Outreach Update
This is an email I sent out yesterday to the staff of Generation Church. It's pretty cool, so I'll let the internet take a peak.
Greetings Staff,
Greetings Staff,
This email is just to let you all know what happened last night at Mitchell High School and some of the events leading up to it.
For the last couple of weeks, Ami has been doing an incredible job getting us into the schools. Basically, she talks and tries to work the legistics out with their staff everyday.
She got us a meeting with the Dean of Students on Tuesday Morning, so P.Jayde, P.Daniel and I went to Mitchell for that meeting. We shared our hearts, listened to his, and talked about how we could partner with the schools. At the end of the conversation with him, the Dean of Students began to cry as we prayed for him. It was a powerful moment and he asked if we would like to speak for 2-3 minutes at a Hispanic Family Night on Wednesday, as well as set up a table representing Generation Church.
This is quite amazing because the district specifically said we would not be able to advertise on any school grounds.
The Carillos, Joe, Carlos, Ami and I went there to speak and run our advertising table.
While we were there several amazing things occurred:
-Almost a month ago, 150 students were expelled for gang affiliation. This was the first event they were allowed back on the school grounds. We got to interact with almost all these kids
-Joe had been praying for an opportunity like this outreach and Ami called him within two days
-Everyone was super interactive with the students--our table definitely stood out in the group (we were the only group that had a table in the adult section and the distant youth section)
-Carlos intentionally smiled and pursued hard faced children. Many of them warmed up as soon as they received the warm greeting. This really messed with Carlos because he realized these kids weren't getting that kind of interaction at home
-We handed out free suckers and oatmeal cream pies. The people really wanted them!
-The school made us a banner to advertise! Amazing!
-Had several conversations with the principal and vice-principal
-Met several teachers asking if we wanted sponsors to get into the school
-One teacher asked if he could send "cutters" to our ministry
-Received prayer requests
These are just a few of the testimonies. It was an exciting and refreshing night. Thanks for all of your prayers.
I'm encouraged. We actually had our first ministry opportunity on MITCHELL!
We are walking in a lot of favor and I believe it's going to increase as we get closer to the plant.
Take that Satan!
-Pradeepan
Persecuted Christians in India
WATCH THIS VIDEO:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/7670747.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/7670747.stm
Dear beloved sponsors and friends of Good News India.
We have never seen anything like this. We knew that Orissa was the most resistant and hostile State in India as far as the Gospel is concerned. And we brushed off the continuous threats and harassment we faced as we went about His work. But none of our staff imagined that they would see this kind of carnage.... And it seems to be totally under the radar of the Western Media ....
Let me explain.... A militant Hindu priest and 4 of his attendants, who were zealously going around the villages of Orissa and 'reconverting' people back to Hinduism, were gunned down by unknown assailants in Central Orissa last weekend.
Immediately the Christians were blamed. The cry rose up...'Kill the Christians!' And the horror began.... In the past 4 days, we have first hand witness to hundreds of churches being blown up or burned and many, many dozens of Christian tribals have been slaughtered. For no other reason than they bear the name of Christ.
Night and day I have been in touch with our Good News India Directors spread across 14 Dream Centers in Orissa... they are right in the middle of all this chaos.
In Tihidi, just after the police came to offer protection, a group of 70 blood-thirsty militants came to kill our staff and destroy the home. They were not allowed to get in, but they did a lot of damage to our Dream Center by throwing rocks and bricks and smashing our gate, etc.
They have promised to come back and 'finish the job.' Our kids and staff are locked inside and have stayed that way with doors and windows shut for the past 3 days. It has been a time of desperately calling on the Lord in prayer.
More police have come to offer protection. In Kalahandi, the police and some local sympathizers got to our dream center and gave our staff and kids about 3 minutes notice to vacate. No one had time to even grab a change of clothes or any personal belonging. As they fled, the blood thirsty mob came to kill everyone in the building. We would have had a mass funeral there, but for His grace. In Phulbani, the mob came looking for Christian homes and missions. The local Hindu people, our neighbors turned them away by saying that there were no Christians in this area. So they left. We had favor. The same thing happened in Balasore.
All our dream centers are under lock down with the kids and staff huddled inside and police outside. The fanatics are circling outside waiting for a chance to kill. Others were not so fortunate. In a nearby Catholic orphanage, the mob allowed the kids to leave and locked up a Priest and a computer teacher in house and burned them to d eat h. Many believers have
been killed and hacked into pieces and left on the road.... even women and children. At another orphanage run by another organization, when this began, the Director and his wife jumped on their motorbike and simply fled, leaving all the children and staff behind. Every one of our GNI directors that I have spoken to said: 'We stay with our kids.... we live together or die together, but we will never abandon what God has called us to do.' More than 5000 Christian families have had their homes burned or destroyed. They have fled into the jungles and are living in great fear waiting for the authorities to bring about peace. But so far, no peace is foreseen.
This will continue for another 10 days.... supposedly the 14 day mourning period for the slain Hindu priest. Many more Christians will die and their houses destroyed. Many more churches will be smashed down. The Federal government is trying to restore order and perhaps things will calm down.
We ask for your prayers . Only the Hand of God can calm this storm. None of us know the meaning of persecution. But now our kids and staff know what that means. So many of our kids coming from Hindu backgrounds are confused and totally bewildered at what is happening around them. So many of their guardians have fled into the jungles and are unable to come and get them during these trying times. Through all this, I am more determined than ever to continue with our goal: the transformation of a community by transforming its children. Orissa will be saved... that is our heart's cry. If we can take these thousands of throw-away children and help them to become disciples of Jesus, they will transform an entire region. It is a long term
goal, but it is strategic thinking in terms of the Great Commission.
What can you do? First, please uphold all this in fervent prayer. Second, pass this e-mail on to as many friends as you can. We must get the word out and increase our prayer base for this is spiritual warfare at its most basic meaning. We are literally fighting the devil in order to live for His Kingdom. The next 10 days are crucial. We pray for peace and calm to pervade across Orissa.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please pass it on and help us to get as many people to partner with us on this cutting edge effort to fulfill His mandate: Go and make disciples of all nations....
Prayer works!
Blessings, Chip & Sandy Wanner Col 2:2 MBI
Team Facilitators to YWAM frontlines
We have never seen anything like this. We knew that Orissa was the most resistant and hostile State in India as far as the Gospel is concerned. And we brushed off the continuous threats and harassment we faced as we went about His work. But none of our staff imagined that they would see this kind of carnage.... And it seems to be totally under the radar of the Western Media ....
Let me explain.... A militant Hindu priest and 4 of his attendants, who were zealously going around the villages of Orissa and 'reconverting' people back to Hinduism, were gunned down by unknown assailants in Central Orissa last weekend.
Immediately the Christians were blamed. The cry rose up...'Kill the Christians!' And the horror began.... In the past 4 days, we have first hand witness to hundreds of churches being blown up or burned and many, many dozens of Christian tribals have been slaughtered. For no other reason than they bear the name of Christ.
