Sometimes I enjoy
Unfinished thoughts that wander
Without periods

surrender

This whole year I thought I was having a crisis in which I was coming to terms with the fact that my life was my own – that I was crossing the threshold from adolescence to adulthood – and assuming all the responsibilities that come with that crossing. But what God has shown me is that He has been teaching me the perfection of this revelation. I am responsible for my life. But my life is no longer my own. In order to remain true to my convictions a crucifixion of self must result, a complete and terrifying surrender of everything I have come to call “mine.” I find myself at a crossroads, knowing what path I have chosen, finally beginning to understand the cost. Surrender looks so much nicer written on some arbitrary piece of paper that I can lose or misplace, typed up on a word document I can save away in the depths of my laptop’s memory.

Summer in Nicaragua

It bothered me because I could not stay. I was an American glutton, feeding on their third-world lifestyles; drinking in their tattered clothes, muddy feet, bloated bellies. I was an observer, an outsider. I gave of my time and resources so I could take from their smiles of gratitude – easing the guilt that plagued my conscience. I had to alleviate their pain in order to negate my own. But I did not give myself. I did not sit with them in the quiet of the afternoon to watch the sun sink over the rio coco. I did not dance to their songs. I did not share in their stories. My body was there in the jungle but my mind was sitting in a Starbucks in California, sipping a venti mocha. It bothered me because I did not want to stay.