I Am Aware of the Darkness I Sit In.

I am standing,

face to face.

with a bright shining sun and a brilliant gleaming moon,

and your eyes, which make me uncomfortable with their kindness and warmth.

I don’t believe you.

My hands are drawn to you, grasping for your touch,

but my eyes want to turn away, shut tight for fear of seeing you cringe.

I feel your warmth radiate.

I hear your voice, full of friendship and love.

but I am illegitimate.

If I am looking into your face, I can feel myself come undone beneath the danger of loving you.

I am aware of the threat,

the terrorism that may pull me apart at any second

if I let these walls down and bare my soul.

the violence that will unfold if my passion is reciprocated,

the unfathomable destruction that will consume both of our lives

if we fall in love.

And I am aware of the darkness I sit in.

And I do not want to be its friend.

And I do not want you to leave me there.

and so I pray for violence,

and a burning light so bright I cannot help but reach out and touch it,

and be burned

and feel again

In Honor of National Coming Out Day 2011

This summer I found out that one of my best friends is gay. If I had ever imagined this scenario, I would have pictured him sitting me down, perhaps over coffee, and breaking the news privately. Perhaps he would have cried, or trembled while relating to me the grueling and terrifying experience of accepting his sexual identity in a conservative Christian environment. Perhaps he would have rehearsed what he was going to say, or maybe he would have no words at all except something to the effect of “This is who I am, and I can’t possibly hide it any longer.” In either case, I would have been sure to hear it straight from my friend himself.

Instead, I learned of my friend’s sexual orientation through a Facebook status. There were no tears or private, vaguely suspicious meetings. Just a Facebook blast after he had come out privately to friends and family... But not to me. And I know why.

At first, I was tempted to take the omission personally. But when he said he was terrified I would be upset if he told me, I realized that my membership in a particular group was what made our never-realized meeting so impossible. I remembered another close friend from high school, who had moved out of the state, avoiding me when she visited home because she had come out as a lesbian, and no matter how close our friendship had been, I was still a Christian. 

I once heard someone say that if the Church were to keep silent—completely silent— for the next fifty years on the issue of homosexuality, the world would still know our general stance. We have beat the issue into the ground, and into the heads and hearts of countless people in our pulpits. We have plastered our opinions on billboards, and t-shirts, and picket signs.  We’ve been at times painfully intentional in turning our backs, and closing the circle of our communities with tightly clenched fists, keeping out those who violate what seems to be our number one rule. We have made quite sure that any moral, religious, philosophical, or logic-driven arguments Christians may have against homosexuality will never be forgotten. And the goal has been reached. We’ve done what we set out to do. The rejection felt by those in the LGBT community from the Church I am sure will never, ever be forgotten.

It didn’t matter that I had never voiced a negative opinion about homosexuality to my friend. I hadn’t used Scripture to justify hate or prejudice, and I had definitely never made a picket sign that says “Fags go to hell.” If I had never so much as even mentioned the issue, it still would not have mattered, because I am part of a group that is seen by those in my community and across the country as uncompromisingly against homosexuals. No more of this “Hate the sin, love the sinner” crap. Our actions and attitudes have historically communicated nothing short of hate toward the LGBT community, and that is something we need to be honest about. I wish that it was enough to simply stay quiet and try not to say anything “offensive.” But in order to make our friends and family feel welcomed in our churches, we must do much more than that. Our hospitality toward the LGBT community requires communion and solidarity.

I am an ally of the LGBT community because I don’t want another person to stay silent because of me. I am an ally because hate has driven our friends, brothers, sisters, and children away from us. I am an ally because Jesus Christ has welcomed me, and I believe the Church can love better than this. I am an ally because of my friend.

-Sarah Sanders '11

http://www.hrc.org/resources/entry/national-coming-out-day

A copy of my thank you letter from my trip! (Plus some pics.) Thanks, y'all!

Dear Friends and Family,

What a summer it has been! This Spring I sent you a letter asking for support for my upcoming trip to Kathmandu, Nepal. I was so blessed by the support I received from you all. For those of you who have been praying for my team, thank you! Words truly can’t describe the Lord’s provision these past two months, but I’m going to try anyhow.

Kevin, Chris and I spent two months in Kathmandu, Nepal. When we left, the future was a total mystery, but God orchestrated each of our days perfectly. We ended up working mainly with King’s Kids Nepal, a ministry of YWAM. To keep it short and sweet: we spent our days dwelling with the street kids of Kathmandu. 