Night and day I have been in touch with our Good News India Directors spread across 14 Dream Centers in Orissa... they are right in the middle of all this chaos.
In Tihidi, just after the police came to offer protection, a group of 70 blood-thirsty militants came to kill our staff and destroy the home. They were not allowed to get in, but they did a lot of damage to our Dream Center by throwing rocks and bricks and smashing our gate, etc.
They have promised to come back and 'finish the job.' Our kids and staff are locked inside and have stayed that way with doors and windows shut for the past 3 days. It has been a time of desperately calling on the Lord in prayer.
More police have come to offer protection. In Kalahandi, the police and some local sympathizers got to our dream center and gave our staff and kids about 3 minutes notice to vacate. No one had time to even grab a change of clothes or any personal belonging. As they fled, the blood thirsty mob came to kill everyone in the building. We would have had a mass funeral there, but for His grace. In Phulbani, the mob came looking for Christian homes and missions. The local Hindu people, our neighbors turned them away by saying that there were no Christians in this area. So they left. We had favor. The same thing happened in Balasore.
All our dream centers are under lock down with the kids and staff huddled inside and police outside. The fanatics are circling outside waiting for a chance to kill. Others were not so fortunate. In a nearby Catholic orphanage, the mob allowed the kids to leave and locked up a Priest and a computer teacher in house and burned them to d eat h. Many believers have
been killed and hacked into pieces and left on the road.... even women and children. At another orphanage run by another organization, when this began, the Director and his wife jumped on their motorbike and simply fled, leaving all the children and staff behind. Every one of our GNI directors that I have spoken to said: 'We stay with our kids.... we live together or die together, but we will never abandon what God has called us to do.' More than 5000 Christian families have had their homes burned or destroyed. They have fled into the jungles and are living in great fear waiting for the authorities to bring about peace. But so far, no peace is foreseen.
This will continue for another 10 days.... supposedly the 14 day mourning period for the slain Hindu priest. Many more Christians will die and their houses destroyed. Many more churches will be smashed down. The Federal government is trying to restore order and perhaps things will calm down.
We ask for your prayers . Only the Hand of God can calm this storm. None of us know the meaning of persecution. But now our kids and staff know what that means. So many of our kids coming from Hindu backgrounds are confused and totally bewildered at what is happening around them. So many of their guardians have fled into the jungles and are unable to come and get them during these trying times. Through all this, I am more determined than ever to continue with our goal: the transformation of a community by transforming its children. Orissa will be saved... that is our heart's cry. If we can take these thousands of throw-away children and help them to become disciples of Jesus, they will transform an entire region. It is a long term
goal, but it is strategic thinking in terms of the Great Commission.
What can you do? First, please uphold all this in fervent prayer. Second, pass this e-mail on to as many friends as you can. We must get the word out and increase our prayer base for this is spiritual warfare at its most basic meaning. We are literally fighting the devil in order to live for His Kingdom. The next 10 days are crucial. We pray for peace and calm to pervade across Orissa.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please pass it on and help us to get as many people to partner with us on this cutting edge effort to fulfill His mandate: Go and make disciples of all nations....
Prayer works!
Blessings, Chip & Sandy Wanner Col 2:2 MBI
Team Facilitators to YWAM frontlines
Ami Miller was not Born in America (Part 3)
I'm not sure if blog culture permits what I'm about to do.
Ami/Amreitha Miller commented on part two of the "Ami Miller was not Born in America" series and it is powerful. So, I'm posting it as the third installment of this series.
A. Miller's Response:
P- thank you again for writing this. this one was a tear jerker. thank you for being my friend as i go do one of the most important things i'll ever do in my life. thank you for letting me ask you all kinds of questions about your trip to sri lanka on the bus in Jordan...coming back from aquabah to ammon. i remember thinking my questions were so silly and i was kind of nervous to ask. but you answered all of them. this journey back to india makes me feel very lost. i want to grab a hold of something...like when you have to swim to the side of the pool to catch your breath. when you share about what sri lanka did in your life through stories and experiences, for some reason it helps me catch my breath. i thank Jesus for putting you in my life for such a time as this. really i do.
no one has ever come out and actually said it...i've never said it to myself...."Amreitha was abandoned by her parents." reading this hurt. i felt pain and sadness.
i've been taught and have this tendancy to always look at the positive. even though i was abandoned...i was found! adopted! i have lived a wonderful life with jesus, love, family...all kinds of goodness!
i never knew it was okay to let myself think and feel the truth of the matter...and that is that i was abandoned.
i say this so thankful for all that i have and i hope the following doesn't sound selfish, but with lots of tears, i admit for the first time publically that i wish so badly that i could meet my biological mother and father. i can physically feel my longing for them. in the past few months i have literally ached for something of my biological past. it doesn't have to be much. i'll take anything Lord. even a dream. i find myself every night asking God to provide a miracle and somehow allow me to see/meet them. i can't articulate why this is so important to me. i have wept until my pillow is soaked.....recently.
then i tell myself that just going back will be enough. after experiencing the culture, indian people and meeting my sister's family, the ache will go away. that will be enough.
i have this gut feeling that it won't be enough...in fact, it might make the ache worse.
i want to see someone that looks like me. i want to know if my mother and father loved each other when they had me. i want to know what happened after me. i want to know if they know the truth or if they are hindu. i want to know if i have siblings. i want to know where i get my dark skin, laugh, flat feet, birthmark and the list goes on. i want to be able to tell my children something about their biological grandparents and family. i want to know what family name i belong to. i want to know what i should be proud of from my history or generational curses that need to be broken.
i want to know if she, my mother, thinks about me. if she wonders about my life. what it was like for her to give me to esther. if she knows how curious i am about her and how much it would mean to me to meet her.
i wonder if she aches for me like i do her.
i know that going through this is very good. i agree with pradeep that in ordcer to move forward in my identity, i must wrestle with my past. i didn't know how hard it was going to be.
my pastor said last year this quote i'll never forget..."in order to understand your identity, you must go back to your beginning which will give you insight on your current reality." it's a loaded quote i know! God is literally taking me back to my beginning and i'm curious what all this is saying about my current reality.
