Sri Lanka #4 (Celebrity)
I just brought my cousin Danesh to the doctor.On the way there, I recognized some people and was acknowledged by others. I am writing this email in my journal before I take an hour long drive that will only being after walking fifteen minutes through the mountain to a bus. As I am writing this, the husband of the house brought in a piece of wood with a hole in it to put over the squatty potty. Well...there's more to this but I have to leave because the internet cafe is closing for lunch. It's a constant adventure. Joel Watson, for some reason I keep on thinking of you-- know that I'm praying for you and wish you were adventuring with me. God bless.
One month in Sri lanka, two more to go (part II).
A lot of the stores were shut down due to prayer, and lunchtime, but I'm back.
As that husband brought in the piece of wood, my tha-tha (grandpa) was falling alseep in the middle of the room with seven people around him. The TV is on. The last commercial started off with a baby in the womb holding his elbellical cord, and suddenly it transforms into a tire swing. I have seen that commercial almost twenty times and I still have no idea what it is advertising. Everybody around me can seak English, but choose to speak Tamil or Singhalese. That leaves me trying to learn two languages with two months left. Though, I'm trying to learn two languages, I spend most of my time in silence. The family is used to it and I'm getting used to it. I journal, read, play guitar and engage in other activities. It's a unique experience I'm living because around the house I can't really speak any of the languages. So, the 12 and 13 year olds take advantage of this and I end up as the butt of jokes. This is funny because at the church I've been attending, a lot of the members have been holding me in reverence as the man of God with the gift to pray for the sick. It's an awesome contrast because it feeds my ego while keeping me humbles. I am discovering that examples like that are what I want balance to be in my life. Not that I'm average at several things...average at being crazy and seroius. Rather that I'm so crazy that it's only balanced out by me beeing very serious. It's a good lesson to learn--being what you are 100% wherever you are.
Just know that good things are happening in Sri Lanka, and when I get back to America I will be a different person. If you liked the old Pradeepan, you'll probably be able to find remnants of him. Don't worry, the new one is much better.
God bless.
Sri Lanka #3 (One month in)
I just brought my cousin Danesh to the doctor.On the way there, I recognized some people and was acknowledged by others. I am writing this email in my journal before I take an hour long drive that will only being after walking fifteen minutes through the mountain to a bus. As I am writing this, the husband of the house brought in a piece of wood with a hole in it to put over the squatty potty. Well...there's more to this but I have to leave because the internet cafe is closing for lunch. It's a constant adventure. Joel Watson, for some reason I keep on thinking of you-- know that I'm praying for you and wish you were adventuring with me. God bless.
One month in Sri lanka, two more to go (part II).
A lot of the stores were shut down due to prayer, and lunchtime, but I'm back.
As that husband brought in the piece of wood, my tha-tha (grandpa) was falling alseep in the middle of the room with seven people around him. The TV is on. The last commercial started off with a baby in the womb holding his elbellical cord, and suddenly it transforms into a tire swing. I have seen that commercial almost twenty times and I still have no idea what it is advertising. Everybody around me can seak English, but choose to speak Tamil or Singhalese. That leaves me trying to learn two languages with two months left. Though, I'm trying to learn two languages, I spend most of my time in silence. The family is used to it and I'm getting used to it. I journal, read, play guitar and engage in other activities. It's a unique experience I'm living because around the house I can't really speak any of the languages. So, the 12 and 13 year olds take advantage of this and I end up as the butt of jokes. This is funny because at the church I've been attending, a lot of the members have been holding me in reverence as the man of God with the gift to pray for the sick. It's an awesome contrast because it feeds my ego while keeping me humbles. I am discovering that examples like that are what I want balance to be in my life. Not that I'm average at several things...average at being crazy and seroius. Rather that I'm so crazy that it's only balanced out by me beeing very serious. It's a good lesson to learn--being what you are 100% wherever you are.
Just know that good things are happening in Sri Lanka, and when I get back to America I will be a different person. If you liked the old Pradeepan, you'll probably be able to find remnants of him. Don't worry, the new one is much better.
God bless.
Sri Lanka #2 (Ministry Details)
Last Sunday, as my mother slept, My step-dad Timothy and I decided to find an AG church. Well, we found and the pastor even rode down in his motorcycle to guide us. It wasn't connecting with that pastor though, for a monkey had chewed through the hotel phone line. It didn't matter though. I was just happy to get away from the Hindu worship music that had been playing through out the night.
Hindu music at night drains your spirit somehow.
When we arrived at the church, the pastor asked us if we were pastors, and we said yes. Then, he insisted that we take the whole service, so we did, and God was shown strong in our weakness. People were healed, restored, rescued, and converted.
We prayed for about 50 people, and they were all falling down, but the men wouldn't let them fall. They made sure they recieved the entirety of the prayer. (I've always joked that in my ministry people won't fall down under the annointing, rather they will keep standing after I drop kick them in the Spirit, or something.)
Peoples legs were lengthened, backs, stomaches....all healed.
The pastor asked me to travel with him from church to church, and God willing, we'll see the same results. I gotta go.
Sri Lanka #1
| Using the internet in Sri Lanka can be difficult. You've probably assumed that I made it to Sri Lanka. Well done. This country is beautiful, and so are the people. Though, I haven't taken one of those beautiful people to be my wife yet, I have met my family for the first time. My heart was fuzzing warmly as I witnessed my grandpa dance while my cousin and I played music. Also, I felt pretty good when a Hindu lady fell to her knees trembling as I led her in a prayer of salvation. Just last night, my step dad Tim and I prayed for about 50 people. I'll go into more details later. Just know that God is piecing my Identity together. The circumstances in Sri Lanka are causing me to feel deeply. Pray for me. As I'm getting more engagements to minister, I am having very difficult times with my mother. She tends to be the vehicle God pushes my patience, love and grace with. Praise God. Anyways, I just thought I would let you look into my adventure. And even though I might not admit it in person, I miss you people as I would miss real people. God bless. |
Battle of the Banquets
Battle of the Banquets.
