver or gold.

Though free, they have a high cost--

take heart, justice will come tenfold.

My riches, neither silver or gold,

but the power to expel fears.

Take heart, justice will be tenfold--

if you are my eyes and my ears.

The power to expel fears,

to count, by hand, the least of these.

If you are my eyes and my ears,

than suffering and chaos shall ease.

Cowering Skulls:

To count, by hand, the least of these,

seems a task too great.

If injustice, suffering and chaos shall ease

when will our darkness abate?

Son of man:

Seems a task too great,

you say, with doubt lining your tongue.

When will your darkness abate?

When you and I are one.

Cowering skulls:

We speak with doubt lining our tongues:

you would use those as simple as us?

When you and I are one,

we, too, can make beauty of dust?

…You would use those as simple as us.

We, who are easily distracted.

We, too, could make beauty of dust,

if only this nature were extracted.

Son of man:

You, who are easily distracted,

you need not deny your heart.

If all this nature were extracted,

the desires I put inside you would also depart.

Cowering skulls:

We need not deny our hearts, you say?

But this is all we know!

These desires you’ve put inside us,

they gave us many years of woe.

This is all we know:

that love is but a lie.

It gave us many years of woe

and countless laws to abide by.

Son of man:

Love is but a lie?

No, you’ve not seen pure Love.

The many laws you abide by

are the chains I’ve come to free you of.

No, you’ve not seen pure Love.

For it comes only from me.

The chains I’ve come to free you of,

are the earthen roots of the Bo tree.

Cowering Skulls:

For it can only come from thee?

If this indeed, is true,

the chains you’ve come to free us of

are weakened only by you.

For it can only come from thee!

There is plenty left that is right!

If this, indeed, is true,

you have passed through this night.

Copyright Lyric Hammond 2012 

Stop This Train

It'll be exactly 30 days until I fly home. That realization, of late, has been staring me straight in the face-- wanting peace, resolution and most of all control. Wanting to be prepared, to be unafraid, and trusting.

I am so excited to leave, and yet so despaired to be leaving. I do need prayers for peace and preparedness.

In the meantime: A couple of weeks ago we went on vacation after our practicums and we got to visit Phuket and Bangkok. We flew, took a bus and even a boat on vacation but we got the lovely opportunity to take a 15 and half hour train ride back to our center in Chiang Mai. This turned out to be  the most comprehensive and breathtaking ways to see the Thai countryside. Exhausted, in need of sleep and completely excited to be there, I wrote this poem on the train "home" and felt compelled to share it tonight.

Thailand by Train

At night: so dark.

Tiny bursts of light peep through the deep purple.

Are they lightening bugs?

Or are they stars.

The awkward blur

Of city lights

As we pass,

Honking,

By.

The murmur of sleepy voices beyond my curtain.

Beyond my privacy

Beyond my dreams.

And the calm realization that I’m living them.

Further, still, into the darkness,

We pass the moonlit hills of this

ancient soil.

Hills wrought with moss,

Blackened by stone and smoke from village life.

I fade, unwillingly,

Unto a dozy trance as the stars float by my window,

And think of the past.

A wind just cool enough to be relieved by a thin blanket.

A sigh, a yawn or two…

___

In the morning,

When Heaven’s only Sun buzzes

bright enough--at last--

to penetrate these eyelids,

I am awoken to nothing but green, green, green.

The green of the banana leaves, yes,

And their vastness, compared with the rest.

The green of the palm trees

tall and pointed,

Shading the villagers and the bugs.

But green, most of all, of the rice field.

Lined with small, separating water paths.

Large enough only for a Thai

To water, nurture, and harvest in the fall.

Dusted by different shades of the color:

Si keow, si yellow, si tan—

Swaying as we pass by them.

Embodying an entire continent’s livelihood, work (love) and pride.

I am greeted also by the familiar music of tropical insects.

The cricket, and gecko, and cockroach too.

By a subai sawat-dee

And a hot cup of tea.

Now, I know, it won’t be long.

Until we reach our destination.

Until the sun turns from friend to hot enemy.

Until the many worries of a student’s busy life vie, valiantly,

for my attention.

But until then I will

Stare at these tall hills

In shady green

Hiding the mysteries of Thai jungle.

I will breath in, slowly, the oxygen that they so graciously pass on.

I will smile to my friends

And laugh at our memories,

Resting, waiting, thinking,

On a train towards Chiang Mai.