P, thank you for the 7 tips! so good and so necessary. i will share them with my family.
altho it is hard, please know how excited i am about this trip and how reconnecting with my past is going to affect my life forever! for all the fears, there is much excitment. for all the questions, there will be SOME anwers! for all the late nights i've cried out to the Lord to meet my birth mother, i also can't sleep just anticipating what's to come with great joy and thankfulness in my heart for this incredible opportunity!
i am stoked!!!
pray for me and my family as we go back. pray for my sister as she deals with the internal struggles of meeting a father she's never known as a father.
pray that the lord will use us in india! i feel in my heart that we are going to minister as well as reconnect with our roots. pray that we are lead by the spirit and that we will seize every opportunity we get...from the oldest, my pilot father to the youngest, my 16 year old brother. pray for our protection and health. pray that we experience brand new facets of the Father's love for us and that we can share that affectively. pray that God uses this trip to bring breakthrough in our family...marriage issues, unity, etc. pray that we experience all that GOd has for us there. pray that as a family we keep our eyes fixed on jesus. pray that we are changed forever and carry a burden for india for the rest of our lives. pray for india. pray for the people there. pray for the christian church there. pray for kingdom relationship between my family and leslie's family...our church and theres.
pray that we lead people to christ!
pray that many will be saved through me and my sister's story/testimony...in india and america for the rest of our lives.
pray that even though i may never meet my biological family, i would be who God made me to be to the fullest! pray that i would be like Deborah...a woman of great wisom and a warrior for the nations of the world, for orphans, for injustice, for a generation and for the lost. pray that india frees me from all limitation and that i truly make a kingdom and eternal impact in the world. just like the ache i feel in my heart to know something of my biological past, i can also literally feel that i have so much love to give. it's overflowing! this part my sound kind of floofy....but i mean it. :)
it's very late and i have so many more thoughts running through my mind.
this is what i can share for now.
thanks for reading.
-amreitha
Ami/Amreitha Miller commented on part two of the "Ami Miller was not Born in America" series and it is powerful. So, I'm posting it as the third installment of this series.
A. Miller's Response:
P- thank you again for writing this. this one was a tear jerker. thank you for being my friend as i go do one of the most important things i'll ever do in my life. thank you for letting me ask you all kinds of questions about your trip to sri lanka on the bus in Jordan...coming back from aquabah to ammon. i remember thinking my questions were so silly and i was kind of nervous to ask. but you answered all of them. this journey back to india makes me feel very lost. i want to grab a hold of something...like when you have to swim to the side of the pool to catch your breath. when you share about what sri lanka did in your life through stories and experiences, for some reason it helps me catch my breath. i thank Jesus for putting you in my life for such a time as this. really i do.
no one has ever come out and actually said it...i've never said it to myself...."Amreitha was abandoned by her parents." reading this hurt. i felt pain and sadness.
i've been taught and have this tendancy to always look at the positive. even though i was abandoned...i was found! adopted! i have lived a wonderful life with jesus, love, family...all kinds of goodness!
i never knew it was okay to let myself think and feel the truth of the matter...and that is that i was abandoned.
i say this so thankful for all that i have and i hope the following doesn't sound selfish, but with lots of tears, i admit for the first time publically that i wish so badly that i could meet my biological mother and father. i can physically feel my longing for them. in the past few months i have literally ached for something of my biological past. it doesn't have to be much. i'll take anything Lord. even a dream. i find myself every night asking God to provide a miracle and somehow allow me to see/meet them. i can't articulate why this is so important to me. i have wept until my pillow is soaked.....recently.
then i tell myself that just going back will be enough. after experiencing the culture, indian people and meeting my sister's family, the ache will go away. that will be enough.
i have this gut feeling that it won't be enough...in fact, it might make the ache worse.
i want to see someone that looks like me. i want to know if my mother and father loved each other when they had me. i want to know what happened after me. i want to know if they know the truth or if they are hindu. i want to know if i have siblings. i want to know where i get my dark skin, laugh, flat feet, birthmark and the list goes on. i want to be able to tell my children something about their biological grandparents and family. i want to know what family name i belong to. i want to know what i should be proud of from my history or generational curses that need to be broken.
i want to know if she, my mother, thinks about me. if she wonders about my life. what it was like for her to give me to esther. if she knows how curious i am about her and how much it would mean to me to meet her.
i wonder if she aches for me like i do her.
i know that going through this is very good. i agree with pradeep that in ordcer to move forward in my identity, i must wrestle with my past. i didn't know how hard it was going to be.
my pastor said last year this quote i'll never forget..."in order to understand your identity, you must go back to your beginning which will give you insight on your current reality." it's a loaded quote i know! God is literally taking me back to my beginning and i'm curious what all this is saying about my current reality.
P, thank you for the 7 tips! so good and so necessary. i will share them with my family.
altho it is hard, please know how excited i am about this trip and how reconnecting with my past is going to affect my life forever! for all the fears, there is much excitment. for all the questions, there will be SOME anwers! for all the late nights i've cried out to the Lord to meet my birth mother, i also can't sleep just anticipating what's to come with great joy and thankfulness in my heart for this incredible opportunity!
i am stoked!!!
pray for me and my family as we go back. pray for my sister as she deals with the internal struggles of meeting a father she's never known as a father.
pray that the lord will use us in india! i feel in my heart that we are going to minister as well as reconnect with our roots. pray that we are lead by the spirit and that we will seize every opportunity we get...from the oldest, my pilot father to the youngest, my 16 year old brother. pray for our protection and health. pray that we experience brand new facets of the Father's love for us and that we can share that affectively. pray that God uses this trip to bring breakthrough in our family...marriage issues, unity, etc. pray that we experience all that GOd has for us there. pray that as a family we keep our eyes fixed on jesus. pray that we are changed forever and carry a burden for india for the rest of our lives. pray for india. pray for the people there. pray for the christian church there. pray for kingdom relationship between my family and leslie's family...our church and theres.
pray that we lead people to christ!
pray that many will be saved through me and my sister's story/testimony...in india and america for the rest of our lives.
pray that even though i may never meet my biological family, i would be who God made me to be to the fullest! pray that i would be like Deborah...a woman of great wisom and a warrior for the nations of the world, for orphans, for injustice, for a generation and for the lost. pray that india frees me from all limitation and that i truly make a kingdom and eternal impact in the world. just like the ache i feel in my heart to know something of my biological past, i can also literally feel that i have so much love to give. it's overflowing! this part my sound kind of floofy....but i mean it. :)
it's very late and i have so many more thoughts running through my mind.
this is what i can share for now.
thanks for reading.
-amreitha
Ami Miller was not Born in America (Part 2)
(Amreitha/Ami is throwing a party for her India trip on Oct. 25th at the Pikes Perk in Colorado Springs. Come at 8pm. This clip is a big stretch to relate to this event and blog)
Three summers ago, I went to Sri Lanka for the first time.
It was on that island I left my teen-years and entered my twenties. It was on that island my sister, mother, aunts, uncle, grandparents and cousins were born and raised.
Connecting with my generational history and roots hugely impacted me. Frequently I asked myself, “What would I be like if was not born in Minnesota?” That’s a tough question considering my parents left Sri Lanka as refugees and entered America under political asylum. When they left Sri Lanka, they left a continuation of pain. I’ve heard stories of Tamil youth being kidnapped and enrolled in the military, killed or drawn to insanity because of the stress civil war brings. That could have been me.
During my three months in Sri lanka, that question plagued me. I looked into the eyes of desperation, poverty and pain. As I stood on a church altar facing a hundred crying faces during a machine gun and grenade fight 15 feet away, I had to wonder, “Why have I been given such a different fate than those around me?” As I rode a motorcycle through the streets while killers fled the police around us, I wondered, “Could I have been a killer?” As I talked to a man with the same age and birthday as me who had been rejected by his whole family because he dedicated his life to Christ and had not spoken with his father for years since, I wondered, “Like Moses was put in a foreign land to change a nation, is the LORD preparing me for reformation?”
