One Girls Prison Story

He leads her up the familar stairway

He claims that evidence proves she is guilty of theft

As an officer, it is his responsibility to enforce the law -- in this case, she must go to prison.

She fights the accusations but before she knows it she is in her prison cell.

The officer is there, keeping an eye on her.

His eyes curious of this thief before him.

He approaches his curiousity, hidden behind bars of steel.

Intolerable of theft, he demands justice... now.

And he takes it into his own hands.

Asking that she lay on her prison bed.

Pressing his lips on her bubble gum bonnebell lips.

Guiding his hand over her stomach -- quickly unbuttoning her pants.

She lays there, uncertain of his actions.

Until finally he forces his justice on her.

She finally speaks.

Her first words during this entire encounter.

"Uncle Mino, can we be done playing cops & robbers? I want to go play barbies."

Shut up & Go

STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT THE CHURCH AND BE THE CHURCH YOU WANT TO SEE

What kind of church do I want to be?

• One whose doors are never locked
• One that is hospitable and inviting -- into my home, my life & my heart
• One that roams the alleys, country clubs, forest and prisons -- loving all of creation (perhaps preaching to the birds as Francis of Assisi)
• One that is not afraid to encounter the life-shattering depths of Scripture and share it with others
• One that encourages questions -- without always needing an answer
• One that serves with my own hands -- not just my pocket books
• One that encouranges imagination & creativity in a dull world of robots

There is more I'm sure, but for now -- this is the church I want to be. What kind of church do you want to be?

Life Before Death

*this blog is credited to Shane Claiborne and the inspiration his thoughts, words and life have been to me.

Why are we waiting for eternity?

Eternity has begun.

It is not waiting for us.

We shouldn't wait for it.

We preach the coming of Christ to redeem us.

We preach the beauty of a heaven with no sorrow.

Yet all around us all of creation is groaning for liberation.

I am sick of hearing about life after death.

I want to know life before death.

I want others to know life before death.

It is obvious we cannot wait.

We must storm the gates of Hell on Earth and free the captives.

We must hear the whisper of God in the baby refugees and the crack addicts.

We cannot let our hope for redemption become stale.

We cannot let eternity slip through our fingers.

The time is now.

May God help me storm the gates of Hell. May God help me use only what I need and deliver me from my greed. May God teach me to love all people, Muslims and Evangelicals, Liberals and Conservations, The poor and the rich.

She

This past weekend Ben's dad and brothers came to visit us.
One night, I took his brothers, Jake and Eli to see a movie.
On the way back to Sterling, I was messing around with Eli when he said,
"Dad... Nicole's eating my brains, She's attacking me!"
Nothing unusual was said. This is how Eli and I interact. I pretend to eat his brains.
But something extraordinary hit me when he said it this time.
She's attacking me.... She.
I stopped to soak in what I just heard. He called me 'she'.
I've been called it before. But never has it resonated so profoundly.
I said to myself, "That's right Eli... I am a she."
Pride flooded my spirit.
Often I hate being a woman. There's unwanted monthly visits, extreme societal pressures, pregnancy (if I so choose), menopause (of which I have no choice), undeniable stereotypes, inequality in many spheres and a smorgesboard of sexual jokes.
But at that moment, I smiled.
I grinned.
In the word 'she' is a great part of my identity.
I am woman, hear me roar.
I am the carrier of indeniable beauty.
I am the womb that gives life.
I am the strength that fights for love.
My own uniqueness as a woman is irrefutable.
But there is a common bond, a sisterhood of similarities that make women exceptional.
I can't name this common bond. I don't think it's motherhood, I don't think it's compassion, I don't think it's beauty.
It's something greater, found in our creator that we haven't completely captured.
Whatever it is, I will carry it with pride.
As I grow older and my feminity continues on the journey, I will not forgot the joy I experienced when he called me she.
As my "dairy aire" becomes more bodacious, as stretchmarks decorate my body, as my breasts become more at rest, as wrinkles make their home around my eyes and and lips... I will hold my head high.
I am a flower blooming. I am continually growing into a woman.

I am a she.
I am her.
And so I go on, sharing this feminity with the world.
In hopes that it will reach the darkest crevices of the world and provide light and life.
And as for now, I smile. Admiring what my creator has given me.