FM Static

The times we spent together on those drives
We had a million questions all about our lives
And when we got to New York everything felt fine
I wish you were here with me tonight

My Bard Essay

My lips quiver as I raise my flute to my mouth, despite the fact that I have played the piece time and time again: I know every note by heart. I take a deep breath, beginning to play the notes of “Ode to Joy”. I can feel the eyes of nearly four hundred children glued to me as they sit in silence; the beautiful notes of such an instrument never having graced their ears. Several minutes later, everyone erupts with clapping and smiles. The dark, crowded room fills with dust as the children file back to the small classrooms where they learn how to count, the A, B, C’s, and the most basic English words. I have come here to see the school that my parents began in 1998 with a young Rwandan Bible college graduate, helping him to fulfill his dream of starting a nursery. The school, located in Kigali, served 465 children at its peak. The road to get there was practically impossible to drive our 12-passenger van on because during the rainy season, massive ruts are spliced into the caramel colored mud due to weeks of intense downpour. The road is a sea of motion with barefoot children weaving through the traffic; women carrying baskets full of sugar cane on their heads, and men chattering and passively watching people come and go. Everywhere, my skin attracts stares and waves, and I often here “mazungu!” or, “white person.” Streams of people go about their business from outside my window. It was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that only thirteen years prior, the same road had been littered with the bodies of the Tutsis during Rwanda’s genocide, killed by their own family, friends and neighbors. The incredible agony and horror of ethnic cleansing is not traced in the faces of the Rwandan people, however. Within their eyes, a deep hope radiates for the promise of a brighter future. After seeing the faces of genocide, I am forever changed.

I found the words of Henry Miller to be true after I traveled to Israel: “One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” Prior to the trip, my mind’s eye pictured Israel as a land plagued with religious strife, where conflicts between Arabs and Jews erupt on a daily basis to create a war-torn nation. I envisioned young, gun wielding men roaming the streets, the whistle of explosives overhead, and the stress of being in a country with such world-wide animosity directed towards her. What I found contradicted all my preconceived notions, reducing them to mere allegories. Not once did I fear for my safety. Not once did I feel like my life was in the balance, even when I stayed in a settlement in the West Bank. On the contrary, I enjoyed every minute of my time in Israel, from climbing Masada at sunrise, to riding camels in the Negev, to dining with Orthodox Jews for the Sabbath in Jerusalem. I was met by a kind and hospitable people, more than willing to share their religion, values, and culture with a foreigner. This natural warmth held true for Jew and Arab alike. The purpose of the trip was to gain a better understanding of the Jewish roots of my Christian faith, but I walked a way with much more: a deep desire to bring a solution of peace to this troubled area of the world. After seeing the faces of war, I am forever changed.

Homeschooling has blessed me with the opportunity to have a self-directed and rather flexible education. In 2006, I traveled to Rwanda, Kenya and Congo with my family and students from Messiah College. In 2008, I spent nearly a month in Israel on a study tour with homeschool families from around the world. These experiences have led me to no longer view myself as only American citizen, but as a global citizen as well. I personally witnessed first hand the cripplingly extreme poverty and desperation that plagues the vast majority of the world’s population. I cannot lead my life as if I were ignorant to their need. I have found the words that most eloquently describe my predicament are stated by Samuel Johnson: “Ignorance, when voluntary, is criminal, and a man may be properly charged with that evil which he neglected or refused to learn how to prevent.” I am no longer ignorant, and feel the need to learn how to use the knowledge with which I have been endowed.

I strongly feel am ready for the challenge, and do not believe it is necessary to wait any longer to begin my personal journey towards contribution to a better world. I see myself at Bard College at Simon’s Rock, cultivating this knowledge and desire for change with like-minded classmates and faculty who share this vision. The opportunity to be with people my age who have also concluded that they want be a part of our generation’s remedy for war, injustice, and most importantly, deliberate ignorance, would be an incredible honor.