Amreitha was abandoned by her parents.
I have no idea what that feels like. I have no idea what kind of questions she’s asking. I imagine there are many.
Where does she begin to ask questions and find answers? Within 24 hours of her birth she was put into the hands of Esther, her Mennonite adoption agent.
Well, I guess she starts by going to India. She’s going in November.
Her experience will be a lot different than mine. While her sister Leslie (the other adopted Indian girl) will meet her family for the first time, Amreitha will not (as things are right now). And just like the answers to her many questions (maybe question she doesn’t know to ask yet), her parents haven’t been identified and found.
I got to meet my grandparents, cousins, aunts and family friends in Sri Lanka. Amreitha may have none of that.
Amreitha’s will be an entirely different experience, but it is entirely necessary. In order to move on with identity issues and personal questions, I believe it is important to wrestle with your past. Jacob did not become Israel until he admitted that he was Jacob (Genesis 32).
Trips like this are hard—most worthwhile achievements and experiences should be, lest they become profane.
Here’s some advice I wish I would have gotten before I went to Sri Lanka (so that the experience isn’t harder than it needs to be) that I’ll pass on to Amreitha and anyone trying to connect with a culture:
1. Don’t be an arrogant American.
• I was. A lot changed inside of me because of Sri Lanka, but I wish I wouldn’t have been such a jerk. Little things show arrogance: not eating and finishing food, not spending time in the house, not asking questions and listening, not learning the language, thinking you know it all, dressing way better than everyone, thinking you are better, etc.
2. Be considerate.
• Realize that when people are taking you into their home, they want to be hospitable (especially if you are American). Even poorer people will bring expensive meals and desserts for you to eat. Please eat the food and enjoy it. Be mindful of you facial expression and body language. Clean and help out without asking, but don’t insist on helping. Sometimes insisting on paying for something or cleaning is an insult to the family (it would be insulting to reject a present on Christmas).
3. Enjoy every experience.
• Even if something is uncomfortable, it will become a great story later on. You’re time is limited on this trip and in life. We don’t have enough time to not enjoy every experience. Learn how to have joy—not just happiness. HAPPiness sometimes only comes when something HAPPENS. Learn to find joy in everything. If you are having a horrible time, your hosts will feel horrible.
4. Be a Learner.
• Ask tons of questions. Learn the language. Learn the customs. Learn names. Learn the national song. Learn the jokes, dances, traditions, history, etc. And when you learn it, write it down!
5. Pray for yourself and the people.
• The Holy Spirit will guide you into all Truth. Involve Him in the experience. Ask for insight and answers to questions about your identity and the identity of the people. Let Him take you by the hand as a tour guide into your land, history, generation curses, blessings and identity. He’s really good. Pray for the people and you will develop a love for them and see your prayers answered.
6. Be Sensitive.
• As a Christian, you are a light to the world. Not only will you receive much from this trip, but you must give. Freely live and freely give. Look for opportunities to share the Gospel, pray for the sick, answer questions, be a listener, give money, a hug, a side hug, an A frame hug, or a letter. Even though I wasn’t perfect in Sri Lanka, I saw legs grow and people get healed and saved.
7. Love the People.
• Love India, but pour that love out on individuals you meet. It’s easy for us to love something or humanity in general, but not really love any human in particular. Grow your love through prayer, interaction and tears.
These are some thoughts. Connecting with the past can be quite painful, but it is necessary for further progress. It’s hard to know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve come from. My three months in Sri Lanka completely changed my life and worldview. I don’t care if you are from China, India, Sri Lanka or Norway, visit your home. Ask questions. Seek Answers.
“He who seeks finds.” (Matthew 7:8)
If you have any more advice for travelers, culture connecters or Amreitha, leave a comment.
-Pradeepan
Three summers ago, I went to Sri Lanka for the first time.
It was on that island I left my teen-years and entered my twenties. It was on that island my sister, mother, aunts, uncle, grandparents and cousins were born and raised.
Connecting with my generational history and roots hugely impacted me. Frequently I asked myself, “What would I be like if was not born in Minnesota?” That’s a tough question considering my parents left Sri Lanka as refugees and entered America under political asylum. When they left Sri Lanka, they left a continuation of pain. I’ve heard stories of Tamil youth being kidnapped and enrolled in the military, killed or drawn to insanity because of the stress civil war brings. That could have been me.
During my three months in Sri lanka, that question plagued me. I looked into the eyes of desperation, poverty and pain. As I stood on a church altar facing a hundred crying faces during a machine gun and grenade fight 15 feet away, I had to wonder, “Why have I been given such a different fate than those around me?” As I rode a motorcycle through the streets while killers fled the police around us, I wondered, “Could I have been a killer?” As I talked to a man with the same age and birthday as me who had been rejected by his whole family because he dedicated his life to Christ and had not spoken with his father for years since, I wondered, “Like Moses was put in a foreign land to change a nation, is the LORD preparing me for reformation?”
Amreitha was abandoned by her parents.
I have no idea what that feels like. I have no idea what kind of questions she’s asking. I imagine there are many.
Where does she begin to ask questions and find answers? Within 24 hours of her birth she was put into the hands of Esther, her Mennonite adoption agent.
Well, I guess she starts by going to India. She’s going in November.
Her experience will be a lot different than mine. While her sister Leslie (the other adopted Indian girl) will meet her family for the first time, Amreitha will not (as things are right now). And just like the answers to her many questions (maybe question she doesn’t know to ask yet), her parents haven’t been identified and found.
I got to meet my grandparents, cousins, aunts and family friends in Sri Lanka. Amreitha may have none of that.
Amreitha’s will be an entirely different experience, but it is entirely necessary. In order to move on with identity issues and personal questions, I believe it is important to wrestle with your past. Jacob did not become Israel until he admitted that he was Jacob (Genesis 32).
Trips like this are hard—most worthwhile achievements and experiences should be, lest they become profane.
Here’s some advice I wish I would have gotten before I went to Sri Lanka (so that the experience isn’t harder than it needs to be) that I’ll pass on to Amreitha and anyone trying to connect with a culture:
1. Don’t be an arrogant American.
• I was. A lot changed inside of me because of Sri Lanka, but I wish I wouldn’t have been such a jerk. Little things show arrogance: not eating and finishing food, not spending time in the house, not asking questions and listening, not learning the language, thinking you know it all, dressing way better than everyone, thinking you are better, etc.
2. Be considerate.
• Realize that when people are taking you into their home, they want to be hospitable (especially if you are American). Even poorer people will bring expensive meals and desserts for you to eat. Please eat the food and enjoy it. Be mindful of you facial expression and body language. Clean and help out without asking, but don’t insist on helping. Sometimes insisting on paying for something or cleaning is an insult to the family (it would be insulting to reject a present on Christmas).
