The term dramaturgy was coined by sociologist Erving Goffman, who believed each human is an actor in the play of every day life. Basically, he suggested that we discover who we are, define how we interact with others, and decide how to respond to situations based on who is surrounding and watching us at given moments in time. He dug this concept further by splitting dramaturgy into branches of "front and back" stages. The "front" stage represents the place where we present ourselves to others- how we generally act to other people in public or social situations. Then there is the "back" stage where a person is completely and totally alone, and puts on no acts for others.
I learned about this term in the first day of my sociology class and have already been compelled to think: what is my sense of dramaturgy? I would like to think that my front stage acting is reflective of my back stage resting. But is it so?
The fear that naturally develops when I consider this question is that I prohibit myself from fully being myself to the front stage in fear of never wanting to disappoint or upset people. And "myself back stage" may just have enough umph to bring about change to this world and society. But of course, if being bold and forward means offending or making someone uncomfortable- then, front stage me will unconsciously do everything in my power to guarantee those watching are happy, which immediately determines that back stage me will essentially remain back stage.
I want to challenge myself to use my front stage to be a true reflection of my heart as well as boldly say what needs to be said, even if a few audience members don't take well to it. And I want to invite you in attempting this challenge with me. Being real, being genuine, being authentically bold and not holding back in fear of the public eye.
Thursday, January 5, 2017
Monday, November 9, 2015
Facing Timidity
2 Timothy 1:7 For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.
timidity definition: lacking in boldness or determination
antonyms for timidity: audacity, courage, bravery, fearlessness, valor
Lord, you call me to power, love, and discipline. There are so many different versions of this verse, but all speak the same idea: you call me into Your love, Your strength, Your shelter, Your empowerment; and You give these things to me to claim as my own. Because YOU are loving, strong, a shelter, powerful; I am now loving/loved, strong, sheltered and protected, empowered.
In the past week, my emotional stamina seems to be reflective of someone who is ignorant to this encouraging information. I have had a spirit of timidity.
antonyms for timidity: audacity, courage, bravery, fearlessness, valor
Lord, you call me to power, love, and discipline. There are so many different versions of this verse, but all speak the same idea: you call me into Your love, Your strength, Your shelter, Your empowerment; and You give these things to me to claim as my own. Because YOU are loving, strong, a shelter, powerful; I am now loving/loved, strong, sheltered and protected, empowered.
In the past week, my emotional stamina seems to be reflective of someone who is ignorant to this encouraging information. I have had a spirit of timidity.
I thought my crashing point of realization was when I got in a fender bender because I was too busy thinking about all the things I had to do, or all the things I could have done better.
But then I thought it was when I kept making mistakes at work.
And even after that, more and more occurrences kept happening where I made mistakes.
But then I thought it was when I kept making mistakes at work.
And even after that, more and more occurrences kept happening where I made mistakes.
Honestly, it hurts to think of all the mistakes I made. But I think what is worse, God, is that I went exactly against what You call us to do- to love and to give grace. No, it wasn't about giving love or grace to other people- I mean I did not give it to myself.
It is funny, God, how You know my thoughts. You know I think to myself when I make these mistakes, "That person is going to think less of me, that manager is going to be annoyed with me, that person isn't going to trust me with that task anymore." Ironically enough, the car accident was less stressful emotionally than some of the other small mistakes I made this week. I realized it's because I didn't know the person who's car I bumped into. They were a stranger to me. When I make mistakes in front of other people who I care about, it's a show. They're the audience, and I'm making a fool of myself. That is seriously how it plays out in my mind!
But God, I now realize that none of those people feel or think that way about me. If they do, it doesn't matter anyway. But there is always one person who HAS given me the reprimand that I'm so fearful of, the beating that I'm afraid I deserve when I mess up. I can always rely on this person to tell me what I'm doing wrong and how I am simply overall making a fool of myself.
That person is me.
It is funny, God, how You know my thoughts. You know I think to myself when I make these mistakes, "That person is going to think less of me, that manager is going to be annoyed with me, that person isn't going to trust me with that task anymore." Ironically enough, the car accident was less stressful emotionally than some of the other small mistakes I made this week. I realized it's because I didn't know the person who's car I bumped into. They were a stranger to me. When I make mistakes in front of other people who I care about, it's a show. They're the audience, and I'm making a fool of myself. That is seriously how it plays out in my mind!
But God, I now realize that none of those people feel or think that way about me. If they do, it doesn't matter anyway. But there is always one person who HAS given me the reprimand that I'm so fearful of, the beating that I'm afraid I deserve when I mess up. I can always rely on this person to tell me what I'm doing wrong and how I am simply overall making a fool of myself.
That person is me.
The person I fear the most is myself! The person who beats me up, tears away at my confidence, limits my potential is ME! I challenge myself constantly with timidity! (I am even doing it right now, but this I feel is for beneficial purpose at least...)
Lord, thank You for this realization. Thank You for casting away that self- harmful spirit of mind by calling me to love, power, and discipline. God You cancel out my timidity that I limit myself with. I pray that I may only have eyes to see the love I am surrounded with, not only this but that I need to love myself too Lord. And another thing- thank You for not caring about my mistakes! For knowing that I am going to make them, because You've created me that way! And when I do make mistakes, You tell me I am loved anyway and called to forgiveness. Teach me to forgive the hardest person to forgive, which is myself.
Thank You for having confidence in me when I have none in myself, loving me when I have none left to give to myself, giving me grace EVERYDAY when I won't spare any to myself. God, I want to learn how to extend these things to myself and I pray that You would teach me.
Thank You for having confidence in me when I have none in myself, loving me when I have none left to give to myself, giving me grace EVERYDAY when I won't spare any to myself. God, I want to learn how to extend these things to myself and I pray that You would teach me.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Values of Value
I'd never seen my dad handle anything else more delicately or with such caution- except maybe my own mother.
He slowly inched down the stairs, holding the beautifully crafted and craved glass vase with a rose inside. His eyes matched the vase, and then the steps ahead of him. Back and forth his focus switched for what seemed like forever to get down the stairs.
"Dad, why are you going so slow?" I asked him.
"This is very special and extremely delicate. It has so much value, it's probably worth the same amount as your car. It must be taken with extreme care."
He finally made it to the kitchen table and placed the vase and rose in the middle. "I wish I could think of a safer place, but it looks so nice displayed here. Don't you think?" he asked me.
"Yeah," I replied. Why was this so valuable?
He took a quick glance at his watch. "Well, I'm off to work. See you tonight kiddo."
"Alright," I greeted as he jetted out the door. I walked nearer to the table and studied the flower. A red rose. What could be it's significance? I realized it didn't matter. I had to take care of it, and for some reason my dad thought it'd be okay to just throw it in a vase and on the table. He himself said how valuable it was, so I wasn't planning on letting it wilt away on some table by a much-too-sunny-window.
-
For days I took care of that flower. I did all the research on how to best take care of roses. I did all of it. But after only a few days, the flower began to brown, and grow wrinkles and tears.
I was baffled. Why would my dad place so much value in something he knew would quickly pass?
But I held it in my hand. It was beautiful. Red, with the now-brownish color. Soft and smooth petals. These flowers much cost a fortune for their beauty and sincerity. I was beginning to understand it's value.
A petal fell off as I admired it. I turned to my dad, finally getting a chance to ask him why this flower had so much value.
"Oh honey," he replied. "The flower means nothing. What was valuable was the VASE. I don't care about the rose. I can replace that any time."
I began to study the rose in my hand again. Why did it seem to even lose color just while talking about it with my dad? I did not see the value I possibly thought it could have anymore. Now it was just a dying flower.
