that time I painted a bedroom... or three

I spent today in Coatesville, PA. If you know anything about the area, you'll know that it was - about a decade ago - home to one of the largest sites for drug dealing on the East coast. No one went up the hill to the projects; not even the mail man. That infamous hill in Coatesville is where I worked all day - not with drug dealers, mind you, but with Habitat for Humanity. About ten years ago the government tore down the projects and, long story short, Habitat was given a substantial number of housing lots by a developer. The site director told us that there are some home owners in the new Habitat houses who grew up on that hill and are amazed by the changes. Newness and life abound; there's hope in that community. To me it was a perfect illustration of how nothing is ever too far gone that it can't be made beautiful.

And it was a wonderful thing to be part of the work Habitat's doing in Coatesville. To hear the stories of what it had been was one thing; but to work alongside and hear the stories of one of the women who's a future home owner - knowing that it's people like her that we were blessing by our labor - was even better. Even though it was simple, today was a day I won't soon forget. I even took home a souvenir as a reminder: a whole slew of white paint stains on my clothes (but at least I'm a pretty confident room painter now).

There was even something - can I say - sacred about today. Seeing. Hearing. Doing. Experiencing. Creating. All these are things that resonate with us as embodied beings, that bring meaning into life. It's possible to have your eyes opened to new ideas in the classroom, but those ideas really take root when you get outside of intellectual speculation and start making concrete application.

Let me make a distinction, though. I used to be under the impression that either you "went and did" or you "sat and thought," as if they were mutually exclusive and you had to pick which you thought was best - or as if one was merely a step up the ladder, a means to achieve the higher good of the other. But I've become convinced that it's not a black and white issue and that life doesn't fit into neat little packages that can be stacked on top of one another, making it very easy to prioritize the ones you want and ignore the rest. I'm convinced that we're both reasoning and creative beings and that both contemplation and action are vitally important. What's more, they work hand in hand, each making the other better. Hearing and discussing new perspectives can certainly lead to more informed action (and vice versa).

And there you have it. In the words of the woman I mentioned earlier: Good things really can come out of Coatesville.

how the day sounds

It's funny how sometimes when you leave a place you're familiar with and come back it feels like you never left. Coming back to school made it seem like my summer was part of some alternate reality - some very wonderful alternate reality. Moreover, having so recently left the ranch it felt a bit like I was being torn out of one world - one full of boots and jeans, idyllic landscapes and days of physical labor - and being tossed abruptly into another - one full of shorts and flip-flops, faster-paced city scapes and hours of intellectual rigor. But after returning to well-loved spots around campus and seeing the faces of people I've journeyed with for the past two years, all the memories (both the good and the bad) have mixed with hopeful expectations for the future. And all is well.

I could rattle off a list of things I miss about ranch life. But reminiscing only takes you so far. It's one thing to fondly remember all those great times, but it's another to take what you learned in one place and go do something with it in another instead of always looking over your shoulder regretting that you're not "there" anymore.

So if I learned anything this summer it's this: people matter. Every single person matters a heck of a lot. No matter if they're different than you, no matter if they stink or get on your nerves or if they make you envious of what you don't have. And life is so much better when you live with other people in mind. When the Bible says stuff like "It's better to give than to receive" or "Look out for others' interests before your own," it's actually telling the truth. Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure we're all a lot happier when we don't live for ourselves all the time. That gets kinda boring after awhile anyway; I for one am certainly not as cool or exciting as I'd like to think sometimes.

This leads me to another conclusion: I don't think I'd ever want to live in a large city. Yesterday I took a trip to NYC to visit a friend of mine. For the sake of seeing her, the trip was absolutely wonderful. But I am by no means a city person. I just don't like the constant "go, go, go" attitude or the ever- present crowds. And I especially don't like the fact that everything's so rushed and there's no space to take a deep breath - unless you want to inhale pollution - or to stop and smell the roses - besides, unless you stop at one of those stands where would you find the roses anyway? Sure I'm making generalizations. But the point of what I'm saying is this: When I was walking around the city I was so caught up in the atmosphere and getting to our destination - often undetermined... but highly important nonetheless - that I didn't take time to appreciate what was around me. Or to remember that those "walking road blocks" around me were my fellow human beings, that they each had stories of their own and their own unique joys and struggles.

You don't have to be in a city to have the same experience. You could be in line at a grocery store or even just sitting in class. Every day is full of those moments where you can choose to keep your distance from the beauty and brokenness of others or where you can choose to take a step closer. My experience has been that the latter is always a better option. Not easier. But better - for both them and you.

Now to wrap up this long post. There's this song by Greg Laswell called "How the Day Sounds." I can't vouch for any of his other music because I've never heard it, but I love this one song. He talks about how he had misunderstood what love is: "Everything I knew of love / I was a long way off." But somewhere along the line he begins to understand, if even a little bit, what love's really all about - and it totally changes his perspective: "I like how the day sounds through this new song." I feel a bit like Greg right now. Learning what love is and how to put it into practice. Having my ears opened wider and hearing the joyous notes of "This is How the World's Meant to Be" all around me. And it's a beautiful sound.