3. Enjoy every experience.
• Even if something is uncomfortable, it will become a great story later on. You’re time is limited on this trip and in life. We don’t have enough time to not enjoy every experience. Learn how to have joy—not just happiness. HAPPiness sometimes only comes when something HAPPENS. Learn to find joy in everything. If you are having a horrible time, your hosts will feel horrible.
4. Be a Learner.
• Ask tons of questions. Learn the language. Learn the customs. Learn names. Learn the national song. Learn the jokes, dances, traditions, history, etc. And when you learn it, write it down!
5. Pray for yourself and the people.
• The Holy Spirit will guide you into all Truth. Involve Him in the experience. Ask for insight and answers to questions about your identity and the identity of the people. Let Him take you by the hand as a tour guide into your land, history, generation curses, blessings and identity. He’s really good. Pray for the people and you will develop a love for them and see your prayers answered.
6. Be Sensitive.
• As a Christian, you are a light to the world. Not only will you receive much from this trip, but you must give. Freely live and freely give. Look for opportunities to share the Gospel, pray for the sick, answer questions, be a listener, give money, a hug, a side hug, an A frame hug, or a letter. Even though I wasn’t perfect in Sri Lanka, I saw legs grow and people get healed and saved.
7. Love the People.
• Love India, but pour that love out on individuals you meet. It’s easy for us to love something or humanity in general, but not really love any human in particular. Grow your love through prayer, interaction and tears.
These are some thoughts. Connecting with the past can be quite painful, but it is necessary for further progress. It’s hard to know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve come from. My three months in Sri Lanka completely changed my life and worldview. I don’t care if you are from China, India, Sri Lanka or Norway, visit your home. Ask questions. Seek Answers.
“He who seeks finds.” (Matthew 7:8)
If you have any more advice for travelers, culture connecters or Amreitha, leave a comment.
-Pradeepan
Ami Miller was not Born in America (Part 1)
My friend Ami Miller was not born in America.
Though, she grew up as a Mennonite (the closest you can get to being Amish) in a small town called Goessel in Kansas (pop. 556). Between her Kansas happy demeanor, pilot father, pastor uncle, farm knowledge, “small-town-big-heart” and pseudo Amish tendencies, you’d never know she was born in India.
Except for the fact she is very brown.
This fact typically requires her to submit follow-up information to the question, “where are you from?” America is a melting pot of origins and cultures, yet many do not believe dark toned people can be born in America.
This can be very annoying for people like me. When people ask me where I’m from I automatically say, “Minnesota/Sri Lanka.” The other day someone mentioned that my English was superb and my accent was flawless. “I didn’t expect to hear words like that come out of a mouth like yours,” she said. The face of America has changed dramatically, but old paradigms are still intact.
Many people assume I was not born in Hutchinson, Minnesota and they are wrong.
Many people assume Ami was not born in Kansas, and they are right.
Before we continue, know that her name her name is not Ami, though 99 plus percent of people who know her call her that. Her name is Amreitha.
She was left with a Mennonite orphan worker, hours after entering the world in Hyderbad, India. From that point on, she lived in an orphanage with several children (including one girl she still remembers, Leslie).
A family from Kansas fought four years to adopt her and the girl named Leslie. They both grew up on a small hobby farm as Mennonites.
Isn’t that incredible that a family who didn’t know these girls fought for four years to get them? That’s reckless love. I wonder how many people told them to give up, but they fought to give their love. When it comes to sharing the Gospel and loving our immediate families, so often we wait to respond to an opportunity. “LORD, please put someone in my path so I can share about your love,” or “LORD, “Give me an opportunity to love my brother when he acts so difficult and ignores me all the time.” I’m realizing more and more that true love is active and pursuing. By no means do I act on this all the time, but—slowly—I’m realizing it.
Amreitha grew up on a small hobby farm as a Mennonite. Because of the lack of Indian culture in Kansas, she never got in touch with her Desi (homeland) roots. For years this has caused a disconnect with her understanding of herself and the world. Yes, she went on choir tours with her schools, spoke at both her high school and college graduation, watched her adopted brothers play 8 man football (shout out to Bryant who is going to state this year), but she always was different—even if she didn’t act any different than her peers or realize it (subconsciously, she must have realized her dissimilarity because she has a passion for orphans and displaced children--last year, Amreitha worked for an adoption agency).
I know how it feels to be different. Growing up, I never felt fully Sri Lankan or Fully American. Never could relate to my family’s stories or my friend's jokes and trips to grandpa's house (I didn't meet my grandparents until I was 20). Almost always, I stood out in a group.
When I went to Sri Lanka for the first time, I had an unexpected experience. For the first time in my life, I could basically go anywhere I wanted and not stand out. I loved it. Without realizing it, I had longed for this type of obscurity my whole life.
This November, Amreitha will have this same experience. She’s nervous. Since her adoption, she has not been to India. It has been 22 years.
P.S.
This month, she holding a party to raise money for this trip. If you would like to contribute, please let me know by leaving a comment or filling out the contact form under the “contact” button above (next to “store”).
Prepare for Part 2 of "Ami Miller was not Born in America."
Though, she grew up as a Mennonite (the closest you can get to being Amish) in a small town called Goessel in Kansas (pop. 556). Between her Kansas happy demeanor, pilot father, pastor uncle, farm knowledge, “small-town-big-heart” and pseudo Amish tendencies, you’d never know she was born in India.
Except for the fact she is very brown.
This fact typically requires her to submit follow-up information to the question, “where are you from?” America is a melting pot of origins and cultures, yet many do not believe dark toned people can be born in America.
This can be very annoying for people like me. When people ask me where I’m from I automatically say, “Minnesota/Sri Lanka.” The other day someone mentioned that my English was superb and my accent was flawless. “I didn’t expect to hear words like that come out of a mouth like yours,” she said. The face of America has changed dramatically, but old paradigms are still intact.
Many people assume I was not born in Hutchinson, Minnesota and they are wrong.
Many people assume Ami was not born in Kansas, and they are right.
Before we continue, know that her name her name is not Ami, though 99 plus percent of people who know her call her that. Her name is Amreitha.
She was left with a Mennonite orphan worker, hours after entering the world in Hyderbad, India. From that point on, she lived in an orphanage with several children (including one girl she still remembers, Leslie).
A family from Kansas fought four years to adopt her and the girl named Leslie. They both grew up on a small hobby farm as Mennonites.
Isn’t that incredible that a family who didn’t know these girls fought for four years to get them? That’s reckless love. I wonder how many people told them to give up, but they fought to give their love. When it comes to sharing the Gospel and loving our immediate families, so often we wait to respond to an opportunity. “LORD, please put someone in my path so I can share about your love,” or “LORD, “Give me an opportunity to love my brother when he acts so difficult and ignores me all the time.” I’m realizing more and more that true love is active and pursuing. By no means do I act on this all the time, but—slowly—I’m realizing it.