Still observing the rose, there will still a few red petals. I didn't think the flower was completely invaluable to me now, because the beautiful things I memorized about it were still true. It had value to me, but this value just wasn't true to everyone else.
-
God is teaching me a thing or two about value.
I am noticing, with particular things in my life, that some things only have as much value as you place on them.
Specifically, opinions and certain relationships.
There are opinions that I have often valued too much in my life, and this value in other people's opinions over my own has created insecurity and whatever the opposite of confidence is. Recently having been told negative things about myself in various situations, I took these opinions and LET it hurt me. Weigh on me. Be of value.
And that's where the downfall happened. I hurt for a long time after these occasions. But now that I realized certain things in life only have as much value as you allow them to have, I have decided: these occasions and opinions have NONE.
Later on, some of these opinions were taken back; and replaced with encouragements instead. While they did encourage me and feel good, I decided to not let them have much value either. Because if we obsess over hearing nice things about ourselves, especially from those who have already chastised us, it is such dangerous territory for the emotional state of your heart.
Aside from opinions, something else we also place value on is... well, anything other than God Himself. We place so much value on dating and relationships, being pretty, having money, just to name a few. For clarity, I want to state that I am not implying WORKING, ENJOYING, OR FOCUSING on these things are bad or wrong. I am saying that it is very easy to make these elements idols.
i·dol
ˈīdl/
noun
- an image or representation of a god used as an object of worship.
Of course we don't physically get on our knees and worship these things. But we do it in our subconscious. And I'm pretty sure if we could have one-on-one talks with our hearts, they would tell us, "Yep, I freakin' WORSHIP that thing."
The only reason I can identify this is because I struggle everyDAY with placing too much value on these things. But gosh, it is empowering to realize God has given me the strength to NOT have this struggle- all I have to do is take away it's value from my heart; or at least, stop believing it had or has value. These things only have as much value to me as I decide that they do.
It can also go the opposite way, too. Maybe there are certain things we don't place ENOUGH value in- kind of like the vase. The character in the analogy was so focused on the rose, he didn't realize his dad was talking about the vase's value. So while he was off mistakenly believing this rose needed extreme care, the vase was sitting on the table waiting to be knocked over.
What are some vases in your life? For me, I see my relationship with God and certain family members as vases I could take a lot better care of. My intentions at work has been an ongoing one now- am I working to serve others or to impress others while making money?
It is not so that everything in life's value is determinant only by the variable of your opinion of it, or how much value you THINK it has. The value of the heart, a person's story, and so much more is beyond a value measured by our human minds. But we can certainly work on shortening Earthly values and extending heavenly values.
Either way, know that YOU are valuable, and God has given YOU the power to decide in the right situations the true value and effect something can and should have on you.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Hero
I am a superhero.
I just saw Avengers: Age of Ultron and of course it was a truly awesome movie- but, this is not a movie review.
Spoiler ahead... sorry not sorry.
In the movie, a thought-to-have-been-villain loses a family relative (tried to keep it as vague as possible without spoiling anything). The thought-to-have-been-villain is being held by the real villain. She looks the real villain in the eye and says, "I have now died, too," as he is mocking her in the face of her relatives' death. But in the end, the thought-to-have-been-villain has committed to protecting earth- serving others- being a hero, like she knows her relative who passed on saving another would have wanted her to be.
In the mixture of counseling, seeing mentors I respect and take so much wisdom from, working hard, and pursuing health of all kinds (physical, emotional, spiritual) and accepting God's invitation to allow Him to work in me; I am now a superhero too.
I am a superhero. I have seen things a 19 year old should never see. I would never want my 19 year old friends to see their mother go through, and suffer what my mother did. I would never want anyone to have to do the things with and for their mother and family that I have. There are some things I'll never discuss, except maybe with my counselor, because they are so scarring and painful. I just can't expect anyone to carry that pain. Only God can.
But I am a superhero.
In my mother passing, I too have died. She was my heart. Everything she did, everything she was, everything she breathed was my breath too. She was my best friend, my person. I loved her with every fiber of my being. I will never comprehend why God didn't want her on Earth anymore. Unfortunately, I will always have an anger towards for that. And, for all the things he made me and my family see. Again, things no one should ever have to experience or see.
I am the girl, who was losing sight of God in the midst of pain, sitting in the arms of Satan almost grabbing me and shaking me, saying, "God obviously doesn't love you or your family. He must not even be real, to let you experience this pain. To let your loved ones experience this pain. To steal your mother."
To which I replied everyday, "I, too, have died."
But something in me clicked. I had experienced a lot of other painful things even almost immediately after my mother's passing. But God looked at me, and offered harmless invitation.
I almost specifically felt Him put these words on my heart:
"Chrissy- I know hearing worship is hard, because it reminds you so much of your mom and so much of how I stole her. I know reading the Bible is hard, because not only does it remind you of those things but it reminds you of the question you always have of, Why do I let the world get this way? I know praying is especially hard. You don't want to talk to me after all of this. But I just need your permission. I need you to agree to let me work in you. In your heart. You just have to say yes, and eventually trust me."
To which I replied, "Ok."
And He has been working ever since. God, I'm still in inexpiable pain daily.I move along and talk to people and friends like normal again, though nothing in my life is. My heart aches for my mother. I dream about her. Last night I vividly dreamt that we were singing the song, "My Girl" together in front of my whole church. But God has been working.
I meet with 4 mentors every week that bless and HELP me richly. God, they help me. And that's the difference. I don't ask God for HELP. He doesn't HELP. He just DOES. These people, help, and encourage. But God just DOES IT.
I hike. God moved my family into an apartment, a beautiful complex actually, but no one likes living in an apartment after treasuring their first wonderful home for so many years. But he has placed hills and paths that are often quiet and seem like I am the only person who walks and hikes on them- he put them there in the Earth, formed them, knowing that I would talk to Him there, listen to worship walking along them there, take time each week to sit and just think about my mom and feel pain and the deepest of bitter sadness, but get up and keep walking, feeling great after. He knew. He didn't just know. He planned it.
I spend time with friends. They make me laugh. They always support me. They ask, "You ok?" "How are you doing?" Especially my girls. God, I love you.
I go to church. Where there are only lights of love, only where there are people who are Jesus to the world and I know will ALWAYS take care of my family and me.
I eat better. Eh, I'm trying. And I don't do it to lose weight, although I want to. I do it for emotional health. Drink a lot more water.
I take care of my dad. And he takes care of me. We are the best team ever.
I am a super hero. And as I murmur, "I, too, have died," Jesus says, "Yes. I, too, have died."
And I rise a superhero from my pain.
I am a broken, unresolved, loving, beautiful, messed up, confident, funny, compassionate, gracious, giving, selfish, sad, happy, superhero. I will take my pain, and rise, and help others and love others because of my pain. I used to have a lot more hope and happiness invested innocently in the world before my mom passed away. Now I see the world is only ridden with sadness, sickness, evil- if there is ANY good, it's because of God. It's my job to be a superhero, to save others, and then they too will take their pain and rise superheroes by my side.
And my mom will be right beside me, always.
If you ask me how I am doing, this is what I really mean when I say, "I'm hanging in there," or "I'm getting better," or "Eh, today sucks," or "I am not doing too good," or "Okay." This is how I am really doing.
I am in no means resolved, doing great, or have got it figured out why God needed my mom to pass. I am just saying that, He is working, and I am rising.
I am a superhero because of God's love.
I just saw Avengers: Age of Ultron and of course it was a truly awesome movie- but, this is not a movie review.
Spoiler ahead... sorry not sorry.