The lamb incident has been the talk of many circles here in Tulsa. In fact, someone approached my pastor and said, "I heard your worship leader went to sacrifice a lamb and then smeared the blood on all his people." My pastor was a bit concerned. Oh well. Since the first talks of Din-Din, four groups have formed to either kill him or save him. I got a call from Dean Boyd three days ago, and I'm not going to lie, I got excited. Dean Boyd is the master of the confrontation meeting, and I was going to take literal notes on how to deal with trouble (no figurative language here). However, the call from Dean Boyd was a hoax constructed by the Lambert on YB. I turned the Lambert for my effort, and had him call some of the other wings that wanted to kill the lamb. They never were informed that it was a hoax. I hope they don't get in trouble or get us in trouble. We're all lamb loving friends, and there is no reason for chastisement.
He brought me to His banqueting table.
Two events were fused together last night: the GUTS battle of the bands, and the banquet. It was a great night, and I would like to tell you about it. Let's start off with my date, Beth Zimmerman.
(Our hands look the same)
(She'd probably like the better picture of herself up)
To start off, we meet at 5:45 (an hour earlier than everyone else) because we were going to play at the battle of the bands. Neil met us there too because he wanted to follow us in his car.
(Yes, Neil is a stud)
(p.s. Neil dressed up only because we dressed up for our banquet)
Then, We all drove to GUTS and walked right in the rock band sub-culture. A lot of people don't know what it's like to be back stage with other bands. It's completely different than most of the life experiences a person has. I'm not going it explain it though. Maybe another time.
The facility was amazing. It had a great sound system, bright lights, fog machine, cameras, people, free food, and...
A banner with our name on it!
(My band's name is Symon)
Dressed to the max, as a group, we were groped with all the eyes there. It was in a good way, somehow.
Whenever our band plays, we have to wait till the last minute for everyone to show up. Truthfully, it has not happened in any of our shows that we've been ready 10 minutes before the show.
That's rock n roll.
As usual, we pull it off at the last minute, and play. But, this time we put a twist in our performance. Like I said earlier, I incorporated my banquet with my battle. We empower Beth, armed with a bass guitar, to announced and jam out with us--she was not plugged in. The audience didn't notice anything, and it was fun. Really fun. It seemed like she had a blast, and for that I'm glad. It was her night after all. However, we didn't win, and it's not because we weren't the best band. I'm not saying that we were, but the competition was popularity and advertising based. Power to the people. Basically, whoever got the most people there, did the best.
Guts had four judges give public critiques of each band immediately after a band's performance. In ours, one of the judges called me the "most likeable bass player." Yeah...my band definitely beat me up after hearing that. Even Beth got a few punches in. Most likeable bass player, I'm grateful and all, but don't they know I have a lamb, and would kill it if I could find it. Just like a ninja, I might uppercut them if they did so much as drop a fork. Likeable, ha.
Right after the show, the lovely Beth and I cruised to the banquet. Good times. We ate food, danced, flexed and did other memorable things. The social coordinators planned this thing incredibly, but good company is what made the night. I have the best friends. You just can't beat good company.
(An example of good company)
Memorable activities.
Awards-
Roderick Hudson, my space sharer got the "Somebody's going to get raped, and it's not me" award. I'm not sure about how I feel about that.
Matthew Cooper, got the "When I was aborted award."
My layout for sharing events might be deceptive. I'm not going to list all the awards. Sorry.
Pradeepan Jeevamanoharan, got the "Ralph Nader" award. If you don't understand this joke, go to this site, and read the history. www.letpradeepanrun.com
Karaoke-
Beth had never done this before, and I generally enjoy it, so we sang "our" song in front of the masses. The song is "Up!" by Shania Twain. We had never heard this song before, and, naturally, didn't know the words. We made them up by singing about how the year was. I even started encouraging my chaplain through song. I know, not the most entertaining story, but the next one is good.
Cream-
I got the cream, used for the coffee, and danced with it!
(Cream!)
(Cream?)
We definitely had cream. Okay, maybe that's not a good story either.
Conclusion
I had a great night, but it's sad as well. I'm not going to be on this floor that rescued me. A freshly scarred Pradeepan went to MOG for restoration, and got it. Also, Beth is going to possibly be living in Japan next year, and I won't be friends with her anymore. Well, I won't see her anymore at least. Bummer man. It was a great night. Well done everyone! ( I would like to meet bummer man)
I have another banquet tomorrow. A girl named Shirley Q. is escorting me to the missions banquet, where the men are required to bring swords. I saw Shirley in the cafeteria, and, though we had never met, asked her to the banquet. It went something like this..."Hi, we've never met before. My name is Pradeepan." Then, Shirley said, "Oh...my name is Shirley." Next, I asked for a last name and she said "[enter something Spanish here]" She asked me my last name and I said, "Jeevamanoharan." And we stared blankly unable to pronounce each other's names. She said yes though. Hopefully I won't be blogging a horror story in two days. I did some research on her after she accepted. She checked out. She's legit, and I'm still hoping for a good time.
God has given me the best life.