Gonna miss this.

Eyes Wide Open

In a country surrounded by other countries surrounded by other countries that is permeated with corruption, wrought with complex layers of evil and hardened by years of denying Christ, it is hard for one to remember who is in charge.

In the midst of walking yet another temple today, watching old women, men and young children bow down before golden idols and pray to demons, a detached sense of sorrow filled what was left of my faithful heart.

Even looking out my window here in Thailand I am berated by the worship of other Gods--Buddha, wisdom, knowledge. On every corner, in every home, there is perched a small spirit house where offerings to angry spirits are consistently renewed. In the artwork on the streets, the attitudes of the people, the concepts pervasive within the culture...there is so much evil.

There takes place a huge cultural shift that exists for a Christian who, indeed, became a Christian in a country that is most commonly described as "Christian"--how ever false or nominal that may be.

In class we have been discussing--talking ourselves in circles, rather--the complex nature of development work for a Christian. The debate between the dualistic nature of the action. Which is our focus: physical, economic and social needs or the saving of the soul? How do they go hand and hand? What if they don't? All week long the Spirit in side me has been turning upside down and inside out each time the Gospel is lowered or equated with something it should not be. Each time I am humbled by Scripture I do not fully understand, or experience I cannot argue with.

So even when I study, for hours, and run my findings by people with PhDs and years of experience, one simple class discussion later I can be left baffled by both the evil in this world and the fact that I am not quite sure how I, as a Christian, am supposed to respond to it. What if I focus too much on the physical and forget what Jesus died for? What if I preach the Gospel and miss relationship and the chance to relieve suffering or injustice? What if helping hurts?

Of course, these fears and worries and concerns can be paralyzing. But the task at hand is such that it should be taken seriously.

But then, I am reminded simply by songs I've only ever heard in a Chapel in Kirkland, Washington what the Truth is. I think of the girls I saw nervously bowing before the golden hand of an enlightened Buddha and I hear His voice say, with all the power in the world,

 "I am Yaweh, I am eternal, I am reigning, have reigned, and will reign forever."

...Those words are no less true a million miles away from the shelter of my suburban home, in an environment that is so clearly anti-Christian I sometimes forget what American churches look like and imagine temples instead.

He has watched me watch broken hearts unfold and not be healed, but remain in darkness. He has seen the same children as I, begging for money on the street so that their parents can support their drug habits. He felt the fear and heartache of my innocent friends when corruption manipulated, exploited  and oppressed them. He knows that his children are crying out from every corner of this world for mercy from oppressors and relief from injustice. He sees genocide and knows it the smell of dead, rotting human bodies killed by the force of unbridled sinful nature. He is not stupid or ignorant and, unlike the "serene" Buddha,

 HE DOES NOT SIT ON A THRONE WITH HIS EYES HALF CLOSED.

Instead he is here with me, and there with them, and with you. In the midst of our confusion, our overwhelmingly complex systems of ministry and our oversimplification of the nature of human sin and reconciliation to God. He watches me struggle with these ridiculously hard concepts and these new things he keeps throwing at me. He sees pain, feels it in the way that we do. He has experienced it. And my word, he is SUCH a better God for that.

Tonight he reminds me in a gentle voice but with SO much power: "I have never, ever changed. I validate the suffering in this world and without me it has no answer, without me there is no relief. I have come, am coming and am already there. I reign."

Not the corrupt rulers and passive leaders that seem to be in charge. Not the money hungry, power loving temporal humans that make rash decisions and don't care who they hurt. Not the rulers of countries that call themselves Christian. Not the men who make laws to protect the people and kill them in secret. Not powerful who exploit the weak. Not the ones who brainwash for control, or even close their countries to the rest of the world. Not the demons that hurt those who do not know Christ. Not  the evil cycles, the enslaving diminished sense of self, the intricate and strategic evil that bears down on humans. Not sin. Not the dichotomy of the Fall. Not the lawmakers, armies, weapons, or brains of this world.

Satan, you are not winning this one; no matter what this world looks like. I know it with all my heart: His eyes are wide open.

Tomorrow Isn't Monday/28 Days Later/Every Little Helps

I watched her raise her hand, three fingers stood tall while her thumb and pointer formed a shaky circle. She put her other hand on my low back, as always, and smiled. “It’s okay.” She said quietly, and tears filled her brown eyes.