In the movie, a thought-to-have-been-villain loses a family relative (tried to keep it as vague as possible without spoiling anything). The thought-to-have-been-villain is being held by the real villain. She looks the real villain in the eye and says, "I have now died, too," as he is mocking her in the face of her relatives' death. But in the end, the thought-to-have-been-villain has committed to protecting earth- serving others- being a hero, like she knows her relative who passed on saving another would have wanted her to be.
In the mixture of counseling, seeing mentors I respect and take so much wisdom from, working hard, and pursuing health of all kinds (physical, emotional, spiritual) and accepting God's invitation to allow Him to work in me; I am now a superhero too.
I am a superhero. I have seen things a 19 year old should never see. I would never want my 19 year old friends to see their mother go through, and suffer what my mother did. I would never want anyone to have to do the things with and for their mother and family that I have. There are some things I'll never discuss, except maybe with my counselor, because they are so scarring and painful. I just can't expect anyone to carry that pain. Only God can.
But I am a superhero.
In my mother passing, I too have died. She was my heart. Everything she did, everything she was, everything she breathed was my breath too. She was my best friend, my person. I loved her with every fiber of my being. I will never comprehend why God didn't want her on Earth anymore. Unfortunately, I will always have an anger towards for that. And, for all the things he made me and my family see. Again, things no one should ever have to experience or see.
I am the girl, who was losing sight of God in the midst of pain, sitting in the arms of Satan almost grabbing me and shaking me, saying, "God obviously doesn't love you or your family. He must not even be real, to let you experience this pain. To let your loved ones experience this pain. To steal your mother."
To which I replied everyday, "I, too, have died."
But something in me clicked. I had experienced a lot of other painful things even almost immediately after my mother's passing. But God looked at me, and offered harmless invitation.
I almost specifically felt Him put these words on my heart:
"Chrissy- I know hearing worship is hard, because it reminds you so much of your mom and so much of how I stole her. I know reading the Bible is hard, because not only does it remind you of those things but it reminds you of the question you always have of, Why do I let the world get this way? I know praying is especially hard. You don't want to talk to me after all of this. But I just need your permission. I need you to agree to let me work in you. In your heart. You just have to say yes, and eventually trust me."
To which I replied, "Ok."
And He has been working ever since. God, I'm still in inexpiable pain daily.I move along and talk to people and friends like normal again, though nothing in my life is. My heart aches for my mother. I dream about her. Last night I vividly dreamt that we were singing the song, "My Girl" together in front of my whole church. But God has been working.
I meet with 4 mentors every week that bless and HELP me richly. God, they help me. And that's the difference. I don't ask God for HELP. He doesn't HELP. He just DOES. These people, help, and encourage. But God just DOES IT.
I hike. God moved my family into an apartment, a beautiful complex actually, but no one likes living in an apartment after treasuring their first wonderful home for so many years. But he has placed hills and paths that are often quiet and seem like I am the only person who walks and hikes on them- he put them there in the Earth, formed them, knowing that I would talk to Him there, listen to worship walking along them there, take time each week to sit and just think about my mom and feel pain and the deepest of bitter sadness, but get up and keep walking, feeling great after. He knew. He didn't just know. He planned it.
I spend time with friends. They make me laugh. They always support me. They ask, "You ok?" "How are you doing?" Especially my girls. God, I love you.
I go to church. Where there are only lights of love, only where there are people who are Jesus to the world and I know will ALWAYS take care of my family and me.
I eat better. Eh, I'm trying. And I don't do it to lose weight, although I want to. I do it for emotional health. Drink a lot more water.
I take care of my dad. And he takes care of me. We are the best team ever.
I am a super hero. And as I murmur, "I, too, have died," Jesus says, "Yes. I, too, have died."
And I rise a superhero from my pain.
I am a broken, unresolved, loving, beautiful, messed up, confident, funny, compassionate, gracious, giving, selfish, sad, happy, superhero. I will take my pain, and rise, and help others and love others because of my pain. I used to have a lot more hope and happiness invested innocently in the world before my mom passed away. Now I see the world is only ridden with sadness, sickness, evil- if there is ANY good, it's because of God. It's my job to be a superhero, to save others, and then they too will take their pain and rise superheroes by my side.
And my mom will be right beside me, always.
If you ask me how I am doing, this is what I really mean when I say, "I'm hanging in there," or "I'm getting better," or "Eh, today sucks," or "I am not doing too good," or "Okay." This is how I am really doing.
I am in no means resolved, doing great, or have got it figured out why God needed my mom to pass. I am just saying that, He is working, and I am rising.
I am a superhero because of God's love.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
The Hidden Lifesong
By Chrissy Zschomler
-
I was born into the musical kingdom.
My parents made me play every morning after waking up and every night before I went to bed. Piano and singing were the two elements they focused on, separately and together. They told me that these two elements would be the thriving factors on which I would learn many other musical techniques and instruments. They explained to me often that I would learn many instruments one day, such as they had, and I would even get to play in an orchestra or band. They would encourage me as we went through robotic scales on the piano, day after day, that what I was learning then would branch off into many more beautiful aspects of the musical world. When I was old enough, I would find my place and role in the kingdom we lived in. Every citizen of our kingdom played a multitude of instruments well, but primarily focused on one instrument they played the best. This was our language.
At the age of 12 my parents took me to my first symphony orchestra, an orchestra they were a part of. They seemed so excited as we drove up to the huge arena, parked, and walked almost a mile across the parking lot into the concert hall. They walked me to my seat and told me they would come get me after the show, and that I just needed to wait right there. They challenged me to watch closely and pay attention.
Once they had left to enter backstage, I sat quietly, taking in the arena around me. There were so many seats, so many chairs; but they were so empty right now. I pictured the crowds chanting and throwing their hands up in response to the music they had heard. Music was so emotional, something I developed within playing outside of my parents' instructive lessons. I didn't feel the passion when I was playing scales. I remember a feeling come upon me at the age of 9, strumming the first guitar chords I had ever played (I taught myself guitar, without my parents' knowing. They generally knew how to play guitar, but preferred to focus on piano while I was still young. They thought guitar was "too advanced"- not precise enough to teach, really- therefore, not constructive enough to learn). I was playing outside on my front lawn. It was the beginning of fall. As I played my first song, something seemed different about the air around me. More crisp and vivid, maybe.
A half hour passed. I knew we had gotten there early for preparations, but I looked down at my watch- only 10 minutes until the show started. Shouldn't there be more people here? I guess I assumed the arena would be packed.
10 minutes came and went, and soon enough my parents were on stage performing with their symphony. I took in all the notes, all the key changes, all the pitch bending, all the chord progressions- but I became very unfocused as I dozed off into that feeling I felt out on my front lawn, in the fall air, playing my guitar. It happened as I matched the music with the facial expressions of the musicians before me. Even my parents, I had never seen them involved or engaged in their instruments in this way. And now that I had come to think of it, I had never watched them play instruments outside of teaching me how to.
My doze was suddenly interrupted when an old and hardened voice huffed into my ear, "Aren't ya a little young to be attendin' a symphony?"
I jumped a little and glanced at the man sitting next to me. When did he get here? I could have sworn no one was around me this whole time-
"My parents brought me here to listen."
He grinned and chuckled. "Ah. That's what it always seems to be. Either to memorize the numbers theyz playin' or cos your parents made ya come." He shook his head.
I blinked. Maybe that's why no one was here.
"No one comes just to enjoy the show?"
He chuckled again. "Are you kiddin'? Everyone's seen this show before. Everyone's heard these songs already. Everyone's enjoyed them, so much to the point that they just can play it themselves. You'll probably be able to play these songs one day too, kid."
