I met a homeless man...

He wore a big blue coat, warm and cozy, for it would need to keep his body warm on many cold nights. His hang out spot was behind two dumpsters, under the balcony of a factory. It is here he hides away in more ways than one. He carries with him one of his greatest comforts, a bottle that will warm him and help him in his hiding away. As I approach him, he smiles, welcoming me gladly into his home. As I step into his home, he begins to share with me his life. Who is he? His name is Winter. Where does he live? Here, the back of this parking lot. He shakes my hand and bows slightly, touching my hand to his forehead. He is a gentleman, one without the suit and tie. We talk, we laugh and then he asks me a question: "Can I take you out for coffee sometime?" Me, the girl who lives up the mountain, who lives in a well established apartment, who regularly gets to dive a car, go shopping, go for dinner and does not have to worry about the next meal. I don't have a hideaway or a need to seek refuge. But he would consider it an honour to take me out. I fumble for a response, what am I to say? I feel uncomfortable, taken aback. Shouldn't I have offered the coffee date instead? He realizes that I am discreetly rejecting him. The mood snaps and he gets tears in his eyes. He tells me he was in a total of 28 foster homes growing up and is used to rejection. The tears roll down his face and he feels slightly embarassed. He hasn't lost his heart to the streets. He's crying and I begin to cry. I've made him feel rejected. I can't think of a response and I cry with him. His pain is so obvious. He stands up to give me a hug. I can't reject him so I hug him back, giving him a quick pat on the back in an impersonal manner. He looks at me and tells me that pats make hugs seem unreal and encourages me to try again. So, I hug him. Right there, inside his home, the place he tries to hide away, the place he opened to me, he hugs me. Am I the noble one? No, he is. He was Christ to me. I rejected him and he hugged me. What love is this? Only Christ.

Risking to Embrace the Sea of Fog

As I was researching Caspar Friedrich (1774-1840), a Romantic artist, I stumbled upon one of his paintings: "The Sea of Fog". It depicts a man standing at the top of a mountain, gazing out at the scenery that lays before him. He is looking at a series of mountains but can hardly make them out because a thick fog has woven its way in and around the mountains.

As I was looking at this work of art, I was so challenged by it because I could relate to it. Like this man, I was metaphorically standing on the top of a mountain, feeling as if I had climbed my way up in the world. As I was making my way up my 'mountain', I was stumbling deep into pride, anticipating seeing a clear horizon at the top. However, when I came to the top, what lay before me was nothing I expected. I was mistaken. When I looked at this painting, I was at a a point in my life where I was so confused, frustrated and unable to rely on my own rationale. I felt like I couldn't completely rely on my faith in God either, because He wasn't giving me clear cut answers. But in this painting, the fog was depicted so richly beautiful. Instead of expecting to see a clear horizon, expecting to receive clear answers, I began to see that there is beauty in mystery.

I want my life to be that of trust... to strive to enjoy mystery instead of striving to always understand. I can't even begin to understand our great and awesome God, and I can't completely understand the journey that He has lead me on thus far. But it's wonderful, it's beautiful and I love it! So... here's to the first blog (cheers!)... may it mark the life of one striving to trust God, to cling to His leadership, and not to comprise for any other.