There are between five and six thousand children on the streets of Kathmandu, driven to the streets for a number of reasons, including poverty, broken or nonexistent families, and the desire for freedom. We had the opportunity to get to know between 30 and 40 of these kids. Our challenge during our two months was to become more than just another group of tourists to them. One thing we learned was that tourists are a major factor keeping kids on the street, by giving them food, clothes, and money. When the kids have all their physical needs provided for by strangers, there is no reason for them to seek long-term help from the many non-profit organizations in Kathmandu that exist solely to help them. This provision, combined with the addictive nature of street life, makes successful rescue and rehabilitation of street kids very rare.

Our goal in spending time with the kids was to build a relationship with them that was based around mutual love and respect rather than material things like money or food. We also sought to connect the boys we knew with our friends at YWAM, so they would have a resource when we left should they choose to leave the street. Needless to say, we fell madly in love with the group of misfit boys and girls we spent our days with. Our mornings were spent with our YWAM friends, playing soccer and volleyball and talking to the kids. Our nights were spent on the streets near our hotel with a group of boys that we became very close with. Despite the language and cultural barriers, we shared countless special moments with the kids, many of them through the universal language of laughter. Chris was able to reconnect with some boys he knew last year, and Kevin and I quickly understood what made him want to come back: these kids are amazing! Despite their conditioning by the streets, which forces them to be hard, we were able to see part of who each of the kids truly are, and they are good. If I could sum up what we learned about them in one word, it would be just that: They are good kids who never had a chance.

And so we have come home, changed because of the incredible love the Lord has given us for the children who have become our family, and changed most deeply because of the love they showed to us. We’ve also come home with a heart for the incredible friends we made who are currently doing long-term work in Kathmandu. Please keep them in your prayers. We worked most closely with Dilip and Rina and the rest of their YWAM staff members, who have more than 15 years experience on the streets between them. Their heart for the kids is inspiring. They have many plans for the future, but they still need funds. I am currently selling scarves to raise money for their ministry. If you need some great stocking stuffers, they’re going for $10 each!

We also spent a lot of time with our good friends from Tiny Hands International. They were an invaluable support for us as we wrestled with the big issues of street life, and we got to see firsthand the incredible work they are doing. Please consider supporting this organization that provides hope for abandoned children, street kids, and trafficked women in Nepal, India, and Bangladesh. While in Pokhara, we visited one of their children’s homes and were so encouraged by the love the children were receiving. We also met the founder of Art Beat Nepal and helped run a camp for Young Life, a Christian organization that reaches out to high school kids who aren’t typically reached by the church. The director, Hom, and the volunteer staff members became good friends, and the impact of their ministry was evident in the incredible kids there.

Lastly, we visited our friend Pastor Ranjit Kunwar at Princess Beads Nepal. Princess Beads employs women who are at-risk or who have been rescued from trafficking or prostitution by running a thriving bead-making business. Through this work, the women are able to attend school and support themselves and their families. Pastor Ranjit is an great man with a powerful testimony who has also opened a successful home for twenty street boys, which is almost unheard of. This ministry is worthy of support, and Ranjit is currently looking for business connections in the U.S. in order to expand their ministry. Please pray about this!

There are dedicated people all over Kathmandu working hard to combat poverty, prostitution, oppression, homelessness, and the exploitation of women and children—too many to name. Please pray for their work, and pray that the many NGOs in Nepal would be working together in a way that would powerfully change the structures and systems they seek to change. And please pray for the street kids, that they would live long lives filled with love and purpose, and that the systemic issues that drive children to the streets would be broken apart.

This short letter truly doesn’t do justice to the rich, dynamic, awe-inspiring characters of the boys and girls we got to know this summer, but I wanted to share a little bit of our experience with you as a Thank You, for praying for us and supporting us in this journey. If you’d like to know more I would love to share with you! Feel free to contact me via email or phone. You can also catch up on our blog at www.nepalresource11.blogspot.com I’m excited to see where God takes this new passion I’ve been given, and I’d love to share that journey with you. Please also consider visiting the websites of these ministries:

www.kingskidsnepal.com and http://vimeo.com/5514271 (<to see some of our kids!)

http://ranjitkunwarministries.org/

www.tinyhandsinternational.org

www.younglife.org
http://artbeatnepal.wordpress.com/

With all my love and thanks,

Sarah Sanders

Here's some pictures that won't be included in the letters I send out (sorry y'all, color ink is expensive!!!)