(We long for acceptance)
By the way, the banquet ended with a 9 person Snugglefest, and we're having another one tonight.
The Legend of the Lamb
I don't embody masculinity. In fact, I grew up in the Suburbs watching Mama's Family on TV / Recorded VHS Tapes. However, there is a desire to be manly, to conquer the natural world and all that's in it, inside of me.
A couple weeks a go, I decided to plan an adventure to rock my comfort zone, and all who would follow. This might be a rather shocking statement considering that my last entry hosted a picture captioned with "SnuggleFest." To me, the fact that I had a "SnuggleFest" is reason enough to have an adventure.
I thought to myself, "What is the best way to plan an adventure?"
I bought a lamb. His name is Din-Din.
(We take care of our Din-Din) I could have bought a buffalo for $2,000, but I purchased a lamb for $110. My friend's friend Joel Swails knew of an island an hour away from campus. He knew of an island off campus. We scouted the island out at night even though I had never met the kid. At our last turn before spotting the island, Joel exclaimed, "There it is!" while noticing a sign that said "Cemetery."
This was a strange start. The island was difficult to see because it was pitch black. I was soon used to it.
I got more than 30 people to say they would go to the island. The numbers dwindled when they heard about the lamb. The numbers dwindled when it was time to go. Similar to Gideon's situation, the numbers decreased even more when the time for swimming across the water came.
Maybe none of us should have swam across the water.
I planned this event, and planned it poorly...on purpose.
Eleven people showed up for the adventure, and seven people swam across (Nick, Luke, Pradeepan, Drew, Joel Watson, Chen, Symon, and Joel Swails).This was on Saturday and at 7:45pm we arrived at the lake. It was pitch black.
We didn't know where to swim, and...
Sadly, my event turned
into an extension of "SnuggleFest."
Through out the night, I was paranoid of the lamb. Man, I needed this trip. By this time, we found Tuna, and it has never tasted so good. I hate fish, but loved it.
Nick's adventure.
Leaving.
Went to the Enemy's Camp
Went to the enemy's camp.
(All school devo worshippers)
The way God develops relationships can be so frustrating, but...
He knows what He's doing.
Tonight our school had "all school devos," and we discussed the concept of being real. The place where we should be the most real is in the church, but sadly that's where most people's id crises happen. The preacher mentioned that Alcoholics Anonymous credited a large part of its success to forcing people to be real. Right from the start the alcoholics state that they have a problem. My name is Pradeepan Jeevamanoharan and I'm an alcoholic and so on. God is really challenging me to be real with Him and myself. To acknowledge when I fall and keep trying.
Some friends and I led worship for the service. God really met us where we were. I sin so much. I give up on God a lot, but He refuses to leave me. Man, Jesus precedes me and follows me.
I am at the point where I will leave Christianity unless I completely sell out.
God is teaching me how to focus my life around Him, and to really bring the Kingdom principles into my life.
That was the spiritual part of my entry...
This story brings a chuckle to even the most docile of my body. The preacher led an altar call in one of those emotional atmospheres that churches dream of. Stuff was going down. Lives were changing. During the prayer time, I mentioned to Symon that we should sing "I'm going to the enemy's camp." The song is a real toe tapper and not appropriate for an altar call unless you're going hunting or something later that night. Symon said that he would sing a slow song first and then go into the song. Thinking that he was being sarcastic as I was, I laughed and assumed my worship position.
He played the song in a worship style...somehow. It fit, and my respect points for Symon increased by 20 points. The crowd really got into it...somehow. God definitely was smiling, and the Devil was probably frustrated. God was glorified. Fantastic, the boy did it.
God moved. Amen.
(Symon, Neil and I lead worship)
SnuggleFest '05
(The guys slept over last night)
The accident
My Miraculous Weekend: A Sneak Preview.
Pain.
Destruction.
Destruction.
Destruction.
Death.
Healing.
Restoration.
Rock and Roll.
Rock and Roll.
Rock and Roll.
No showers
My best friend Benjamin Block is not feeling so hot. He's thrown up several times and skipped a days worth of classes. This could be the result of living a legend for the last fourteen days.
The last fourteen days.
Starting with Thanksgiving Break, Ben has burdened himself with the responsibility of not showering. When I say "not showering," I mean no soap or water. Every once in awhile Ben jests that he had just "taken a shower on the basketball court," though. In those times, it's not unusual to see me laughing/gagging. It is quite gross, but also legendary. How many opportunities like this will he have? How many people are willing to Ski everyday during Thanksgiving Break, play basketball, throw up, and study without showering. On top of all that, Ben has chosen to operate incognito by way of "Molestache." I'm telling you, the man is a legend. It is a hard lifestyle (constant pressure from people, smell, lack of self confidence, rashes), though many benefits do come with it. The Ladies absolutely love it. They can't keep their noses off the pheremones. For example, we attended a party last Friday and girls would just stand in front of him and stare. Stare directly at him from within three feet. Eventually, the girl would say something like "that's so gross!" Attention is attention, and Ben got it.
Today he called his mother and told her about the situation (being sick). She doesn't know how long he has gone with out hygiene, but she recommended that he take a shower. So, he talked to me about it.
I did all I could to stop him. You know, a lot of people have tried to make Ben shower. They use all sorts of methods to persuade him: logic, facts, peer-pressure,threats and even Google Fight. In my personal quest of avoiding water for a week, I also experienced this. The funniest of the list has to be the threats. "If you don't shower, I'm going to lather you with soap and rinse you in your sleep!" With pure thoughts intact, that's never a real intimidating phrase. Anyways, Ben disrobed and headed for the bathroom.