Slowly they sank down her freckled cheek and were quickly dried by the Asian sun. “It’s okay,” She repeated, squeezing my hand, “Tomorrow is Monday.”

***

Well, tomorrow wasn’t Monday. Tomorrow was Saturday, and Friday was the last day I spent—and very well may ever spend—in Laos.

It’s amazing to me how attached I became to the environment, culture, and people of Laos in a mere twenty eight days.

***

Gods’ power is  this:

That even in the midst of my sin

Even concerning the most evil passions of my heart

Even beside all these lies I am told and believe

Even when I cannot, or do not, or will not

See His grace

Even when I consider myself as nothing

Even when I am cornered by condemnation,

Or devastated by despair,

Or distracted by temptation,

Enslaved to entitlement,

Controlled by anxiety,

Berated by doubts,

Too skeptical to trust,

Hardened, willingly.

Even in my outright disobedience,

In my sleepless nights of fear,

In my confusion,

Mistakes,

Or poor decisions.

Even in my immaturity,

My broken, empty promises,

My bargaining,

My divisive judgementalism

My pride, which permeates even the most

“Earnest” of actions.

Even in my slothfulness,

My lack of motivation.

My moments of rage at Him,

At you,

At the Church,

At myself.

My months—or years—of bitterness.

Even in my forgetfulness,

My assumptions,

My ignorance.

Even when he calls me outward and I am

SO.

INCREDIBLY.

INWARDLY FOCUSED.

Even though my past so often defines my present,

And future.

Even though I only seldom recognize his miracles and given him praise.

Even though I try to atone for my transgressions.

Even though my flesh and the enemy tell me none of this is true.

Even though it has only been two years:

HE USES ME.

He uses me for God honoring relationships.

He uses me to teach.

He uses me to laugh and be laughed at.

He uses me to spread joy.

He uses me to inspire others—

Individuals who otherwise may never know what they are capable of.

He uses me for healing,

For reconciliation.

He uses me to be an extension of his perfect, heavenly grace.

He uses me to talk and to listen at just the right moments.

To tell his sons and daughters across the world that they are loved and blessed,

In the midst of painful persecution.

He uses me to promote peace, forgiveness, selflessness, unity.

He uses me to work, work, work for his kingdom.

He uses me as an example of redemption,

As salt to the earth,

Bright, shining impalpable light in the wake of thick darkness.

As a mouthpiece for the Gospel.

As a mere servant, and nothing more.

How this is possible I do not know.

But as I sat on a couch in Thailand, and read the broken English words of a student I met four weeks ago,

As I was brought to humble tears by his gratitude of our work, requests for prayers and exhortation to never forget…

It hit me that this,

As simple as it may be,

THIS is God’s power.

And nothing in this world (or, in my heart) can disrupt it.

***

I let go of her squeezing hand and found my balance, my luggage, and the largest smile I could muster. One of our students came towards me, shook my hand and placed his other on my shoulder, “Thank you, Lyric, for all you taught us. We learned so much and we will not stop praying for you.”

Another young man asked to say something. Our translator repeated his kind words, “Although we wish you could stay longer, we know that this is the time God wants you to return. We are glad he brought you to us and so glad you served him through us. I know he has amazing things for you, and we will always pray for you. We may never see each other again, but I know I will see you one day in Heaven. Although we are of different languages and nationalities, we are one in the family of Christ.”

I walked--or rather, was dragged by obligation--forth and did not look back, for soon I knew my countenance would break and emotion would win me over. Across the point of no return we went and then, without warning, the reality of their absence struck my heart and my eyes swelled with tears.

As we entered the other country, the weight of memories bore me down. I asked Him why it made sense that we only were able to stay 28 days, why we couldn’t do more. Inspire more change, enliven more hearts…

Then, he answered me…through a t-shirt.

A yellow cut off worn by a Thai I will never know, inscripted boldly with the comforting words of my sovereign father:

“EVERY LITTLE HELPS.”

To Red Dirt and Khao Neow

Man, I am going to miss this place.

The red dirt roads

The feeling of sticky rice between my fingers

The oohs and aahs at a culture so familiar to me.

The smiles when I mispronounce something

The black hair and dark skin

The spicy cucumber and

the way the sky looks at night,

Painted with palm trees and stars.

The newness of a sip of chocolate milk

And the bliss of freshly baked bread.

The risk of riding a bike on the side of a busy highway

And the unmatchable feeling of

Community,

Home,

Love.