Amreitha grew up on a small hobby farm as a Mennonite. Because of the lack of Indian culture in Kansas, she never got in touch with her Desi (homeland) roots. For years this has caused a disconnect with her understanding of herself and the world. Yes, she went on choir tours with her schools, spoke at both her high school and college graduation, watched her adopted brothers play 8 man football (shout out to Bryant who is going to state this year), but she always was different—even if she didn’t act any different than her peers or realize it (subconsciously, she must have realized her dissimilarity because she has a passion for orphans and displaced children--last year, Amreitha worked for an adoption agency).
I know how it feels to be different. Growing up, I never felt fully Sri Lankan or Fully American. Never could relate to my family’s stories or my friend's jokes and trips to grandpa's house (I didn't meet my grandparents until I was 20). Almost always, I stood out in a group.
When I went to Sri Lanka for the first time, I had an unexpected experience. For the first time in my life, I could basically go anywhere I wanted and not stand out. I loved it. Without realizing it, I had longed for this type of obscurity my whole life.
This November, Amreitha will have this same experience. She’s nervous. Since her adoption, she has not been to India. It has been 22 years.
P.S.
This month, she holding a party to raise money for this trip. If you would like to contribute, please let me know by leaving a comment or filling out the contact form under the “contact” button above (next to “store”).
Prepare for Part 2 of "Ami Miller was not Born in America."
Early Morning.
Just a quick update:
Last night, I had my first night shift at the hotel. Literally, I was the only employee in the building.
After I got off my shift at 11pm, I went to bed and dreamt about one customer disobeying my commands, and I beat them into submission.
Then, I woke up at 530am this morning for my 7am shift. This is crazy.
I love it. I'm learning a lot about discipline and sacrifice.
I had to reject a great opportunity to go to a birthday party last night because of this job.
Never really rejected opportunities before.
Never really had an inflexible job before.
That's why I'm learning so much.
Gotta go to work.
-Pradeepan
Last night, I had my first night shift at the hotel. Literally, I was the only employee in the building.
After I got off my shift at 11pm, I went to bed and dreamt about one customer disobeying my commands, and I beat them into submission.
Then, I woke up at 530am this morning for my 7am shift. This is crazy.
I love it. I'm learning a lot about discipline and sacrifice.
I had to reject a great opportunity to go to a birthday party last night because of this job.
Never really rejected opportunities before.
Never really had an inflexible job before.
That's why I'm learning so much.
Gotta go to work.
-Pradeepan
Busking on the Streets
Busking: To play music or perform entertainment in a public place, usually while soliciting money.
Last night, Jesse and I performed on the corner of Kiowa and Tejon from 8pm-3am. A lot happened.
We made $140 money cash.
Basically, we set up our guitars, two djembes and a lounge including the following items: Books (Redeeming Love, Manliness, Money Sex and power), two chairs, table, Ukranian flag, poncho, teddy bear, and chips).
I am thoroughly pleased with how many stories we acquired (as well as money cash).
Because there are so many stories to share, I am going to bullet point them. If you would like the more in depth and humorous story, let me know and I’ll write about it.
The general feel of the night did not revolve around music, though that is how traditional buskers busks. For the most part, we heckled people. We made fun of those who did not give and celebrated those who did. In all my days of life I have never seen anyone on the streets as aggressive as we were. Only by the grace of God did we not get beat up.
This is the list of our Busking adventures:
1. Stole a 17 year old girls busking corner (Cammy’s)
2. Got kissed by a girl with a sore on her lips (we didn’t know she was coming, but we turned our faces just in time)
3. Taught a group of people how to swing dance (Jesse used to be a swing dance teacher)
4. Swing danced with pretty girls dressed up for a formal
5. The drummer from the Desperation band joined us on djembe
6. Prophesied over two girls on two separate occasions (One girl began to tear)
7. Got a bride to dance
8. Almost got beat up (We accused a guy of dating his cousin)
9. Drunk guy threw a vodka bottle at us and then instantly disappeared
10. Random musicians awkwardly joined us
11. We sang 90’s hip songs with acoustic guitars
12. I rap battled Mr. J. Medeiros (This guy is on the same record label as the roots. I won because he refused to compete)
13. Drunk Scottish guy stole a dollar from us, but returned it
14. We accused men of not being providers because they wouldn’t give us a dollar (Some went back to their car to get us money!)
15. We received a tract (This made us angry because it looked like money)
16. Jesse and I pretended like were each other’s competition and said things like “Don’t give money to that guy—he was born with a trust fund"
17. As people drew near to us, we would stop playing and ask for a dollar
MY FAVORITE STORY
18. I asked if anybody would freestyle battle me, and this tall black guy came up and said, “I can’t rap, but I’ll give you a beat.” He began to throw down a horrible beat, but I started rapping to it. At one point, I realized he was really into what I was putting out there. So, I carpe diemed it (seized the moment). I started rapping choruses and having this guy repeat me. He would, and loved it. I’d say things like “Take your wallet out. Take your Wallet out,” and this guy obeyed everything I rapped. So I said “Put all your money in. Put all your money in.” This guy started thinking about what he was doing because he knew he didn’t want to give up all that money, but then I rapped, “Don’t even think about it. Put your money in. Don’t even think about it. Put your money in” and he did! He dropped a fat wad of cash. Then, I rapped, “It’s time to leave now. It’s time to leave now.” This guy actually obeyed everything I said and gave me all his money. Crazy. I bet this morning he wondered where all his money went. PTL!
Overall, it was a great night and I’m glad I did it. We made a lot of money and memories. If you’re interested in joining me, let me know. At all times, anything could happen. Sometimes only one person is watching, but then a group twenty surrounds you. It’s truly neat.
Back to the hotel tomorrow for 7am work!
Peace.
Street Adventures
In a little while, I am about to get my August Rush on. This cool kid Jesse Mutzebaugh and I are grabbing guitars and taking ‘em to the streets of downtown Colorado Springs. If you want to check us out, come to the Tejon and Pikes Peak area.
Last night we had a few unplanned adventures spurring on this performance urge.
ADVENTURE ONE.
Jesse and I put on nice suits and headed to an Art Show we heard about (Sarah Addy mentioned there would be free food). Obviously and purposely over dressed, we perused through the abstract pieces and political paintings. A set of images highlighting the artist Frita caught our attention and I asked to see if the artist was present. She was, and we got introduced to her. As she shared her heart and influences, she seemed thrilled that people wanted to understand the deeper tones of her art (and heart). Eventually, she brought us into a secret room (back stage) with more of her art. It was painful to look into her soul while she described the influences behind her piece, “Coping Mechanism,” and others, but I’m grateful I got to.
ADVENTURE TWO.
“Are you Mormons?” many inebriated night lifers asked us. Our suits were not black. Our ties were not black, yet people thought we were dressed like Mormons. Why have Mormons taken all the credit for suits?