Dilip showing some of the boys a magic trick. The little ham in the middle is our friend Vijay :)

These kids have homes but they spend their days on the street selling postcards for extra income. We became great friends with them and called them the "Fruit Babies" because they all have fruit nicknames!

A group picture with most of the boys on our very last day. We had just said our goodbyes, so our eyes are red from crying!

Kathmandu!! We will miss you. Until next time...

You Are Good.

When God made the heavens and the earth,

He looked at his creation and he said,

"It is good."

And when he made the flowers, he said

"It is good."

And when he made people, he said

"They are good."

With all their tendencies and potential for evil, God said, knowing full well their bad will, "good."

You are good.

When God made you he said,

"You are good."

And this morning when you woke up God looked at you and he said,

"You are good."

And tonight as you sleep he will gaze upon you and say,

"My child, you are good."

When they tell you you are bad,

Know that you are good.

You are a masterpiece, and you are my friend,

and you are good.

I love you, and you are good.

For Vijay, '11.

Leveling with God

 Lets face it. Sometimes we have to be honest— brutally honest. Like, punch-you-in-the-face, kick-you-in-the-shin, steal-your-wallet-and-throw-it-in-a-river kind of honest. It’s just necessary every now and then. Being nice is fantastic, but it’s overrated, and “nice” never saved anyone’s relationship. Actually, “nice” is probably the number one relationship killer. It’s different from “kind.” You can be kind and still be brutally honest with someone you love, but “nice” is never honest. “Nice” is a bit fat lie. “Nice” turns us into throw rugs, and then we end up resenting the object of our niceness: mom and dad, spouse, best friend, co-worker— as if it’s their fault we never leveled with them.

“Nice” is shallow. It keeps a relationship at the surface, a perpetual first impression. It’s not raw and upsetting and messy, like it should be. We all have raw, upsetting, messy qualities about us, and they’re just as worth sharing as our pretty parts, probably more-so. “Nice” makes us angry. It has it’s place sometimes, like with bosses or people who could kill us, but if one is forced to bring “nice” home after work, it’s a sure way to make them pissed off. It doesn’t let you shed your skin, doesn’t let you love or be loved, doesn’t allow freedom or utility or grace or forgiveness. “Nice” is a clever way to lie to everyone around you about who you really are and how you really feel. “Nice” kills passion, and it puts us in a state of slavery to everyone around us.

So why are we so nice to God?

If I’m being perfectly honest (that’s what this whole thing is about, right?), I’ve found myself resenting God many times before. I lied about it, of course. You’re not supposed to resent God, it’s a HUGE no-no. So I just kept my mouth shut and tried to work it out on my own, but that was the problem to begin with. I’d run into all these things I hated, that hurt me and made me angry and sick to my stomach. But I had stopped doing what the psalmists did and crying out to God, questioning Him, even yelling at Him. Yelling, not in anger at Him, but in desperation for Him, in anger at the lack of Him I saw. Instead of raging and allowing Him to hear me, I kept my mouth shut. And instead of making God like me any better, it only made me angrier. It was “nice,” and it was a lie.

I believe God loves us very thoroughly. I don’t think He only loves us in spite of who we are, but because of who we are, even if who we are is a big fat mess at the moment. We are not divine, and God is well aware of that. But when we try to force divinity in ourselves, we end up lying to God and to our own hearts. Some of the nicest people are the farthest from God, because they refuse to let go of their facade. They lie to their loved ones, they lie to themselves, and they lie to God in prayer.

It’s true that some of the nicer prayers are necessary: “Thank you” and “Thou art holy” and “Thou art good.” But in conjunction with recognizing God’s goodness in our prayers, we must also acknowledge the state of our own hearts. Sometimes it sounds semi-nice: “Forgive me” and “I love you.” Other times it might be something like “I’m so #@$%*!& angry!” “I’m lost.” “I’m addicted.” “I don’t understand” or “I don’t care.” If we are angry, we must invite God into our anger, as uncomfortable as that may sound. If we are helpless, we must invite God into our helplessness and allow the Creator’s strength to be perfected in our weakness. If we are bitter, we must invite Him into our bitterness, even if our bitterness is toward God Himself. Because no relationship is saved by “nice.” Relationships are destroyed by the failure to level with one another. Just as we trust our loved ones do not love us because they think we are perfect, we must have faith that God loves us for an entirely different set of reasons as well. Not because we are perfect, but because God is love.