I really didn't want him to shower, so I gave him a pep talk. And while he was in the bathroom, soap in hand, he decided that he just might go on to be dirty another day. Praise God. Right now, Ben is still sick, and resting.
Question: Do you face or turn your back to the shower?
The Important
I forget the Important.(I) Let's head back to my senior year in High School: Graduation.The whole school cheers because the Principal, over the loud speaker connected to each class, recently announced that Pradeepan Jeevamanoharan is the Class of 2003's Graduation Speaker. Let's head forward a week after that. Imagine a group of teachers, unable to hide their concern, approach Pradeepan Jeevamanoharan and inform him that he will not be able to give his speech. Many students, with equally concerned faces, start to gather. Then, the teachers develop their last statement: "The graduation speaker is required to graduate." Apparently, I, Pradeepan Jeevamanoharan, had failed my AP English class. I took two English classes that year, though I only needed one. However, since I took a higher English class, it replaced the credit of the lower level class. I forgot the Important: Graduation. The AP English class- rather, the Independent AP English class- did not require students to attend classes. Naturally, I forgot about the class. My english teacher allowed to make up all the work in two days. It wasn't the best quality, but she passed me, and I spoke. Speaking for my graduation class was a cornerstone in my father's respect for me, I think. This was the first time he heard me give a a full speech, and in front of an audience. Knowing that I wanted to be a preacher, and by hearing the compliments from his co-workers in the audience, my pride moved father, expressed his pride for me. (II) Let's head back to the summer of 2003: First year of college. For most people, this summer represents "the last summer" before childhood friends venture on their own. This was no different for me. Being the only one in my group of friends attending Oral Roberts University, I would be on my own soon. Understanding this prompted me to take advantage of every last opportunity. My best friend, Benjamin Joseph Block, and his family were soon moving to San Diego, California. He invited me to road trip with him. I agreed. His parents agreed. My Parents agreed. This would be our last "horrah!" However, Ben's parents decided to pray about it, and felt like the LORD told them not to let me go. So, I never got to go, and became angry. I forgot the Important: First day of College. Because I was at home, without my Ben, my dad encouraged me to fill out my loan information."First semester dates," or something like that, was one of the first questions on the sheet. Since the information concerning the date of the first day of school escaped me, I looked it up on [www.oru.edu]. "Interesting", I thought to myself. Registration starts today? I could feel the shame my father was soon to have, for his first son had forgotten about college. Most kids are counting the days until the first day of college, but not me. Instead of my planned flight, I had to drive. Also, I missed my going away party and then said goodbye to my mother at the hospital, as I took my immunization shots. Eventually, I made it to my first class. Praise the LORD. (III) Let's head back to today: Finals. Last night, I went to an amazing bachelor party for my college weekender host: Kurtis Gare. Going there, I felt free. I felt free because I took three finals yesterday, and I didn't have another one until Wednesday. I forgot the important: Finals. With this sense of freedom, I woke up at two o' clock this afternoon. Then, on the way to the bathroom, I ran into Todd Clingan. "Pradeepan, I was looking for you in the Missions final. Where were you?" Yup. You probably know what happened. According the Syllabus, if a student is absent during the final, he or she gets an automatic "F." Praise God that he is letting me take it tommorow morning! In conclusion, if I ask you for your name, or to go on a date, and I forget... Know that you are important, for that's what I forget. |
Great Passages and Quotes
Phantastes, by George MacDonald."I have never concealed the fact that I regarded George MacDonald as my master; indeed, I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him." C.S. LEWIS Phantastes. "I learned that he that will be a hero, will barely be a man; that he that will be nothing but a doer of his work, is sure of his manhood. In nothing was my ideal lowered, or dimmed, or grown less precious; I only saw it too plainly, to set myself for a moment beside it. Indeed, my ideal soon became my life; whereas, formerly, my life had consisted in a vain attempt to behold, if not my ideal in myself, at least myself in my ideal. Now, however, I took, at first, what perhaps was a mistaken pleasure, in despising and degrading myself. Another self seemed to arise, like a white spirit from a dead man, from the dumb and trampled self of the past. Doubtless, this self must again die and be buried, and again, from its tomb, spring a winged child; but of this my history as yet bears not the record. Self will come to life even in the slaying of self; but there is ever something deeper and stronger than it, which will emerge at last from the unknown abysses of the soul: will it be as a solemn gloom, burning with eyes? or a clear morning after the rain? or a smiling child, that finds itself nowhere, and everywhere?" p. 166 "'This', I said to myself, 'is a true man. I will serve him, and give him all worship, seeing in him the imbodiment of what I would fain become. If I cannot be noble myself, I will yet be servant to his nobleness.'" p. 174 This part of the book, even though dealing with myth, made me wonder: "Am I focusing on becoming a Godly man rather than a 'servant to his nobleness?'" www.pradeepan.com "Yet I know that good is coming to me- that good is always coming; though few have at all times the simplicity and the courage to believe it." p. 185
These writings could inspire you. |
The Graduation Speaker
The Graduation Speaker
I submitted this to my English 305 teacher.
My dad wouldn't look at me. I figured communication was the key to good
relationships, so telling him seemed like the best idea. My dad, however, didn't want to
communicate anymore- learning that his first son would not walk at High School
Graduation was communication enough.
At school, my peers congratulated me all day. My principle, early in the morning,
announced that the Student Body elected me to speak at graduation. It felt good.