I had already picked up some of the violin parts, my heart pounded fast when I had heard them; I took it as a sign that was my next instrument I should teach myself.
I sunk in my chair.
"Well then why are you here, sir?"
And suddenly, he looked face-forward at me. I collected the image of his face: scruffy, wrinkled, dirty. His rotten clothes matched his face. So did the smell. His hair was gray and out of control, bleeding into a bald spot right on top of his head. He had a slash from the side of his mouth to the bottom of his chin. I regretted my question.
"I live here," he pressed. "This is MY house."
"Oh," was all I could reply.
"Yeah. I make it pretty good here." He crossed his legs, threw his arms behind his head, and leaned back like he owned the place. "It's my kingdom here, you know? I have my own kingdom, within this so-called 'musical kingdom' we live in."
"That's good, sir," I replied. I was trying to think of polite ways to get away from him; to keep myself out of danger.
"What kind of music are ya?"
I wasn't sure what he meant by that question. We all played music, and sure there were different styles but we each played a major variety. I wasn't just one. Maybe he meant what instruments I liked to play.
"I like guitar," I told him. I thought I had made a mistake after telling him that. Guitar was not a common instrument in our kingdom, from the impression I had received from my parents it was actually pretty looked down upon. Then again, everything I knew about the kingdom I had learned from my parents.
His eyes widened. He looked straight at me. "Guitar. Wow, kid. Thas a good one."
He left the comfort of his previous haughty position and leaned in close to my face. Was I beginning to sweat? "Look. I'm about to tell you something that might save your life. Listen here. Everyone here knows music. Especially this music that they're playin." He pointed his finger at me. We were still whispering, in attempts to be courteous to the concert happening before us, I guess. But they way he began to whisper was as if someone was listening, that we didn't want to listen. "You take that guitar. You learn it. You keep learnin' it. Teach yourself. And don't stick around."
Don't stick around? What did that mean?
"Don't stick around, sir?"
"No. Kid, I can't say much, it's too dangerous. But don't confine to just stickin' around. You gotta get out. You gotta teach others about that feeling you have in the pit of your stomach when you're playing your guitar."
How did he know about that feeling?
"This kingdom is way too stuck together. We never break out. We have something really beautiful goin' here, somethin everyone needs to know. Do you know there are people out there that don't know about music? They've never even heard of it."
I couldn't fathom what he meant. People who had never heard of music? Wasn't everyone around the world taught the same way I was?
"Then why don't you go out and teach others the music you know, sir?"
He grinned. "Because, my days of music are coming to an end soon. Kid, I lived long before this kingdom existed. I was a music teacher in my youth. And the way those kids faces lit up when we played... I taught them theory, but I never forget to let them play open freestyle. Man," he paused for a reflective moment. "I'll never forget their faces. And I taught for a long time, too. Many years, many different developing styles I saw. Then I heard about the development of the music kingdom. Thought it'd be a great opportunity. And it is- when we explore and use it for the right purpose. Now everyone just lives in it's luxury, and comfort; only teaching their own kind the beauty of music. Kid, music heals. Music understands. The world needs music. And only the kingdom has it. But we've been keeping it under a bowl, in a sound proof room where no one can hear it- cos thas' what's comfortable for us-"
He suddenly took his eyes off of me and leaned over just an inch, his eyes tracing a figure of something behind me. I heard footsteps approaching swiftly through our aisle of seats.
"I've said too much. Kid, I'm here to tell kids like you to go out and teach others about the gift you've been given. Trust me, kid. This world needs you."
He placed his hand on my shoulder, and then rushed out of his seat.
I stood, attempting to assemble what had just happened. I tried to take it all in, remember it, information to meditate on. But my thoughts were shattered when a stern voice behind me chanted, "Was that man bothering you?" He was whispering, yet he still seemed so loud.
"Uh, no sir," I looked up, still sitting in my seat, while he was standing. An arena guard.
"Hm. Well, let me know if he approaches you again. He's just a poor homeless man. He is nothing but danger toward you, son." It seemed like he wasn't even paying attention to me, but just reminding himself of the authority he had with his words. Only then did he look at me when said, "And remember. No talking when the symphony is playing."
"Yessir" I addressed him.
-
"How did you enjoy the concert?" my mother asked me as we crossed the parking lot, mother holding one hand and father holding the other.
I enjoyed what I heard. But the concert was not the least of my concert, with the information the homeless man had given me during it.
"It was good," I replied.
I saw my mother and father exchange looks of concern, they probably expected or wanted a stronger answer than that, but it was the best I could do for now. I had other things to think about. Things my parents had never bothered to tell me.
"Oh no!" my father gasped.
"What?" Replied mother.
"I forgot my sheet music in the theater. And I have to practice for the next show, I need my sheets!" He looked back at the theater. "Honey, why don't you get the car started? I'll take him with me to grab the sheets."
We parted ways with mother and headed back to the arena. After walking quite a ways through the parking lot we finally met the sidewalk, and suddenly I head a ringing melody in the air. A buzzing and crisp melody, with chords in an order that was nothing like the regular chord progressions I was used to hearing around the house and playing through the speakers of school. It was different, eclectic, ecstatic. It churned out emotion instead of just dictating it as I felt my parents taught me music was. I felt the same feeling again, the same feeling I had playing my guitar. I turned my head sharply in the direction of the melody.
Two small buildings greeted the side of the arena, a ticket booth and an abandoned merchandise shop. In between these buildings was a small sliver, an alley; where the melody was coming from. There was the homeless man, playing on some sort of instrument I had never heard or seen before. It started in his mouth and blew out like a waterfall; his hands multitasking by holding the instrument in them and playing buttons on the instrument at the same time to determine the next note. It was crazy. It was surreal.
He was surrounded by 3 or 4 other men who looked a lot like him; dirty, torn up, old- homeless. They were cheering and clapping for his melody. This was the reaction I thought the audience inside the arena would have had.
"Poor guys," my dad chimed in. "See son, these are outsiders. They don't belong in the kingdom. They're not from the kingdom. They're just little ants seeking a place to stay- they usually sneak into the arena." He shook his head. "These parts can really be unsafe."
"But dad, that man is playing music. What he is playing is music. So he's a part of the kingdom," I explained.
"Well, maybe he is. But the others are reacting because they've never heard of music. We don't associate with those people, son."
I was astounded. "How do we teach the world about music if we don't associate with people who don't know about it?"
He stopped us on our way back into the arena. "Son. People like those are dangerous. They are unsafe."
"That's because they don't know about music," I huffed under my breath.
"What was that, son?" I could tell my dad was beginning to become frustrated with me.
"Nothing," I lied.
"We have children to teach them music. Then we remain safe in our kingdom, prospering on our music; our children growing up to do the same." He surprisingly began to smile. "I guess I'm glad those men were there, so I could teach you this lesson. You're getting older and it's time you learned."
We both remained quiet. His quietness was probably a way of him waiting for me to reply, "Sure thing, dad" or "Yeah, you're right father" but I couldn't find it in me to do it.
"Are we hiding from those men?" I asked him.
"What? No," he said.
"Then why can't we associate with them?"
"Because they are dangerous to our kingdom," he said.
"Why?"
"Son, if you ask one more question, I am grounding you." He got down to my level and whipped out his finger. He looked me in the eye. "Don't think I don't know what's going on. I saw you playing guitar outside our house. I saw you talking to someone during the symphony. I'm not oblivious. I can't let you do anything that is dangerous to yourself or the kingdom." He sighed and looked down. "The truth is, if you hang out with people who don't know about music, then you will forget about it. You will not practice it. You will let music go. And we can't let that happen." He looked up at me again and touched my face. "Music is your life, son."
