A Manifesto

I'll be the first to say that my life has been pretty easy. If you know me, you know I don't believe anything easily either: I've read too much, I need proof.

Any "miracles" that I had "seen" up until right before I came to college were, if you really wanted to, explainable (I think I just made that word up) by the word "coincidence."

Growing up in the church I learned enough book knowledge to win prizes in church competitions. I could beat anyone in finding the most obscure verses with my eyes closed. I attended Revelation seminars and understood them by the time I was 10. Baptized at 13. Teaching the Great Controversy by 16. Yet, for all I knew, I was pretty ignorant. If you asked me, "to you, Who is Jesus?" I wouldn't have given you a very good answer. Or, any answer would be canned, with all the preservatives that come with canned foods.

I wish I could say that I have never needed God to manifest in a big way for me to realize that He's really there, you know? Especially during the hard times, it was hard for me to know the peace that He promises. I pray my heart out and after "Amen" it's too quiet, too peaceful. I look up at the ceiling and wonder if there's anything there. Or maybe my prayer just got stuck in the insulation.

It has looked as if there is no hope: either there is no God, or if there is, I'm definitely doing something not according to His will because there is no answer. None at all, not even the all time favorite when describing this sort of things, "wait." Nothing.

Truth is, I can't convince you there is a God. Heck, I'm not even gonna try. Yet, the contrary also stands true.

You can't convince me there isn't a God.

In the last couple of years He (for I know it was Him) has done and undone and utterly left me speechless. I have felt loved, not for who I am but because He loves me either way. Because I have seen too much. I have experienced too much. There is too much proof that He's there.

Most of these miracles can be attributed to coincidence, but I have found that I only tend to do that when I feel lost. Only when not believing is easier than holding on. Only when distrust is the easiest option: if He fails, and I say He doesn't exist, then no one failed except my expectations.

Except that I see that this is my weakness: in my weakness, I forget that He's never weak. I'm reminded of Abraham, waiting (im)patiently for 100 years for a son. 100 years! Paul, 12 years(!) between voyages, or even being denied heading to Spain.Why rush things? Why do I try to excuse things? I know His character: He left 66 books about it. Ten commandments about it. A new commandment about it: He is love, and wants us to love.

What's important is not if everything is going the way it should be, or even going right, or just-so. It's realizing that even if nothing is right, He's not finished.

Truth is, I can't convince you there is a God. Heck, I'm not even gonna try. I just know what He's done for me personally--things I cannot explain... I've seen too much, I've experienced too much. Those who don't want to believe don't want to because they simply don't want to. It's easier to not believe. But man oh man, I know He's there!

To West Texas

(This post is better appreciated if you click on the pictures to see them in all their glory while listening to this)

Ah yes, good ol' Texas. If you don't remember about where I live, go down to a post called "And the Sky Darkened" in November or December.

Huge expanses of mesquite-strewn land, crops, and sweet nothingness to disturb stargazing. Rich history: Native American, cowboy, black and hispanic lore alike. While no mountains can get boring, it can also be beautiful: the sky is bigger here than anywhere I've ever been to. Home to the second-biggest canyon in North America and some big bugs, too. Wait, "show, don't tell," is the motto many teachers live by. So, here goes.

Houses like these are all over the Great Plains, left over from homesteaders facing hard times. Some of these are left over from the Homestead Act of 1862, while some I reckon are abandoned due to the Great Depression and the famed Dust Bowl.

The second largest canyon in North America, aka the Texas Grand Canyon aka Palo Duro Canyon in Canyon, TX

As a wise man said, "All these historical markers telling of atrocities to the Natives should start with 'It is with great shame that . . .'". I figure it is because of the shame that they say it.

My mum, dad and sister looking down on the Canyon.

At the end of the stick, my dad is holding a centipede.

Yup. Scared my mum and sis half-to-death.

Although BBQ is king here, it still can't beat a Guatemalan churrasco.

Sunset over the plains.

"The stars at night are big and bright *clap clap clap clap* deep in the heart of Texas!" The song was banned in the UK during WWII because distracted workers would slow down production to join in the clapping.

Spring and Summer mean storms pop up somewhere over Texas every evening. I've seen softball sized hail before.

A tornado roping out by I-27 en route to Lubbock. My mum pointed it out and we weren't sure it was a tornado. By the time we were convinced it was and my camera was out, it was roping out. My sister and I called 911 and called it in, only 1 of 2 tornadoes reported that day in the US. Thankfully, it never touched the ground and the storm did not spawn any more tornadoes. 

After the storm, several rainbows appeared. How fitting.