The sound of the wind running past my ears as we speed

Through the city

Sitting, uncomfortable,

On a mat in the back of a pickup truck.

The flash of lights as we pull out into the night,

And the sa bai dee’s when we return home.

The miss you’s,

The beautifuls,

And the songs--so moving--in a language I cannot understand.

The murmur of foreign prayers late at night

To a God that is

So much bigger now.

The off key voices singing praises,

Joyfully,

To he who sees everything.

The pain of my wrist after a long day of fooseball,

The adrenaline that pumped through these veins when I first realized

What God can do through me.

The earnestness of each conversation.

The elation in each step of the day.

The cold water on my back

And hot sun on my face.

The learning to teach and

Most of all,

Teaching to learn.

Black and White

"Black and white" is not only a fantastic Michael Jackson song, but also the lens through which I, as a follower of Christ, must see the world. In an earlier post, I contradicted this conviction mistakenly and to give you context, I meant that the issues surrounding the Greater Mekong Subregion are not at all black and white. They are as complex and interconnected as a game of Jenga. Each one is affected by the other.

In contrast, there are Biblical, absolute truths that explain and define the universe (thank God). Without these simple facts there would be no point to life and no response to evil. These truths are, indeed, the same ones that Juan Esparza and Gabe Davis repeated to me time and time again as a searching seventeen year old when I became a Christian. They are the means by which the Holy Spirit wooed my rebellious heart.

Some of these truths include: we are sinners. We cannot atone for the evil that exists in our hearts. Jesus can and did on the cross. We need Him in order to be in relationship with God. Without this relationship, we will go to hell. Within this relationship, we can look forward to eternal life in Heaven, without sin, with Jesus.

But there are more: God is both gracious and just. He is both perfectly loving and hateful towards evil. He wants us to have faith and rely on faith alone, and also to work to his glory.

...What in the WORLD does it mean to work to his glory? At first I was convinced it meant that if there is a need for me to walk around land mines to reach persecuted Christians with medical supplies, I must do it without hesitancy. Now, I realize, it is not about what I am doing, but where my heart is in doing it.

I think that to "work to the glory of God" is less about the type of work and more about the heart of the person in action. I can be dodging landmines in Burma to save orphans against the God's will as much as I can be stockpiling my wealth in America without His approval. 

I can also live in a comfortable suburb in Western Washington, be fully able to protect and provide for my children and still have money to take vacation to the glory of God. I can also sleep on a mat, completely inconvenience myself and eat buffalo intestine late at night in order to understand a culture that needs to hear about Jesus. Both may indeed be in God's will, depending on my prayerful examination of my heart and his calling. In both settings, I am called to share the Gospel without hesitation or fear. 

It's hard to understand, isn't it? It is for me...

But at the end of the day, no matter what culture I am an living in, there is still the culture of the Bible that I am called to live out in my life. I am still called to bear my cross, whatever that looks like. And that is between me and God.

I don't know whether God wants me to stay in America or fly off to some rural village in Southeast Asia. I do know one thing, though, and I will always know it: no matter where I am, no matter what I am doing, I am called to have a heart that is joyfully responsive to whatever he wishes. That, I think, is all I need to know.

"The heart of a man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." 

(Thank you, Dad, for shedding some much needed perspective. Also, for kicks and because I know you all want to hear it now: http://youtu.be/F2AitTPI5U0 ).

You Are My Home

Today, I miss my family. I miss the sound of five little voices calling, “Lyric!” when I enter the door on Sunday mornings before church.

I miss the ever-large smiles and dimples, the hugs and cuddles, the energy and curiosity of my beautiful little siblings.

I miss watching them develop relationships with God and with each other. I miss seeing them dance, hearing them sing, and watching them laugh at Dad’s silly jokes. I miss trying to decide whose turn it is to pray and waking up the birthday person with a song. I miss the sparkling cleanliness of our kitchen and dining room. I miss the dim lighting of our living room and big comfy couches to sit on when it’s raining outside. I miss the strange whining howls that emit from our dog’s mouth when she’s excited.

I miss black and red, and wooden floors. I miss laughing so hard my belly hurts. I miss long talks when I should be sleeping or studying. I miss constantly seeing the face and character of God being reflected so succinctly in the lives, attitudes, decisions and (most of all) the love of my parents.

I miss you. As I move forward into this new life God has called me to, know that you are always my home.

"The Lord sets the lonely in families." (Ps. 68:6)