I knew the last statement was true. But I couldn't and didn't believe the first half.
-
"Dad?"
My 11-year-old daughter unlocked her gaze from outside the car window and look forward to the back of my head in front of her. She then asked, "How did you learn about music?"
The car grew quiet. My wife looked at me and smiled. She placed her hand on top of mine.
This was the question I had been waiting my daughter to ask me. This was the moment I was waiting for.
"Sweetie, that's a great question.
I first learned music from my parents. They taught me the dynamics, normal everyday musical scales of voice and piano you are first taught when you are born in the Kingdom- very great and crucial things to learn when you are first practicing and mastering music.
But I don't think I really learned music and what it really is until I sat outside my house and strummed an old guitar one day.
And I learned how to properly use music when an old man told me that I needed to go out and teach others about it. That there were people in the world who didn't know what music was, who had never heard of it. Later that day I saw him playing in an alley to some men who had never heard music before. I will never forget the looks on their faces.
I knew then I couldn't stay in the kingdom forever. I stayed to finish studying and learning music in it's full- well, at least until I graduated high school. Then I traveled the entire kingdom, learning about different styles of music I had never heard before. So many people had so many different perspectives. I did this for two years. Then I left the kingdom, to teach others about music who didn't know about it; who have never heard of it.
I didn't just play it to them, though. I became friends with these people. We built relationships and bonds that I'll have forever. It was then, when I became invested in them, and them in me; I shared my heart about music to them. Then they just had to hear it. So I play. And they listen. And they immediately ask me to teach them.
I should also say, it's not that they want to learn about me. They genuinely want to learn about the music, how to play; and how to let it into your heart.
That's also how I met your mother. I had first met her, living among a nation of people who knew nothing about music. But when I first met her, I just knew- I felt it- that she had already known how to play music, and beautifully she did.
So we fell in love, learned more about music together, and married. And that's where you came in."
Although I couldn't see her because I was driving, I felt my daughter smile behind me.
"You didn't learn about music until you left the music kingdom, it sounds like," she suggested to me.
"Honey, I'm still learning about music. I learn about music everyday," I replied.
-
Luke 11:33 "No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light."
-
I was born into the musical kingdom.
My parents made me play every morning after waking up and every night before I went to bed. Piano and singing were the two elements they focused on, separately and together. They told me that these two elements would be the thriving factors on which I would learn many other musical techniques and instruments. They explained to me often that I would learn many instruments one day, such as they had, and I would even get to play in an orchestra or band. They would encourage me as we went through robotic scales on the piano, day after day, that what I was learning then would branch off into many more beautiful aspects of the musical world. When I was old enough, I would find my place and role in the kingdom we lived in. Every citizen of our kingdom played a multitude of instruments well, but primarily focused on one instrument they played the best. This was our language.
At the age of 12 my parents took me to my first symphony orchestra, an orchestra they were a part of. They seemed so excited as we drove up to the huge arena, parked, and walked almost a mile across the parking lot into the concert hall. They walked me to my seat and told me they would come get me after the show, and that I just needed to wait right there. They challenged me to watch closely and pay attention.
Once they had left to enter backstage, I sat quietly, taking in the arena around me. There were so many seats, so many chairs; but they were so empty right now. I pictured the crowds chanting and throwing their hands up in response to the music they had heard. Music was so emotional, something I developed within playing outside of my parents' instructive lessons. I didn't feel the passion when I was playing scales. I remember a feeling come upon me at the age of 9, strumming the first guitar chords I had ever played (I taught myself guitar, without my parents' knowing. They generally knew how to play guitar, but preferred to focus on piano while I was still young. They thought guitar was "too advanced"- not precise enough to teach, really- therefore, not constructive enough to learn). I was playing outside on my front lawn. It was the beginning of fall. As I played my first song, something seemed different about the air around me. More crisp and vivid, maybe.
A half hour passed. I knew we had gotten there early for preparations, but I looked down at my watch- only 10 minutes until the show started. Shouldn't there be more people here? I guess I assumed the arena would be packed.
10 minutes came and went, and soon enough my parents were on stage performing with their symphony. I took in all the notes, all the key changes, all the pitch bending, all the chord progressions- but I became very unfocused as I dozed off into that feeling I felt out on my front lawn, in the fall air, playing my guitar. It happened as I matched the music with the facial expressions of the musicians before me. Even my parents, I had never seen them involved or engaged in their instruments in this way. And now that I had come to think of it, I had never watched them play instruments outside of teaching me how to.
My doze was suddenly interrupted when an old and hardened voice huffed into my ear, "Aren't ya a little young to be attendin' a symphony?"
I jumped a little and glanced at the man sitting next to me. When did he get here? I could have sworn no one was around me this whole time-
"My parents brought me here to listen."
He grinned and chuckled. "Ah. That's what it always seems to be. Either to memorize the numbers theyz playin' or cos your parents made ya come." He shook his head.
I blinked. Maybe that's why no one was here.
"No one comes just to enjoy the show?"
He chuckled again. "Are you kiddin'? Everyone's seen this show before. Everyone's heard these songs already. Everyone's enjoyed them, so much to the point that they just can play it themselves. You'll probably be able to play these songs one day too, kid."
I had already picked up some of the violin parts, my heart pounded fast when I had heard them; I took it as a sign that was my next instrument I should teach myself.
I sunk in my chair.
"Well then why are you here, sir?"
And suddenly, he looked face-forward at me. I collected the image of his face: scruffy, wrinkled, dirty. His rotten clothes matched his face. So did the smell. His hair was gray and out of control, bleeding into a bald spot right on top of his head. He had a slash from the side of his mouth to the bottom of his chin. I regretted my question.
"I live here," he pressed. "This is MY house."
"Oh," was all I could reply.
"Yeah. I make it pretty good here." He crossed his legs, threw his arms behind his head, and leaned back like he owned the place. "It's my kingdom here, you know? I have my own kingdom, within this so-called 'musical kingdom' we live in."
"That's good, sir," I replied. I was trying to think of polite ways to get away from him; to keep myself out of danger.
"What kind of music are ya?"
I wasn't sure what he meant by that question. We all played music, and sure there were different styles but we each played a major variety. I wasn't just one. Maybe he meant what instruments I liked to play.
"I like guitar," I told him. I thought I had made a mistake after telling him that. Guitar was not a common instrument in our kingdom, from the impression I had received from my parents it was actually pretty looked down upon. Then again, everything I knew about the kingdom I had learned from my parents.
His eyes widened. He looked straight at me. "Guitar. Wow, kid. Thas a good one."
He left the comfort of his previous haughty position and leaned in close to my face. Was I beginning to sweat? "Look. I'm about to tell you something that might save your life. Listen here. Everyone here knows music. Especially this music that they're playin." He pointed his finger at me. We were still whispering, in attempts to be courteous to the concert happening before us, I guess. But they way he began to whisper was as if someone was listening, that we didn't want to listen. "You take that guitar. You learn it. You keep learnin' it. Teach yourself. And don't stick around."
Don't stick around? What did that mean?
"Don't stick around, sir?"
"No. Kid, I can't say much, it's too dangerous. But don't confine to just stickin' around. You gotta get out. You gotta teach others about that feeling you have in the pit of your stomach when you're playing your guitar."
How did he know about that feeling?
"This kingdom is way too stuck together. We never break out. We have something really beautiful goin' here, somethin everyone needs to know. Do you know there are people out there that don't know about music? They've never even heard of it."