Almost at once, everyone seemed to know who I was- the graduation speaker. In this role,
I held the responsibility to follow in the footsteps of Hitler, Clinton and other
influential leaders who also spoke at Apple Valley High School graduation
ceremonies. But, almost missing them in my dreams of fame, I noticed a pack of
teachers sizing me up. Finally, “You will not be speaking at Graduation,” my English
teacher spoke up. At that time, they weren't laughing, but I assumed they had
included me in a joke. Perhaps my new found fame earned me comradery with the
teachers, I thought. “Graduation is a requirement to be the speaker,” another chimed in
“and you will not be graduating.”
When school started, I registered for an English class and an AP English class.
The AP English class was an independent study, and I eventually forgot about it. I didn't
do any of the work, and I got an “F.” Because it was a higher level class, it replaced the
credit of my lower level class, so I would not have enough English credits, if I failed,
to graduate. My english teacher did fail me, and I lost it all: my ceremony, speech
and father. Even now, my father still won't have me, though, I don't blame him.
Tampons.
This is a Tampon.
This semester, I entered the dastard's role of “Pastor’s Kid.”
My step-father accepted the pastoral position for a wee Lutheran church in Montebello, California. A lot of changes have taken place– especially for my mother, or “mummy,”as I call her.
In the mix, she's been caught off guard for two reasons:
1. The move from the noble North to the less noble south, California, has left her wondering why people pronounce the word “bag” wrong.
2. She isn’t familiar with the Christian sub-culture. She has been under the Lordship of Christ for less time than me, and hasn't adjusted yet. In case you didn't know, the sub-culture we've created is not normal. Though not the virgin time, this is the cause for the juxtaposition between mummy and the tampon.
Today’s conversation with mummy:
SCENE: Pradeepan’s Ben is sleeping between the cushions of the futon they call “the taco.” Ben’s 10:00 pm alarm is fifteen minutes from alarming him. After Pradeepan sits two hours on his green leather couch reading The Emerging Church, his phone rings. Lifting his thigh off the sticky cow hide allows him to grab and answer the phone before the second ring. Pradeepan, then compliments his mother for thirty minutes. Mummy changes the subject.
MUMMY (clearing her throat). Church service is good. We get many new people. One young couple brought a baby.
PRADEEPAN. Well done. I completely Honor you.
MUMMY (used to Pradeepan’s compliments). You know, I regret not learning how to play guitar the last five years when I had time. I could have even learned Spanish. I had time, but now I don’t. I only know bits and pieces.
PRADEEPAN (concerned). I do know mother-- I also do honor you.
MUMMY. It’s OK. The worship at church is still good. The lady still plays the organ, and Tim plays Trumpet.
PRADEEPAN. That is noteworthy.
MUMMY. I can’t play guitar, but Tim lets me play the Tampon. We pass four Tampons in the crowd and if people want they can play.
PRADEEPAN (honorably giggling) Tampon?
MUMMY. Yeah, I just kinda shake it.
END.
This use of Tampons in church may have not resulted because of her attempt to adjust in the Christian world. She may have meant Tambourine. Either way, being part of the Christian sub-culture, or women in general, is odd and giggle provoking.
Prove me wrong.
A story a girl wrote for me.
The Beauty Clause
In this world, there are three types of people, according to appearance of face. There are the ordinary people. They are the people of the common working class, the everyday house moms, and even the occasional doctor or lawyer. Their natural appearance isn’t anything to swing a bat at. In most cases meeting an ordinary person would rarely even create cause for a second glance. Their facial features are enough to get them by and keep them from being stared at on the streets as though they were members of the circus passing through town. And often in order to maintain some sense of identity, to sway away from the flock, they develop love affairs with irony and comedy, choosing laughter over normality. However, whether wig, hat or turban, they remain the majority of humanity. They are the simple smile on the face of the human race. However, if the ordinary people are the simple smile, the outrageously good-looking among them form that hint of dashing dimple in the cheek of humanity. The so-called “beautiful” people are those rare occurrences of shocking chiseled features and magnificent sets of hair, the reigning class of society. Their gleaming, straight teeth and flawless skin single them out in the flock; beautiful diamonds among ordinary pebbles. They too make you stop in your tracks on the street, but for a reason completely disconnected with the circus. Instead of staring in acute fascination or mild horror, you find yourself staring because of complete neurological failure. Their stunning good looks are breath-taking and usually the envy of all societal circles.
But then there are those that nature produces every once in a while that do not belong in either of these groups, an anomaly in the fabric of design. They are attractive but not overtly so. They are uncommonly striking and yet still free to travel the streets without causing traffic jams. They are also generally gifted with some form of uncanny charm, whether smooth or awkward. Their humor sets them above most of the common folk and their allure calms the societal balances of the beautiful. In short, both circles, whether common or uncommon, love them and fear them for their innate ability to move past the holds of appearance.
Pradeepan Jeevamanoharan was one of these people. He was attractive with a quick sense of humor and deep love for irony. He had flawless, dark skin, luxurious black curls and gleaming white teeth set in a wide smile which he inherited from his foreign ancestors of Sri Lanka. His sense of humor was innate, as much a part of his identity as the casual strut with which he walked. He loved the awkward side of life, and chose to hold fast to his unique status due to his appearance and demeanor. Even from childhood, he had an unsettling ability for swaying the girls and creating awkward moments based solely on dry humor. As he got older, he embraced further his uniqueness among society, often nicknaming himself and demanding that his friends call him by his new namesake. “Terminator” became a favorite of his, as it invoked both images that were masculine and alien unanimously. As a young adult, he realized that he had an unnatural talent for parlor tricks, wooing the crowds with twirling cell phones and stunning toe-clutching abilities. This seemed to only enhance his allure, as it both added to the paradox of his unique position and to the ease with which he charmed the public.