SIDE NOTE: I love wearing suits, and it saddens me that the culture of some churches have developed so that one may feel uncomfortable dressing up for a service. I’m cool with shorts and holed up jeans, but I’m also cool with suits. Just because someone is wearing a suit does not mean they are influenced by a religious spirit.
ADVENTURE THREE (out of order).
A group of girls caught our attention. Sixteen year old girls. Fortunately , we caught the group of twelve’s attention as well (apparently, they weren’t used to seeing men wear suits). These 12, sixteen year old girls caught our attention because they were dressed oddly. Gas masks, old man wigs, little Bo peep dresses, strange glasses, and glittery garments caused this giggling group to stand out.
I’ve always been certain that this is what girls do when guys aren’t around, but this was the first time I actually saw it.
They wanted to take pictures with us. We wanted to take pictures with them, but didn’t want to seem like perverts. Fortunately, they asked first.
Girls. Go figure.
When they email me the pictures I’ll put them up.
ADVENTURE FOUR
Before we met those girls, Jessed and I were heading back to our car. Suddenly, a great music filled the air—great in a creepy way. Anybody that knows me well knows that I had to find the source of the music. Jesse wasn’t aware of anything because he was talking on a phone with a friend that a 17 girl we met reunited him with (that’s the next adventure).
He looked up to find that I was leading him into an exceptionally creepy alley. Creepy music, no lighting and people scattered around made us feel a little insecure, even though we were wearing nice suits (maybe because we were wearing nice suits). Still, we followed the music into the alley. In the alley was another deeper alley. The music got louder and we found the source. A bunch of dreadlocked, pot smoking young adults hung around outside a building (the source of the sound). “Come in. We welcome you” the hippies said to keep us from leaving. It worked. We entered the building and saw intriguing displays. Art hung everywhere, a man blew his brass instrument to drums, bass and synths, and dreadlocked youths made out as we entered the building. I wish I hadn’t worn my suit. We hung out for awhile, but left as people asked us if were Mormon because we didn’t want to take a hit.
ADVENTURE FIVE
“She’s got to be thirteen” we said to each other. Observing this small framed, blonde, trendy looking girl play her guitar and sing on the corner only lasted ten minutes before we asked her how old she was. Seventeen. “I’ve been homeless for about 8 months now” she said to us in response to us asking about her life. We found out that she had moved quite a bit because her dad regularly lost his job, and always wanted a new one in a different location. Our hearts broke as we found that he has never had an education or a stable life. Jesse and I taught her a few guitar tricks and Sarah Addy (who was with us for this adventure) encouraged her during the time we spent with her. This girl, Cammy (like from Street Fighter II Turbo) encouraged us to grab our guitars and play on the streets.
So, that’s what we’re doing tonight.
Last night we had a few unplanned adventures spurring on this performance urge.
ADVENTURE ONE.
Jesse and I put on nice suits and headed to an Art Show we heard about (Sarah Addy mentioned there would be free food). Obviously and purposely over dressed, we perused through the abstract pieces and political paintings. A set of images highlighting the artist Frita caught our attention and I asked to see if the artist was present. She was, and we got introduced to her. As she shared her heart and influences, she seemed thrilled that people wanted to understand the deeper tones of her art (and heart). Eventually, she brought us into a secret room (back stage) with more of her art. It was painful to look into her soul while she described the influences behind her piece, “Coping Mechanism,” and others, but I’m grateful I got to.
ADVENTURE TWO.
“Are you Mormons?” many inebriated night lifers asked us. Our suits were not black. Our ties were not black, yet people thought we were dressed like Mormons. Why have Mormons taken all the credit for suits?
SIDE NOTE: I love wearing suits, and it saddens me that the culture of some churches have developed so that one may feel uncomfortable dressing up for a service. I’m cool with shorts and holed up jeans, but I’m also cool with suits. Just because someone is wearing a suit does not mean they are influenced by a religious spirit.
ADVENTURE THREE (out of order).
A group of girls caught our attention. Sixteen year old girls. Fortunately , we caught the group of twelve’s attention as well (apparently, they weren’t used to seeing men wear suits). These 12, sixteen year old girls caught our attention because they were dressed oddly. Gas masks, old man wigs, little Bo peep dresses, strange glasses, and glittery garments caused this giggling group to stand out.
I’ve always been certain that this is what girls do when guys aren’t around, but this was the first time I actually saw it.
They wanted to take pictures with us. We wanted to take pictures with them, but didn’t want to seem like perverts. Fortunately, they asked first.
Girls. Go figure.
When they email me the pictures I’ll put them up.
ADVENTURE FOUR
Before we met those girls, Jessed and I were heading back to our car. Suddenly, a great music filled the air—great in a creepy way. Anybody that knows me well knows that I had to find the source of the music. Jesse wasn’t aware of anything because he was talking on a phone with a friend that a 17 girl we met reunited him with (that’s the next adventure).
He looked up to find that I was leading him into an exceptionally creepy alley. Creepy music, no lighting and people scattered around made us feel a little insecure, even though we were wearing nice suits (maybe because we were wearing nice suits). Still, we followed the music into the alley. In the alley was another deeper alley. The music got louder and we found the source. A bunch of dreadlocked, pot smoking young adults hung around outside a building (the source of the sound). “Come in. We welcome you” the hippies said to keep us from leaving. It worked. We entered the building and saw intriguing displays. Art hung everywhere, a man blew his brass instrument to drums, bass and synths, and dreadlocked youths made out as we entered the building. I wish I hadn’t worn my suit. We hung out for awhile, but left as people asked us if were Mormon because we didn’t want to take a hit.
ADVENTURE FIVE
“She’s got to be thirteen” we said to each other. Observing this small framed, blonde, trendy looking girl play her guitar and sing on the corner only lasted ten minutes before we asked her how old she was. Seventeen. “I’ve been homeless for about 8 months now” she said to us in response to us asking about her life. We found out that she had moved quite a bit because her dad regularly lost his job, and always wanted a new one in a different location. Our hearts broke as we found that he has never had an education or a stable life. Jesse and I taught her a few guitar tricks and Sarah Addy (who was with us for this adventure) encouraged her during the time we spent with her. This girl, Cammy (like from Street Fighter II Turbo) encouraged us to grab our guitars and play on the streets.
So, that’s what we’re doing tonight.
God used my dream yesterday
God used my dream yesterday. Not everyone knows this, but I dream a lot. On a good night, I’ll get 10 (two pages in length written out) dreams. I’m not trying to brag, considering I have no control over these dreams and haven’t been the best steward of them. Typically, the dreams are forgotten unless someone provokes one and I explain the dream to that person.
This latter situation (someone provoking my dream and asking me to explain it) happened two weeks ago. My dream centered on a candidate in America’s current main political race.
The dream began to travel quickly from intercessors to leaders. Before I knew it, Cindy Jacobs, Dutch Sheets, and Chuck Pierce were praying against a spirit of deception (python spirit) that was trying to control the candidates and a younger generation still green in voting. Jayde Duncan, of the Duncan household I live in, prayed passionately about the next generation of young voters and explained to the 600 attendees of the Dutch Sheets Ministries assembly that a young son in the house had a dream leading up to these prayers.