I couldn't fathom what he meant. People who had never heard of music? Wasn't everyone around the world taught the same way I was?
"Then why don't you go out and teach others the music you know, sir?"
He grinned. "Because, my days of music are coming to an end soon. Kid, I lived long before this kingdom existed. I was a music teacher in my youth. And the way those kids faces lit up when we played... I taught them theory, but I never forget to let them play open freestyle. Man," he paused for a reflective moment. "I'll never forget their faces. And I taught for a long time, too. Many years, many different developing styles I saw. Then I heard about the development of the music kingdom. Thought it'd be a great opportunity. And it is- when we explore and use it for the right purpose. Now everyone just lives in it's luxury, and comfort; only teaching their own kind the beauty of music. Kid, music heals. Music understands. The world needs music. And only the kingdom has it. But we've been keeping it under a bowl, in a sound proof room where no one can hear it- cos thas' what's comfortable for us-"
He suddenly took his eyes off of me and leaned over just an inch, his eyes tracing a figure of something behind me. I heard footsteps approaching swiftly through our aisle of seats.
"I've said too much. Kid, I'm here to tell kids like you to go out and teach others about the gift you've been given. Trust me, kid. This world needs you."
He placed his hand on my shoulder, and then rushed out of his seat.
I stood, attempting to assemble what had just happened. I tried to take it all in, remember it, information to meditate on. But my thoughts were shattered when a stern voice behind me chanted, "Was that man bothering you?" He was whispering, yet he still seemed so loud.
"Uh, no sir," I looked up, still sitting in my seat, while he was standing. An arena guard.
"Hm. Well, let me know if he approaches you again. He's just a poor homeless man. He is nothing but danger toward you, son." It seemed like he wasn't even paying attention to me, but just reminding himself of the authority he had with his words. Only then did he look at me when said, "And remember. No talking when the symphony is playing."
"Yessir" I addressed him.
-
"How did you enjoy the concert?" my mother asked me as we crossed the parking lot, mother holding one hand and father holding the other.
I enjoyed what I heard. But the concert was not the least of my concert, with the information the homeless man had given me during it.
"It was good," I replied.
I saw my mother and father exchange looks of concern, they probably expected or wanted a stronger answer than that, but it was the best I could do for now. I had other things to think about. Things my parents had never bothered to tell me.
"Oh no!" my father gasped.
"What?" Replied mother.
"I forgot my sheet music in the theater. And I have to practice for the next show, I need my sheets!" He looked back at the theater. "Honey, why don't you get the car started? I'll take him with me to grab the sheets."
We parted ways with mother and headed back to the arena. After walking quite a ways through the parking lot we finally met the sidewalk, and suddenly I head a ringing melody in the air. A buzzing and crisp melody, with chords in an order that was nothing like the regular chord progressions I was used to hearing around the house and playing through the speakers of school. It was different, eclectic, ecstatic. It churned out emotion instead of just dictating it as I felt my parents taught me music was. I felt the same feeling again, the same feeling I had playing my guitar. I turned my head sharply in the direction of the melody.
Two small buildings greeted the side of the arena, a ticket booth and an abandoned merchandise shop. In between these buildings was a small sliver, an alley; where the melody was coming from. There was the homeless man, playing on some sort of instrument I had never heard or seen before. It started in his mouth and blew out like a waterfall; his hands multitasking by holding the instrument in them and playing buttons on the instrument at the same time to determine the next note. It was crazy. It was surreal.
He was surrounded by 3 or 4 other men who looked a lot like him; dirty, torn up, old- homeless. They were cheering and clapping for his melody. This was the reaction I thought the audience inside the arena would have had.
"Poor guys," my dad chimed in. "See son, these are outsiders. They don't belong in the kingdom. They're not from the kingdom. They're just little ants seeking a place to stay- they usually sneak into the arena." He shook his head. "These parts can really be unsafe."
"But dad, that man is playing music. What he is playing is music. So he's a part of the kingdom," I explained.
"Well, maybe he is. But the others are reacting because they've never heard of music. We don't associate with those people, son."
I was astounded. "How do we teach the world about music if we don't associate with people who don't know about it?"
He stopped us on our way back into the arena. "Son. People like those are dangerous. They are unsafe."
"That's because they don't know about music," I huffed under my breath.
"What was that, son?" I could tell my dad was beginning to become frustrated with me.
"Nothing," I lied.
"We have children to teach them music. Then we remain safe in our kingdom, prospering on our music; our children growing up to do the same." He surprisingly began to smile. "I guess I'm glad those men were there, so I could teach you this lesson. You're getting older and it's time you learned."
We both remained quiet. His quietness was probably a way of him waiting for me to reply, "Sure thing, dad" or "Yeah, you're right father" but I couldn't find it in me to do it.
"Are we hiding from those men?" I asked him.
"What? No," he said.
"Then why can't we associate with them?"
"Because they are dangerous to our kingdom," he said.
"Why?"
"Son, if you ask one more question, I am grounding you." He got down to my level and whipped out his finger. He looked me in the eye. "Don't think I don't know what's going on. I saw you playing guitar outside our house. I saw you talking to someone during the symphony. I'm not oblivious. I can't let you do anything that is dangerous to yourself or the kingdom." He sighed and looked down. "The truth is, if you hang out with people who don't know about music, then you will forget about it. You will not practice it. You will let music go. And we can't let that happen." He looked up at me again and touched my face. "Music is your life, son."
I knew the last statement was true. But I couldn't and didn't believe the first half.
-
"Dad?"
My 11-year-old daughter unlocked her gaze from outside the car window and look forward to the back of my head in front of her. She then asked, "How did you learn about music?"
The car grew quiet. My wife looked at me and smiled. She placed her hand on top of mine.
This was the question I had been waiting my daughter to ask me. This was the moment I was waiting for.
"Sweetie, that's a great question.
I first learned music from my parents. They taught me the dynamics, normal everyday musical scales of voice and piano you are first taught when you are born in the Kingdom- very great and crucial things to learn when you are first practicing and mastering music.
But I don't think I really learned music and what it really is until I sat outside my house and strummed an old guitar one day.
And I learned how to properly use music when an old man told me that I needed to go out and teach others about it. That there were people in the world who didn't know what music was, who had never heard of it. Later that day I saw him playing in an alley to some men who had never heard music before. I will never forget the looks on their faces.
I knew then I couldn't stay in the kingdom forever. I stayed to finish studying and learning music in it's full- well, at least until I graduated high school. Then I traveled the entire kingdom, learning about different styles of music I had never heard before. So many people had so many different perspectives. I did this for two years. Then I left the kingdom, to teach others about music who didn't know about it; who have never heard of it.
I didn't just play it to them, though. I became friends with these people. We built relationships and bonds that I'll have forever. It was then, when I became invested in them, and them in me; I shared my heart about music to them. Then they just had to hear it. So I play. And they listen. And they immediately ask me to teach them.
I should also say, it's not that they want to learn about me. They genuinely want to learn about the music, how to play; and how to let it into your heart.
That's also how I met your mother. I had first met her, living among a nation of people who knew nothing about music. But when I first met her, I just knew- I felt it- that she had already known how to play music, and beautifully she did.
So we fell in love, learned more about music together, and married. And that's where you came in."
Although I couldn't see her because I was driving, I felt my daughter smile behind me.
"You didn't learn about music until you left the music kingdom, it sounds like," she suggested to me.
"Honey, I'm still learning about music. I learn about music everyday," I replied.
-
Luke 11:33 "No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light."
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Earth's Lullaby
The gray stretches over the sky, as if
God is bending over the heavens, protecting the Earth.