Pradeepan in time became something of a local phenomenon. He had grown up in the lower section of Chicago, living among the marketers and shop venders set against the warm brownstone of the apartment buildings. When he walked down the grubby streets in his slow, deliberate manner, men would lean out of wooden stands to have quick conversations, women would stop to push food on him, commenting on this thinness, and children would run up for quick jokes or a game that relied solely on toe-clutching. He was loved by all and hated by none. And Pradeepan loved them in return.
Yet, above them all, there was one that Pradeepan had admired most. Her name was Raquel Venici. She was one of the beautiful people, with long dark waves of gleaming hair and big, moist blue eyes. She had a small dimple high on both cheeks. Seeing her, the viewer was often taken back to images of kewpie dolls with their long lashes and pouting lips. She was also something of a local phenomenon. She was the prized daughter of the city’s famed plumber and in the eyes of her father untouchable, a challenge to all the young men in the area and making Raquel the equivalent of the Hope Diamond. Pradeepan had watched Raquel from afar ever since he was a boy and first realized how easy it was for him to get girls to like him. Even then Raquel had been beyond reach. After time Pradeepan had given up hope that he would ever date Raquel.
That was until yesterday, during a sleepless night in April. April is the awakening of large cities. Though the noise of traffic and street life never fades away, they diminish during the winter months when people rush to get home to their warm apartments. April however, welcomes back the full volume of the city with the entrance of the warmer weather. Unable to reach even the exhausted state of sleep, Pradeepan had crawled out of bed, pulled on an old, faded pair of jeans with a White Sox t-shirt and stepped out into the cool, night air. Walking in the direction of the park behind the school yards, he lowered his head and contemplated the cement beneath his meandering feet. And he had run head-long into Raquel. He had, in fact, bumped her so hard that she had rolled across the sidewalk to come to a wheezing rest on the flat of her back.
Staring in horror, Pradeepan had run to her side, raising her into a seated position. Her long hair was flipped forward over the front of her face, her legs straight out with her hands planted at her sides. Flipping back her head, Raquel pinned Pradeepan with a look of scorn.
“I am so sorry, Raquel. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He had stuttered.
“Well, I guess that is obvious now.” Raquel said as she got to her feet with Pradeepen’s aid. As she had stood, she yanked her arm out of his grip and looked down at her ruined pants. “I’m fine now. I was on my home anyway. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
“Wait. At least let me walk you home. It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, no, you’ve done enough, Pradeepan. I can make it from here.” Pradeepan paused in mid stride.
“You know me?”
“Who doesn’t?” Raquel said as she’d started down the street.
Pradeepan stood for a moment in silence before racing to catch up with her.
“Raquel, wait. I really am sorry. Let me make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner.”
Raquel stopped and sneered. “I don’t think I want to eat with someone who can’t even handle walking down an empty street.”
“Well, I guess I could just buy you some new pants.” He’d watched Raquel expectantly and jumped in surprise when she burst out laughing.
“You want to buy me pants? You are funny.” She’d smiled, wiping tears once her laughter subsided. “Alright, I’ll go out with you. But just once. Pick me up tomorrow night around seven.”
She had smiled softly at the shocked look on Pradeepan’s face and walked on down the street. Pradeepan had stood unmoving on the sidewalk, pooled in the light of the street light high above him, to watch Raquel move slowly toward her home three blocks away.
Now, sixteen hours later, Pradeepan was standing before the old carved, mahogany door of Venici home, trying now snap the stems of the pink tulips he held in his sweaty fist. He used the sweat and smoothed back the glossy curls away from his forehead.
Was he about to do this? Was he really going to take out Raquel Venici? Part of his brain was convinced that the events from the night before were only spirited hallucinations of a mind deprived of sleep and quiet. But the other part of brain, the part he fully intended to adhere to was cheering him on, raining on his ears constant and perpetual praise for a job well done. So, hitching up pants at the waist and placing his right foot firmly in front of him, he began his ascent up the cold, concrete steps of the front porch. Stopping abruptly, he swayed, trying to catch his balance with swinging arms. He was struck with a horrible and manhood-threatening thought.
“What if she didn’t like where they were going on the date? What if they had a horrible time?” Pradeepan’s knees shook slightly; his stomach a mass of greasy knots. “Of course, she’ll like it. She suggested it.” He planted his feet and examined the flowers. There weren’t too many heads missing. He climbed the rest of the steps precariously and dropped his fist down on the scarred door.
“I’m coming! Just putting my shoes on!” came a call from behind the door. The door opened to Raquel’s fresh face and a stream of angry English saturated by heavy Italian tones.
“You tell that boy, if he dates my daughter he will behave himself. One finger on you and I’ll rip that finger off! You tell him that from me! You hear me, Raquel? You tell him!” The Goliath shape of Mr. Viggo Venici loomed in the background waving a fist the size and shape of an Easter ham.
“Don’t worry, Papa! He’ll behave.” Raquel turned to find a much paler Pradeepan standing stonily on her porch. “Oh, come on. It’s okay. He threatens everyone like that. You should see him yelling at the White Sox.”
“Well I was pretty sure he wouldn’t snap me in half for the first date. I was amusing that would wait until the second or third date.” Pradeepan gave Raquel a warm, relaxed smile, now that they had moved at least a block away from the Venici house. “Come on, I have a great date planned.”