Joshua 1:9

Am I wrong to want to free myself of the life I currently lead? Am I wrong to want to go somewhere far away? Am I wrong to want to meet new people, have new experiences, and try new things? Those ambitions sound innocent in and of themselves, but the motivation behind them has stirred my concern. Am I wrong to want to get away from the fighting? Maybe if times were better and monetary issues weren't so pressing, there would not be such a push in my mind to free my parents of such stresses and jump into the open arms of a faraway liberal institution...

But in the face of such decisions, I can take refuge in the words of Joshua: Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Regardless of where I end up in life, or where I choose to go, I know that He will be going with me. After such a promise, it really makes worrying over such things seem futile and insignificant. God, give me the strength to trust you more wholly.

The Battle

Why the incessant arguing? Why does it seem like peace evades us every time we open our mouths to speak? Why do we take advantage of every opportunity to ridicule, taunt, mock? Why are we so incredibly negative? What have we done to create in ourselves this cynical, contemptuous, scornful character? Is it media? Is it the lack of meaning that we find in our own individual lives that spurs us to find the infinitesimal faults in others? Why is this battle for love and optimism so arduous?

If I find the answers to the above questions, I'll be sure to document my findings. For some reason though, I have a feeling this question will take a lifetime to unravel...

A Word On Life In General

From the perspective of a child, a foot of snow is an oasis, a "winter wonderland." Now that childhood has slipped between my fingers, the joy of snow appears to have done the same. It is beautiful indeed, there is no doubt, but the overwhelming satisfaction its arrival used to bring has ceased to exist in my mind. However, I have not yet turned into one of those kind of people who frown upon snow's arrival; on the contrary I was excited as any to hear of the approaching storm. Its just different this this year, in a way I cant quite articulate adequately enough to express what I really mean.

I guess a lot of life has been like that lately, a delicate balance between adolescence and adulthood. This season that I am in now feels like oblivion. This soon this will end, especially once college comes into view. The future is so vast, so open, so pregnant with possibility its overwhelming! There are so many choices for college, so many possible majors, and so many different careers and professions to pick from. I do know however, that the course of all my up and coming decisions will be led by the following words: "Ignorance, when voluntary, is criminal, and a man may be properly charged with that evil which he neglected or refused to learn how to prevent". What I've gathered is that there is need beyond imagination, and people living their lives in such desperation that I myself cannot simply lead my life as though blind to their plight. But simply giving money, as some suggest, will not solve the problem of global poverty. In my humble opinion, it will only worsen and prolong the effects of extreme poverty. By giving a person in need a handout, you will fill his stomach for a while. However, what state will be in after your money has been spent? Exactly where he was before you came into his life. The cycle of handouts only perpetuates poverty, because it does not raise the afflicted out of their state of desperation, it simply numbs the pain.

What then, if money in and of itself will not pacify the gaping wound of poverty, will alleviate the poor of their anguish? Education. The best way I've found to verbalize this concept is found in a Chinese proverb: Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.. I'm not saying that money is meaningless and that people who give are wasting their time. But what I am saying is that education is invaluable, a key to rising above even the most seemingly impossible circumstances.

A Lost Art

Something about the snow has inspired this new love for writing. Maybe its the fact that I've been trapped inside all day. It's possible. Or maybe its the mystique of the softly falling flakes on my windowpane, beckoning me to use a long-forgotten skill. It has been a while, unfortunately. Too long. The throes of everyday life have enthralled me to the point that I cannot remember the last time I picked up a pen and paper and just poured out my heart to no one. I guess in this fast-paced culture I live in, taking the time to account for the day events is out of the question?.. Its such a remedy to the complications of daily life, writing is; a passive but doubtlessly effective way to release one's deepest fears, aspirations, and thoughts without the nag of ridicule and negativity, unless self-induced. The pen is a haven for the wondering mind, the paper a sanctuary for the restless soul.