We are sheltered in the safety of His shadow,
the Earth is resting; it sighs with relief
And thousands of leaves dance
With the Earth's breath of rest.
The rain drums a quiet but steady beat
And who is here to sing the melody?
We all turn back to school and learning,
we all return to a cycle of life
But when we get the chance to rest
in the portions in between the cycle segments
That's when we remember and reflect
on the hope we have.
We become aware of
His shadow among and around us.
In this, life doesn't seem so spread out anymore.
Your age's length doesn't seem so elderly after all.
Problems still exist, but with purpose
and while they circulate we are still able to live with sanity.
It won't always be this way. It can be
but take in the rest while it is here.
Pause a moment to breath
And fall silent as the Earth transitions to rest around you.
God is bending over the heavens, protecting the Earth.
We are sheltered in the safety of His shadow,
the Earth is resting; it sighs with relief
And thousands of leaves dance
With the Earth's breath of rest.
The rain drums a quiet but steady beat
And who is here to sing the melody?
We all turn back to school and learning,
we all return to a cycle of life
But when we get the chance to rest
in the portions in between the cycle segments
That's when we remember and reflect
on the hope we have.
We become aware of
His shadow among and around us.
In this, life doesn't seem so spread out anymore.
Your age's length doesn't seem so elderly after all.
Problems still exist, but with purpose
and while they circulate we are still able to live with sanity.
It won't always be this way. It can be
but take in the rest while it is here.
Pause a moment to breath
And fall silent as the Earth transitions to rest around you.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Genuine
Once upon a time in a far away royal, wealthy, and largely standing kingdom called Sunnzar there once was a young girl who was none of these things. She was born into a poor family who had given her up for adoption because of her parent's incapability to afford raising her. After years of not yet being adopted she was transferred into a foster system, growing up with a sweet old woman in a tiny & humble home on the edge of the kingdom (often passed by newcomers and tourists on their way into the kingdom). Her and the old woman's niece were about the same age. In her home and at a very old age the old woman died a peaceful death. She lived a good, long life and Amatha truly appreciated her for who she was- but lived in fear of how she could continue to live in the house and lifestyle the old woman left behind.
Amatha fended to live on her own at the youngest adult age of 18. Amatha struggled to get a job and convinced herself she was going to live out on the streets, just before she was hired at a restaurant on a surrounding street of the main castle of the kingdom because of their desperate need for kitchen workers.
As she tied her apron before her first day she thought to herself about how she certainly didn't plan on working in a kitchen. She thought, if she was going to be hired at this restaurant, she would at least work as a servant, a waitress, even a cleaning maid. But she had no complaints because money was money- she had no other options it seemed.
It was also beneficial because she got one free meal from there working more than 4 hours, and working 8 hours she got two. On her first day after they explained this system to her, she decided to have her employee meal before working- she hadn't eaten more than crackers in the past 1 or 2 days, she couldn't remember.
She felt very royally treated as they brought out her food to her with a smile and the question of if she needed anything else, kindly replying "no thank you". She hadn't remembered eating as good of a meal as this served with as much warmth since her foster mother passed.
She didn't remember eating a meal that looked so nicely made either. It was assorted beautifully on her plate, so colorful and so tasteful to the eyes. It made her excited to work behind-the-scenes of such seemingly gourmet food. She finished her food with 5 minutes to spare, then began work.
They quickly trained her in one area of the kitchen where they were lacking staff the most, and then left her be to began picking up on their cooking system for herself; as it was also where they placed their beginning kitchen workers. She felt good and confident about what she was doing- something made her sense that she was meant to be here.
She heard her stomach growl as she was preparing raw chicken to be made, a few hours within working. She thought of it as nothing; she hadn't eaten in possibly a few days- of course she was hungry, even after that wonderful meal. But suddenly it growled again, and this time she felt it in the pit of her stomach. She still tried to shake it off and kept trying to prepare the raw chicken. But only a few minutes later her vision began to blur slowly as she became more and more nauseous. She tried to balance herself, as someone in the station beside her asked if she was alright. In her attempt to nod, she staggered. "Someone get her help," she heard as she blurred out of consciousness.
****
"I am so sorry about yesterday. I don't know what overcame me," Amatha tried to explain to her boss. "Everything just started to fade as I felt piercing pain in my stomach. I won't let it happen again."
"How will you do that?" the boss questioned her. "Did you at least see a doctor?"
She couldn't even think about how expensive a doctor would cost. How could she ever afford one? But she didn't want to tell him that. "No. I was fine when I got home."
"Alright. Well, if you're well enough, we need you back in there today. Are you up for it?"
"Yes yes, most definitely," she assured him.
And into the kitchen she went. She felt hungry as she prepared the chicken, but simply forgot to get her meal before work that day.
A few hours into her shift she took a break to use the restroom. After stepping out of the public restroom, she nearly bumped into a woman who looked wound up and ready to attack.
"Excuse me, do you work in this establishment?!" She enraged.
"Yes," the young girl responded.
"Well. I am certainly not here to buy any of your food today. I just came to say your food poisoned my child!!" She sternly pointed toward the kitchen and continued. "Whatever is coming out of there caused my child to black out. We were in the hospital all night!! And guess what the doctors diagnosed?"
The young girl stood silently, mouth slightly open from shock.
"Food poisoning!" She shook her head as her face almost began to glisten with sweat from rage. "I don't know what you all are doing back there. But you better start thinking about what you're serving. My babies need food to live. If you serve this kind of rummage as food, how do you expect anyone to live fully?" She whipped herself to the door and slammed it behind her.
The young woman didn't know what to say at all. "...how do you expect anyone to live fully?" rung through her head. She began to look around at the guests surrounding her, trying to figure out what was in the food that was causing this to happen; making it apparent what caused her blacking out the previous day.
She watched a young family eat food she helped prepare. They said grace before their food and smiled in excitement of eating it. They all dug in, laughing over shared stories and comfort from the necessity of hunger being satisfied with food that not only looked good, and smelled good, but tasted good- so oblivious and ignorant to what they were possibly contaminating themselves with.
She couldn't believe it. She remembered the feeling of amazement as she studied her colorfully arrayed plate of food the previous day. How could food that looked, smelled, and tasted so delightful caused such pain, misery, and illness?
She marched to the kitchen. Something wasn't right, and she had to get to the bottom of it.
****
The young woman tied up her hair in the restaurant bathroom while holding a bobby pin in her teeth. After quickly pinching them into her hair, she dashed to the kitchen where her coworker tossed her a hairnet.
"I'm surprised, Amatha-" her coworker chuckled, "-even after being promoted to manager for a year now, you still barely make it to work on time."
"You think I'd learn by now," Amatha laughed along.
"Well, at least you're good at everything else." She smiled and returned to the station Amatha had once started at preparing chicken.
Amatha grinned and decided to help her new coworker at the station for beginners. She reflected on how far she had come since then- after giving out food poisoning and receiving food poisoning herself, Amatha went on to research and spend long nights seeing what could possibly being causing food that looked, smelled, and tasted so good to be causing such a terrible reaction. She eventually saw different elements happening such as cross-contamination and other various unsanitary practices occurring within the kitchen. After bringing these to the attention of her boss, new safety and cleanliness rules as well as cooking practices were established. And when this happened, the restaurant buzzed with new customers; even though nothing was revealed about the uncleanliness of the kitchen previously to the public. They just seemed to appear and keep appearing. Her boss eventually promoted her and glorified her for taking action to bring the customers the best quality food she could to the table-to make the food looking, smelling, and tasting good- but all as a result of actually being good, not just because they were able to make it seem so within the kitchen.