As they walked down the still rushed market streets, people ran up to Pradeepan to whistle and smirk. They smiled for him alone. Raquel on his arm seems to be only an attractive piece of Pradeepan’s ensemble, like a new hat or a fine, gold pocket watch. It was something Raquel did not miss. In fact, the further they walked and the more people who came with eyes only for Pradeepan, the further the deep flush over her cheeks spread. She was not used to not being noticed, and most especially not being noticed by her own date. Pradeepan, unaware of the internal confliction warring next to him, walked on clouds. His feet danced over the sidewalk. His smile stretched to encompass the city and warm every heart. He was out with Raquel Venici and the world loved him. It was perfect.
One block from the planned site of their date, Pradeepan’s skin was jumping with excitement. He had been nervous about choosing to take his date to this place. But now that everything was so perfect, he was sure he had chosen well.
“And here we are!” Pradeepan yelled as he turned Raquel to take in the fluorescent lights of the Banana Republic uptown. In the window a mannequin woman was modeling a bright turquoise skirt and a soft rose sweater. The other mannequin women next to her had on white capris with a tangerine top; the same pants Raquel had been wearing last night.
“I saw them this morning while I was walking around wondering where I should take you on our date. So, what do you think?” And for the first time since they had walked away from the old wooden door atop the cement stairs, Pradeepan looked Raquel in the face. The wide grin that had been stretched over his tan face fell, his lips closing over his gleaming teeth. Raquel’s face was now the shade of a ripe, red August tomato. Her moist blue eyes were now dry and bulging, two orbs sheltering a burning inferno. Her lips were a thin brown line drawn onto the tomato red of her face. Pradeepan flinched and instinctively took several steps back from her. Raquel’s mouth opened into a wide back void, swallowing most of her nose and lifting high into her cheekbones.
“You brought me to buy pants? You brought me to buy pants? What’s the matter with you?” Her words roared hollowly out of the empty space in her face. “I was joking, you idiot! I didn’t really want to buy pants!”
“I…I’m sorry. It was really j-just meant to be funny.” Pradeepan stammered. His feet which had just moments before floated above the ground, landed harshly back on the ground, rendering his knees jelly.
“I dint know why I ever agreed to this! I must have been out of my mind.” Raquel spun on heel and steamed back down the sidewalk like a freight train. People in her path leaped to the sides or pressed up against the display windows. Pradeepan ran after her and heard her mumbling. “They think he’s so wonderful…didn’t even speak to me…didn’t they see me…oh my god, he was going to buy me pants…he’s not that handsome….I’m more beautiful than he is….I know I am…”
“Wait, Raquel! What are you talking about? What’s wrong?” Pradeepan huffed breathlessly.
“Go away! I can’t date someone people think is more beautiful than I am. And definitely not some more beautiful who takes me on a date to buy pants!” she screamed over her shoulder.
Pradeepan stopped in the street. He stood silently as he watched Raquel storm away. On his face a look of shock was frozen on his face.
“She broke up with me because I’m beautiful?” He mumbled out loud. And in his head a rumor long disputed, one he had contemplated for a long time was confirmed. Women don’t date men who are better looking than them. A smile broke over Pradeepan's face, as he walked calmly back toward him home.
“I knew she couldn’t have been mad about the pants.” He said, relieved. “I mean, it was such a great idea.” He walked among the noise and traffic, the calls from friends; he walked tall. He was a wiser man; a better man; a man both beautiful and common. He was the loophole in the beauty clause.
South Africa Highlights:
- I spent over 24 hours waiting in airports, before and after boarding two separate 10 hour flights.
- After arriving in Durban, South Africa, I found that the city held the largest population Indians outside of India.
- I stayed in the best hotel in Durban, thanks to the Forsthoff family.
- I met incredible people such as Eric, Rhonda and Luke Forsthoff, Mike and Terry Miller, Bishop Dale Bronner, everybody at Young Life Church and the John Maxwell staff.
- I went boogie boarding, and body surfed in the best waves I've ever experienced.
- I Participated in John Maxwell's Million Leader Mandate by teaching hundreds of pastors, from various backgrounds, leadership principles.
- I went on a Safari, and hung out with a Cheetah.
- I Spoke and drummed at Young Life Church, an excited, God saturated, growing Church.
- I Received a word of prophecy from the Owner of Wimpy's (the Southern Hemisphere's equivalent to McDonald's).
- Finally, I spent over 24 hours waiting in airports, before and after boarding separate 10 hour flights. I am, however, not complaining because my dad recently waited 26 hours straight in JFK (a New York airport).
- The trip was not what I expected. I never met John Maxwell.
- The trip was amazing. I learned from seasoned ministers, and saw Godly marriages in action. Also, Lucas sharpened me as a man of God.
- I had fun. We laughed a lot. Ministers should laugh a lot.
- I silenced a fancy shmancy restaurant with my raptor impression.
Wayne and Kristi Youth Evangelist Internship Highlights:
- In less than twelve hours after arriving in Minnesota from South Africa, I set drums up on stage for the Twin Cities Outreach.
- The Twin Cities Outreach specifically trained students to share their faith. In the mornings, I drummed for the worship services and speakers preached and prepared the students to minister for the rest of the day (an amazing method). Thousands of people heard the Gospel because of this ministry. The evangelism consisted of large stages that drew hundreds, street witnessing, service ministry (free stuff) and mingling within the community.
- I played bass for a week long junior high camp in Boone, Iowa.
- I played drums for a week long junior and senior high camp (600 campers) in Alabama.
- I drove a stick shift vehicle by myself for the first time (I split an 18 1/2 hour drive from Alabama to Minnesota).
