Birthdays and Baby Talk

And I'm back from the world of surgery.

Years ago I would have been bashful about asking for money on my blog. --Please don't stop reading, yet-- Months ago I was bashful about even having a blog.

You know those people who swear up and down that they would never call their boyfriend babe or be lovey dovey in public, and BAM once they meet that special someone they're baby-schnookums-muffin talking and nuzzling all over the place?

That's what Plant With Purpose did for me.

I swore I would never blog--too much self-promotion.
I swore I would never ask anyone for money--too self-degrading.
I swore I would never in a million years work in fundraising--too sleazy car salesmen sounding for my shy, literary self.

And now, I must admit, I do all of these things on an almost daily basis.

What changed? Did I sell out?

I would like to think that I didn't. I would like to think that my shameless Plant With Purpose promotion has been a lesson in humility. In putting an organization I love--and the people it serves--above my self and my desire for privacy, self-sufficiency, and autonomy.

When you love someone (or something), you want to shout it from the rooftops. And that's how I feel about Plant With Purpose. For those of you who don't know, Plant With Purpose is a Christian non-profit organization that reverses deforestation and poverty around the world by transforming the lives of the rural poor. What does that mean exactly? Basically, we come alongside poor, rural communities around the world to restore productivity to their land, create economic opportunity, and foster spiritual growth through discipleship and church partnership. Our main focus, above giving anything away or even solving any problems, is transformation. We believe that all of us—not just poor people or rich people or people who speak different languages or live in different countries—are on this journey of transformation. A journey of learning—and choosing—to live and enjoy life as it was intended to be. A journey to “recover our true identity as human beings created in the image of God and to discover our true vocation as productive stewards, faithfully caring for the world and all the people in it.”

That’s it. That’s what Plant With Purpose is about. With a heaping dose of humility and a hearty dash of respect, we seek to come alongside individuals and communities to bring about this positive change, both in their lives and in our own. This idea is what I first fell in love with. The people I have met in the field--the hardworking Oaxacan mothers, the big grin wearing Dominican men-- and the countless stories of men, women, and children I receive from the field are the reason the feeling hasn't faded.

And this is why I am unashamed to ask you, dear blog readers (well, family, a sprinkling of friends, and, of course, my mother), to please consider donating to Plant With Purpose for my milestone 25th birthday this Sunday.

You can donate to my Birthday Wish on Facebook or give directly through our website: https://www.plantwithpurpose.org/donate.

Thanks for reading this far, if you did. Thank you for supporting me in my life and my work. And thank you for putting up with my shameless, baby-talk equivalent, Plant With Purpose promotion.

Big Word Wednesday

I would like to take this Wednesday to initiate a new blog series: Big Word Wednesday.

And the big--and apropos--word of the day is...dun da da da....Septoplasty.

According to Wikipedia, "Septoplasty is a corrective surgical procedure done to straighten the nasal septum, the partition between the two nasal cavities."

The apropos part is that I had this surgery done yesterday. Basically, I got a nose job not for looks, but so that I will be able to breathe through my nose, perhaps alleviate chronic headaches, and finally be able take some much-yearned-after ujjayi* breaths through my nose during yoga class.

I tried to think of ways to relate this "delay of respiration" to storing up treasure in heaven in order to redeem this post for you, my dear readers, but I couldn't think of anything that didn't sound cheesy or trite or too much like I'm just trying to convince myself that all this pain will be worth it in the end.

Upon my recovery, I look forward to providing you with more insightful topics and big words that don't pertain to medical procedures.

Thank you.

*Ujjayi breathing is a technique used in many yoga practices where you breathe in and out of your nose with your lips sealed and make almost a low growl sound with your throat as you push the air out. Previously being incapable of sealing my lips for more than 30 seconds without passing out, this new procedure will greatly improve my yoga clout.

I say I want to know your story, but I haven't even asked

When I look into your eyes, I can see your story.

But that's as far as I get.

What is love?

What is kindness?

Where does my story stop and your story begin?

I've spent my whole life writing my own story.

I haven't had time to listen to yours.

Why am I paralyzed in fear?

Why is it so hard to look past my story for one minute?

What is it that I'm scared of?

Am I scared that your story will be different, or do I fear that it will be the same?

I say I want to know your story,

but I haven't even asked.

I can live with you for a semester and not even know you.

I can live with you for a lifetime and never even know your dreams.

I want to know you, I really do.

What story do I believe in?

That this is it, this is all?

Is there a heaven or a God?

Why haven't I learned that your story is my story?

That when I ignore you, I discount myself.

When I'm scared of you, it's really me that I'm afraid of.

If I really knew His love, would I be scared?

His love is supposed to drive out fear.

I want Your love to be my story.

This was one of my journal entries from March 31, 2006, in the middle of my religious and ontological crisis. I'm discovering more and more the importance of stories. Discovering more and more how to let His love be my story.

But these questions still linger, still hound me.

If I can barely make sense of things in my own head, how do I find the space to let others' stories in?

Looking back, I can see these questions, in fact all of my journal entries from that year, were steeped in loneliness. A loneliness and an insecurity that led to hostility toward myself and others. A loneliness that I (and I think everyone) still struggle with.

I just finished reading Henri Nowen's Reaching Out, where he speaks about the dichotomy between loneliness (a needy, grasping place) and solitude (a posture of secure identity and contentment).

He writes, "As long as we are lonely, we cannot be hospitable because as lonely people we cannot create free space. Our own need to still our inner cravings of loneliness makes us cling to others instead of creating space for them."

This journey to love myself is also a journey to love others. To create space for others. To allow their stories to become my own.

I am striving for a spiritual life that "makes [me] so alert and aware of the world around [me], that all that is and happens becomes part of [my] contemplation and meditation and invites [me] to a free and fearless response." Nouwen

God, please allow your love to be my story, so that my heart may be opened to others' stories.