Amatha smiled as she walked through dining room feeling purpose- to bring something into these people's lives that was more than just nice looking, but was genuine; and gave them a necessity that was vital to life. Amatha went on to become a personal cook for the royal members of the governing kingdom of Sunnzar.
***
How can we serve others and give God's love and word in a way that is completely genuine, not just making ourselves look like good people or act like our lives are perfect- but living in joy, comfort, and complete confidence as a result of what God has done for us? It's okay to have brokenness in our lives. It's okay to be imperfect and to mess up everyday. God still loves us. I think God would rather us live messy looking lives while in a relationship with Him then living a life that looks perfect but is actually fake and lacking what is vital for us to live- God. Like the food previously cooked in the story, if we allow our lives to be masked by images that we are fine and that nothing is wrong- we will only poison ourselves. But if we live genuinely for the Lord, and genuinely serve others and genuinely interpret and live out His word- we will be filled with what is necessary to live, like food is necessary for us to live- God's love.
And a special thanks to a coworker of mine from work who provided a different version of the metaphor for this story!
Amatha fended to live on her own at the youngest adult age of 18. Amatha struggled to get a job and convinced herself she was going to live out on the streets, just before she was hired at a restaurant on a surrounding street of the main castle of the kingdom because of their desperate need for kitchen workers.
As she tied her apron before her first day she thought to herself about how she certainly didn't plan on working in a kitchen. She thought, if she was going to be hired at this restaurant, she would at least work as a servant, a waitress, even a cleaning maid. But she had no complaints because money was money- she had no other options it seemed.
It was also beneficial because she got one free meal from there working more than 4 hours, and working 8 hours she got two. On her first day after they explained this system to her, she decided to have her employee meal before working- she hadn't eaten more than crackers in the past 1 or 2 days, she couldn't remember.
She felt very royally treated as they brought out her food to her with a smile and the question of if she needed anything else, kindly replying "no thank you". She hadn't remembered eating as good of a meal as this served with as much warmth since her foster mother passed.
She didn't remember eating a meal that looked so nicely made either. It was assorted beautifully on her plate, so colorful and so tasteful to the eyes. It made her excited to work behind-the-scenes of such seemingly gourmet food. She finished her food with 5 minutes to spare, then began work.
They quickly trained her in one area of the kitchen where they were lacking staff the most, and then left her be to began picking up on their cooking system for herself; as it was also where they placed their beginning kitchen workers. She felt good and confident about what she was doing- something made her sense that she was meant to be here.
She heard her stomach growl as she was preparing raw chicken to be made, a few hours within working. She thought of it as nothing; she hadn't eaten in possibly a few days- of course she was hungry, even after that wonderful meal. But suddenly it growled again, and this time she felt it in the pit of her stomach. She still tried to shake it off and kept trying to prepare the raw chicken. But only a few minutes later her vision began to blur slowly as she became more and more nauseous. She tried to balance herself, as someone in the station beside her asked if she was alright. In her attempt to nod, she staggered. "Someone get her help," she heard as she blurred out of consciousness.
****
"I am so sorry about yesterday. I don't know what overcame me," Amatha tried to explain to her boss. "Everything just started to fade as I felt piercing pain in my stomach. I won't let it happen again."
"How will you do that?" the boss questioned her. "Did you at least see a doctor?"
She couldn't even think about how expensive a doctor would cost. How could she ever afford one? But she didn't want to tell him that. "No. I was fine when I got home."
"Alright. Well, if you're well enough, we need you back in there today. Are you up for it?"
"Yes yes, most definitely," she assured him.
And into the kitchen she went. She felt hungry as she prepared the chicken, but simply forgot to get her meal before work that day.
A few hours into her shift she took a break to use the restroom. After stepping out of the public restroom, she nearly bumped into a woman who looked wound up and ready to attack.
"Excuse me, do you work in this establishment?!" She enraged.
"Yes," the young girl responded.
"Well. I am certainly not here to buy any of your food today. I just came to say your food poisoned my child!!" She sternly pointed toward the kitchen and continued. "Whatever is coming out of there caused my child to black out. We were in the hospital all night!! And guess what the doctors diagnosed?"
The young girl stood silently, mouth slightly open from shock.
"Food poisoning!" She shook her head as her face almost began to glisten with sweat from rage. "I don't know what you all are doing back there. But you better start thinking about what you're serving. My babies need food to live. If you serve this kind of rummage as food, how do you expect anyone to live fully?" She whipped herself to the door and slammed it behind her.
The young woman didn't know what to say at all. "...how do you expect anyone to live fully?" rung through her head. She began to look around at the guests surrounding her, trying to figure out what was in the food that was causing this to happen; making it apparent what caused her blacking out the previous day.
She watched a young family eat food she helped prepare. They said grace before their food and smiled in excitement of eating it. They all dug in, laughing over shared stories and comfort from the necessity of hunger being satisfied with food that not only looked good, and smelled good, but tasted good- so oblivious and ignorant to what they were possibly contaminating themselves with.
She couldn't believe it. She remembered the feeling of amazement as she studied her colorfully arrayed plate of food the previous day. How could food that looked, smelled, and tasted so delightful caused such pain, misery, and illness?
She marched to the kitchen. Something wasn't right, and she had to get to the bottom of it.
****
The young woman tied up her hair in the restaurant bathroom while holding a bobby pin in her teeth. After quickly pinching them into her hair, she dashed to the kitchen where her coworker tossed her a hairnet.
"I'm surprised, Amatha-" her coworker chuckled, "-even after being promoted to manager for a year now, you still barely make it to work on time."
"You think I'd learn by now," Amatha laughed along.
"Well, at least you're good at everything else." She smiled and returned to the station Amatha had once started at preparing chicken.
Amatha grinned and decided to help her new coworker at the station for beginners. She reflected on how far she had come since then- after giving out food poisoning and receiving food poisoning herself, Amatha went on to research and spend long nights seeing what could possibly being causing food that looked, smelled, and tasted so good to be causing such a terrible reaction. She eventually saw different elements happening such as cross-contamination and other various unsanitary practices occurring within the kitchen. After bringing these to the attention of her boss, new safety and cleanliness rules as well as cooking practices were established. And when this happened, the restaurant buzzed with new customers; even though nothing was revealed about the uncleanliness of the kitchen previously to the public. They just seemed to appear and keep appearing. Her boss eventually promoted her and glorified her for taking action to bring the customers the best quality food she could to the table-to make the food looking, smelling, and tasting good- but all as a result of actually being good, not just because they were able to make it seem so within the kitchen.
Amatha smiled as she walked through dining room feeling purpose- to bring something into these people's lives that was more than just nice looking, but was genuine; and gave them a necessity that was vital to life. Amatha went on to become a personal cook for the royal members of the governing kingdom of Sunnzar.
***
How can we serve others and give God's love and word in a way that is completely genuine, not just making ourselves look like good people or act like our lives are perfect- but living in joy, comfort, and complete confidence as a result of what God has done for us? It's okay to have brokenness in our lives. It's okay to be imperfect and to mess up everyday. God still loves us. I think God would rather us live messy looking lives while in a relationship with Him then living a life that looks perfect but is actually fake and lacking what is vital for us to live- God. Like the food previously cooked in the story, if we allow our lives to be masked by images that we are fine and that nothing is wrong- we will only poison ourselves. But if we live genuinely for the Lord, and genuinely serve others and genuinely interpret and live out His word- we will be filled with what is necessary to live, like food is necessary for us to live- God's love.
And a special thanks to a coworker of mine from work who provided a different version of the metaphor for this story!
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