One weeks sans JB Hunt. I have no income, no groceries, and according to the light in my Jetta's dashboard, no windshield wiper fluid. (For those interested, that sucker's for sale too; just needs wiper fluid and a little love) I gave away all my food and my dishes, put all my weathered particleboard furniture into a storage unit, and sold/gave away everything I had in our garage sale last weekend. My net worth in garage sale dollars? $355. And some change, I didn't really bother to count.
Garage sales are a funny concept. I've done a few with my mom before and actually made some pretty decent money. I sold a 12 year-old kid my Nintendo 64 and a couple games for about $200 a few years back and thought I'd found a wellspring of future income opportunities. WRONG. Let's look at the "bargains" I gave away this weekend:
$3 DVDs, including such timeless classics as Chicken Run and bootleg copies of the 2nd and 3rd seasons of Alias
New cable modem, $5 (which apparently is the going rate at garage sales)
Ping pong table that refuses to ping or pong or move around, $15
Gift bag of 150 assorted CDs, $5
Ugly plaid chair, $5, paid for in damp legal tender by a scary lesbian who pulled said cash out of her bra -- I am terrified to spend/touch this money
"Jesus is My Homeboy" trucker hat, $1; regaining my dignity, PRICELESS
Windows XP, $10, purchased by a man who somehow managed to buy nearly everything I had for less than 50 bucks; said gentleman tried to buy our curtains, refrigerator, dog, and the neighbor's Honda CRV; he is a Methodist minister; got stuck in our garage waiting out a rainstorm, during which I opportunistically sold him an Eddie Bauer raincoat for $1
offers on big screen TV and home theater system = 0
offers on Jason's 55 gallon fish tank = 1, made by aforementioned scary lesbian woman
offers on Jason's dog = 6, one person offering a gym membership in a barter
number of posted signs = 2, both of which fell down within 30 minutes
moment of the day = dookie-braided guy who rode off on his bike with Jason's coffee maker shouting "Jesus done made my day!"
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Friday, August 04, 2006
Malachi to Matthew
Funny how opening remarks are rarely used to communicate anything rather than a desired emotion or temporary image of self-actuality. What happened to simplicity? "Hi, I'm (insert name) and I'm writing to share with you about..." Instead, we give and get all this gibberish referring to what we'd like people's first impression of us to be, shaping and influencing their perception of our character based on what information about ourselves we choose to release or share. I know, because I'm doing it right now.
In a sense, I'm making my first real visit to the core of my personhood since the day my parents bought me a television. Selling everything. Moving halfway across the globe. Really beginning to pray and cry and celebrate and repent for the first time. So if you plan on reading further, then welcome. You get to figure this out with me. I believe in spiritual rebirth, but that doesn't happen to be what I'm experiencing at the moment. Rebirth implies the death and resurrection of a spirit; I've already experienced that in my lifetime. I'm in the thick of something that's more than a transition and less of a self-discovery. I'm at the moment in a Cameron Crowe movie when an Elliott Smith song fades in, bridgind the gap between empty vessel and self-actualization.
So all this makes me sound somber and empty, which couldn't be further from the truth. Despite the fact that I've worn out my welcome and my reputation here in Fayetteville, I'm tasting and living a type of healing that I've never had before: submission, sacrifice, and fulfillment. I've lived a life of idolatry for longer than I can bear to admit to, and God has been faithful to cut off each of these from my life. Worship of Campus Crusade and self, worship of romance, worship of material wealth, of wisdom, of entertainment, of accumulation. I have been a slave to these things, and many more. My pride and my passivity have carved out an empty altar in my heart, but that altar is burning.
So I don't know how to tie all of this together without writing out a 45 page blog that nobody I know will ever read, much less digest. If you have in fact decided to devote yourself to understanding me within the context of what I share here, please know that I love you. I mean that. I love you, and thank you for keeping up with me, for praying for me as I hope you will, and journeying across the world with me in my heart. I will not lie here, I will not exaggerate, and I will not hold back. I am opinionated, and I am educated, and I am a fool were it not for the Holy Spirit. However, the world has been changed as much by the hearts of wise kings and prophets as much as it has been by foolish tax collectors and fishermen. I've never collected taxes before, but I have devoted a year to hiring truck drivers, and I think it's a fair consensus that the two occupations are conjoined somehow.
So I'm quitting my job, selling my possessions, and moving to Nepal to work in an orphanage. The whole situation screams of twenty-something wanderlust with a hint of "Seven Years in Tibet." I'll give you the full breakdown of my decision process, my motives, and the extent of the emotional/spiritually journey in a later blog because its all just truly beginning. For now, know this: the path I've chosen isn't a lark or an escape. I'm not reacting on a whim. Jason (the beautiful roommate) and I have devoted the last six months of our lives to pondering the meaning and the timing of why God has called us to this country and to the Children's Welfare Center. I've weighed the costs, I've measured the heartbreak, and prayed for strength and wisdom without ceasing. I'm as prepared and unprepared as one can possibly be. Time to plunge.
In a sense, I'm making my first real visit to the core of my personhood since the day my parents bought me a television. Selling everything. Moving halfway across the globe. Really beginning to pray and cry and celebrate and repent for the first time. So if you plan on reading further, then welcome. You get to figure this out with me. I believe in spiritual rebirth, but that doesn't happen to be what I'm experiencing at the moment. Rebirth implies the death and resurrection of a spirit; I've already experienced that in my lifetime. I'm in the thick of something that's more than a transition and less of a self-discovery. I'm at the moment in a Cameron Crowe movie when an Elliott Smith song fades in, bridgind the gap between empty vessel and self-actualization.
So all this makes me sound somber and empty, which couldn't be further from the truth. Despite the fact that I've worn out my welcome and my reputation here in Fayetteville, I'm tasting and living a type of healing that I've never had before: submission, sacrifice, and fulfillment. I've lived a life of idolatry for longer than I can bear to admit to, and God has been faithful to cut off each of these from my life. Worship of Campus Crusade and self, worship of romance, worship of material wealth, of wisdom, of entertainment, of accumulation. I have been a slave to these things, and many more. My pride and my passivity have carved out an empty altar in my heart, but that altar is burning.
So I don't know how to tie all of this together without writing out a 45 page blog that nobody I know will ever read, much less digest. If you have in fact decided to devote yourself to understanding me within the context of what I share here, please know that I love you. I mean that. I love you, and thank you for keeping up with me, for praying for me as I hope you will, and journeying across the world with me in my heart. I will not lie here, I will not exaggerate, and I will not hold back. I am opinionated, and I am educated, and I am a fool were it not for the Holy Spirit. However, the world has been changed as much by the hearts of wise kings and prophets as much as it has been by foolish tax collectors and fishermen. I've never collected taxes before, but I have devoted a year to hiring truck drivers, and I think it's a fair consensus that the two occupations are conjoined somehow.
So I'm quitting my job, selling my possessions, and moving to Nepal to work in an orphanage. The whole situation screams of twenty-something wanderlust with a hint of "Seven Years in Tibet." I'll give you the full breakdown of my decision process, my motives, and the extent of the emotional/spiritually journey in a later blog because its all just truly beginning. For now, know this: the path I've chosen isn't a lark or an escape. I'm not reacting on a whim. Jason (the beautiful roommate) and I have devoted the last six months of our lives to pondering the meaning and the timing of why God has called us to this country and to the Children's Welfare Center. I've weighed the costs, I've measured the heartbreak, and prayed for strength and wisdom without ceasing. I'm as prepared and unprepared as one can possibly be. Time to plunge.
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