I think many of us would find ourselves at the beginning of healing if we would all learn to level with God. Let us be a church of ragamuffins and misfits once again. Let us allow honest passion back into our lives, even at the expense of harmony and white picket fences, even at the risk of scandal. Let us not treat God like He can be fooled and not treat each other like strangers, but instead like family. Honesty is neglected in favor of happiness and harmony too often, in our churches, our families, and our personal lives. I’m trying to make that change in myself, and I pray we all make the same change, for the sake of ourselves and our relationships with God and others.

Sarah out.

Sweetness on Fire

You are…

Some incredible beam of light that blinds people,

And then makes them laugh.

You are…

Quiet in your judgment,

And LOUD in your poignant, individual care.

You are flattering,

And you make me nervous.

Above all, you are…

The most beautiful and reassuring thing I know,

And unsettling beyond words.

You are warm and tender.

Loud, and crazy.

I simply don’t know what to do

With sweetness on fire, the flames waving wildly so that they startle, beckon, and make one want to dance.

You can’t be tamed. You can’t be tamed.

And so I stand and watch until you pass by me and light some other part of the world.

Sarah Sanders '11

Let A Little of Your Human Show

Today I found myself sitting in the bathroom with the fan on and the door locked, quietly sobbing. It was a bad day. I spent most of it locked in my head, wondering, worrying, making horrible predictions about the future. I spent quite a bit of time trapping loved ones in these precious little boxes of self-pity, built entirely out of meaningless instances I have taken out of context in order to prove that they really don’t love me at all like they say they do. I was locked in my head— swimming about, sifting through stressors and insecurities and anger and fear until I felt the only possible solution was to break a whole lot of stuff. Lamps, mirrors, kitchen chairs— whatever I could get my hands on, really. But being the good passive aggressive Christian that I am, I didn’t destroy my parents’ house. Instead, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried (after angrily hitting a ruler against a suitcase many times).

It’s been one of those years, you know? Followed by one of those months, and then one of those weeks, and then… apparently, one of those days. The most frustrating thing about it was that I couldn’t pin-point exactly what made me want to grab the next person I saw by the ears and shake them until I passed out. I suppose I could blame it on whatever it was that triggered it. Probably something I saw on Facebook, or my stupid tank top, how the sleeve kept on falling down over my shoulder (I hate that!). But really, it was so much more. It was one of those moments where the world comes crashing down: that shadowy, imaginary world where you’ve got everything that has ever worried you, angered you, or caused you or your family pain under control. There it all is, laid out in nice concentric circles so you can see it all at the same time and assure yourself you’ve got this. Then those nice little circles turn into razor sharp ninja throwing stars, and they come racing toward you all at the same time and you freak. out.

That is what happened to me today. I know, I know. I really should have been dealing with that shadowy world a long time ago. I know that it’s partly my fault. I’ve sort of bought into this lie that I have to be ok all the time, which doesn’t mean that I am ok all the time, just that I pretend to be. I really don’t do enough crying in the bathroom, that’s what it is. I don’t do enough crying on friends’ shoulders, either (probably because they don’t love me at all like they say they do). It’s taken me a long time to learn how to take care of myself, and still, it is usually one step forward, two steps back. Until someone who loves me (truly, I’m so lucky to have as many people who love me as I do) grabs me by the shoulders and tells me to quit being a martyr before I lose my mind (or destroy someone’s house).

I think most of us have played the martyr at one point or another. Bottle it up, shove it way deep down inside— “I can handle this”— until the lid blows off from all the pressure and we club someone to death with the nearest tree branch. Some people go most of their lives keeping it all shoved away. Me, well, I made it ‘til today. I’m sure I could have found some other corner of my mind to shove all those skeletons into. Or I could have kept hitting that suitcase until it was just four wheels and some zippers. But instead I went into the bathroom and cried. And then I took a drive, and I screamed, several times, at the top of my lungs. And then I laughed.

I might have to do it again tomorrow. I’ll probably have to do something similar to it many, many times throughout my life. Hopefully I’ll quit making those boxes and I’ll cry into someone’s arms, instead of the bathroom mirror. The cobwebs have not all been cleared away yet, but I think I made the right decision, for once. And I’m feeling a little bit better.

The choice is not simply between destroying ourselves or destroying others. I believe we can decide against destruction altogether, as long as we're willing to let a little of our human show.

Dear (Our Names Here): Stop being a martyr and go scream at something. 

Sincerely, Your Increasingly Fragile Psyche.