- I have a mentor in my life! Disciplers teach Christianity, but Mentors teach ministry. Wayne and Kristi, the evangelists I am interning with, have everyone traveling with them (Summer Carlson, Benjamin Block, Hannah Griffin, and Me) answer what we learned practically and spiritually everyone night after the service. Then he lets us ask as many questions as we want. On more than one occasion we've all stayed up past three in the morning for these mentor times.
- I have read more than ten books this summer on evangelism, and with this internship my knowledge and passion for it is growing rapidly.
- It seems that God is participating in our church services. People are getting healed, called to the ministry, baptized in the Holy Spirit, sanctified and saved. One guy with scoliosis had his spine straighten up instantly on stage, by the power of God. Another student, born blind in one eye, was also healed instantly. I'm seeing kids freak out in the presence of God and pursue Him with everything they got.
- The music in worship is free. There have been times where everybody on the stage was prostrate before God or knelt down. It's Prophetic worship.
- Teenage girls really like college musicians. Don't worry; the college musicians don’t like them back.
- I am blessed.
Why I like Writing
Genesis 2:19 says "Out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name." Writing is all about seeing, and I want to see. It even seems that God wants to see what I see. God brought all the animals to Adam, for this first task, to see what he would name them. In order for God to act this way, He must have known that something holy and creative lay dormant inside of Adam. Today, that same something is inside of me, and through writing, the world will see it. I want to be a writer so that the world can see what I see. Imagine a person ending a joke with "you had to be there." Jokes like this receive no laughter or credit, and the world is responding the same way towards the message of Christ. My writing is going to guide people through places they could have never gone, and will help them feel that they "were just there" and that it's possible to understand the joke. If the world saw what I saw, they would see a kingdom of Light, a Kingdom of Darkness, the joy of walking and the thrill of eating. The world is beautiful and I want to restore reverence to the profaned. As an evangelism major, my studies center on helping people to see the world as I see it. As a Christian, my focus is to see the world as God sees it. He has written eternity on my heart, and my writings are attempts to do the same for people living without the Savior. I want to be a writer so I can connect the world with The Kingdom.
Saying goodbye is easy.
The class of 2006 graduated, and the next class to graduate is mine.
The friendships I've developed with those graduating before me will never be the same. Our friendships will no longer be unintentional. Our lives will not interfere with each other's unless I do it purposely--unless I act. I hate acting.
Saying hello isn't so easy either.
I wrote a descriptive story about the first time I met Shirley Q.
Two boys, in the cafeteria, huddled around an Indian taco, that is neither Indian nor taco, eating Grape Nuts cereal, containing neither grapes nor nuts, and discussing Christian science, neither Christian nor science, spot a beautiful girl. The girl being both female and beautiful.
`“She is electric,” Benjamin, the brown haired Minnesotan with Californian
tendancies said.
“Indeed. Electric. Good electric or bad electric?” the boy said to Benjamin.
“Electric like an eel. Definitely good electric,” Benjamin asserted.
“Strange analogy.”
“I do what I can. You know her?”
“Not yet, but maybe she'll go to banquet with me,”the boy said.
The cafeteria is too busy. The chefs are not in a hurry.
The cafeteria offers six types of food. By the entrance are the salads and drinks. Sixty feet across the room is the Deli, where students have a choice of four cheeses, four meets and two types of bread. In between those two areas is the Pizza section, the Italian section, the Home Cooked section, and the Vegetarian Section. All four lined up against the left wall–modeled after a Science fair I'm sure, with no room between them.
The cafeteria offers too many foods, but only one smell. None of the smells are good. None of the smells are distinct. It all smells like a combination of ranch and pizza grease, and can be identified on clothing–three hours after leaving the cafeteria. The ceiling hosts two classy chandeliers. Those chandeliers are surrounded by fluorescent lights. The light isn't annoying because the carpet, with tone and texture similar to dried up blood, absorbs most of it. The cafeteria is clean. Of the thirty, ten foot tables, all are in place, and only one is full of students. Every fifteen minutes the frowning staff lady with the rag wets down the tables. She doesn't use soap–only water.
Under the drinks section, a dark haired, bronze toned Guatemalan girl, wearing a plaid business suit begins exiting the cafeteria. She has the ranch and grease smell. Her shoulder length hair is purposely flipped out at the end. As she reaches for the door, a young dark haired, darkly bronzed young man attempts tapping her on the shoulder. He taps her neck. She doesn't exit. He has the non-rock star bed head look, half his shirt is tucked in, half his shirt is tucked out. He too has the ranch and grease smell. She turns, and they both notice each other's ranch and grease smell.
“Excuse me?” the boy inquires.
The flipped out Guatemalan girl adjusts her coat, and turns around. “Yes?”
“May I ask you a question?” He extends his hand.
“You just did.” The Guatemalan smiles, and the non rock star tucks in the rest of his shirt.
“Oh. Well, I've been wanting to ask you to banquet,” the boy proposed.
“Okay. Ask me.”
“Will you go to banquet with me?” the boy proposed.
“What's your name?” She said with transition, as she started to leave again.
“Sorry, it's Pradeepan. What's your name?”
“That's okay, you don't have to be sorry.”
“??” the Pradeepan was.
“Shirley, and yes, but I have to check my schedule first. Actually, when is it?
“Sunday? I'm not sure.” the ?? asserted.
“Well, you let me know, okay? Here's my number.” She hands him a business card.
“Call me when you know something.”
He takes the card. “Thanks, I will. W'ere going to have a great time. Adios?”
“We better. Mucho gusto?”
“Wow,” the boy thought, “electric.”
The result:
Booya.