As leaders around the nation prayed into the circumstances I had seen in my dreams, I felt empowered. Though nobody knew who the “young son” in the house was, it didn’t matter because I was contributing to something bigger.
The goal was bigger than my role.
This whole situation reminded me of some situations I dealt with in the Middle East. As the leader for a group of friends that went, I made many decisions, but didn’t always know the best direction to take. So, I turned to my assistant leader, Hannah Sheets, and asked her to be my eyes (a seer) and help discern the situations. Whether she’s receiving dreams that are steering the course of The Call, a book or some people in the Middle East she has steered many things without receiving public credit.
I love that. A leader able to make things happen without credit is rare and honorable. I want to do this more often, but perhaps by writing about this I’m giving myself credit. Bummer. Maybe Next time I’ll get it.
Two main lessons I learned:
1. Pay attention to every way the LORD speaks and doing something with His messages (pray, write or communicate them out)
2. Leading without recognition is honorable and exciting.
P.S.
As the service reached a climax, Cindy Jacobs pulled the young girls, the young Deborahs, onto the stage to dance before the LORD. Their dancing was pure and beautiful. During that time, a leader (who was unable to hear why those girls were on stage) got upset that none of the men were representing on the stage. So, he looked at my roommate, Daniel Anderson, and me in order for us to get up on the stage. Immediately, we got nervous. How strange, creepy and embarrassing would it have been for us to dance up their with all the women. Usually things like this do not embarrass me, but I knew it would seem like I was making fun of those girls or having an identity crisis. But, we wanted to obey our leader.
We didn’t. He called us over to him. We told him why the girls were up there (without any boys) and he burst in hearty laughter. After the laughter subsided, he let us stay off stage as men.
Praise God it wasn’t a test of pride, for we would have failed.
He just won't let me sit.
The hotel I work or doesn’t want front desk workers to sit. So, on my first day I stood for many hours (my shift is from 7am-3pm). Funny enough, my last job (Outback) required me to walk for several hours serving customers their Bloomin’ Onions. Working class America just won’t let me sit.
Yes, I started working at a hotel today. The Marriott Springhills Suites in Colorado Springs. Working a job like this is not my ideal—it’s not what I was put on this Earth to do, but I am doing it. For the last year, I’ve been living full time occupational ministry, and that’s not changing. My schedule and position in my church staff is increasing, and now I’m adding this job to it. It’s going to be a lot of work, but it’s worth it.
Many things are changing around me. My roommates just got back from the middle east and we’ve renewed our vision, along with the staff, for Generation Church. Some amazing things are happening. We have our first off campus seeker-targeted service on October 29th, so please keep us in prayer. Our church congregation just finished a 90 day assignment to cancel everything that we are doing to worship our LORD. We didn’t have services for three months. I led the last two Generation Church services and that was a real honor. In last week’s service, some students received the baptism of the Holy Spirit and Fire. Others began flowing in a gift of intercession and prayed for the nation and the nations for about an hour. I never got to preach my sermon, but was grateful to facilitate what the LORD was doing in the service.
I never know when the LORD is about do something crazy. Well, sometimes I do. Last Thursday, I went to a cool missions gathering, where missionaries from all over the world assembled to share their stories through video and music. It took place in a bar in Denver. At the event, this girl said the moment I entered the room she was attracted to my “anointing” and had to talk to me. She and a friend approached my group and we began to talk. It wasn’t awkward at all, and before she told me why we were talking, I began to prophesy to her. Turns out the prophesies were relevant (she mentioned as her eyes watered) and that she was one of the organizers of the event. At that point, she told me that she had wanted to talk to me ever since I walked into the room. Two days before that, I spent six hours talking with a world renown missions strategist, Fred Market, and that was unexpected and provoking. I feel like the LORD is about do something crazy—crazier than me working at a hotel.. The LORD is doing great things because He is great, and it seems He doesn't want me to sit when there's a world that needs me to stand.
Peace out,
Pradeepan
Hold me Accountable.
As I do more and more life, I’m realizing that if I don’t reflect, evaluate, capture and articulate some experiences, I lose them. I want to start updating my life adventure frequently (it’s been over a year since I’ve last updated my xanga). So, I’ve moved over to blogspot, and want to post rants, evaluations, reflections and media (videos, music and sermons) on here at least weekly--if not daily.
Stay tuned for stories about my trip to Jordan, week of traveling with the Tony Hawk Tour and living in Colorado Springs.
Please hold me accountable by commenting and asking me to write (I will take requests).
-Pradeepan
This Video is informative
Stay tuned for stories about my trip to Jordan, week of traveling with the Tony Hawk Tour and living in Colorado Springs.
Please hold me accountable by commenting and asking me to write (I will take requests).
-Pradeepan
Generational Curses and you.
We're Cooking on Gas!I spent the last month in Kenya. Now I’m in Minnesota.In Kenya, my host frequently said, “We’re cooking on Gas!” to communicate that something good was happening. Today, I said, “We’re cooking on Gas!” to tell my father that we were literally cooking on gas—a gas stove. He had no reason to laugh and he didn’t. Two hours before this happened, Pastor John Mathews visited us (This Lutheran pastor gave my family a house on his church’s property when we had no where else to live. This man led my baby baptism). Catching up was nice. During that time, I learned something about him. Pastor John Matthews is the president of the International Bonhoeffer Society (http://www.dbonhoeffer.org). This was cool because a group of friends and I read through The Cost of Discipleship, a book by Bonhoeffer, this last year. If you’re looking for a book that will kick your butt as hard as Tozer’s The Pursuit of God, read it. Additionally, I discovered that Pastor John had been a friend of Bonhoeffer’s best friend, Eberhard Bethge, before he passed away in 2000. This man had been a friend of my family before I was even born, yet I didn’t know about his international prestige. I wonder what else I don’t know about people. I wonder what you don’t know about the people in your life—even your family. Whenever I want to learn something about my family, I badger my father or mother. Sometimes the only way to get a story out of my father is by putting a drink into him (not an alcholic). Sowing and reaping. My dad knows how to cook (on gas, wood and electricity). He knows how to cook really well. Sometimes my friends come to my house (while I’m not there) just to eat his food. Why is he a good cook? Simple. He grew up without his father. Through the ceaseless badgering, I found out that my great grandpa (on my father’s side) was the Chief or “Maniakaren” of Kaliamkadu (a village near Jaffna in Sri Lanka). My grandpa, then, left this legacy and became a leader in the Sri Lankan Navy. My father was born, and my grandpa once again left his legacy (my father) behind, so my father grew up without a father. Then, his mother left him. That’s why he had to learn how to cook. Who else would cook for him? On the other side of my family line, I discovered that my great grandpa was an Anglican Priest, Church planter and Christian songwriter. This surprised me because my parents were Hindu until they came to America. My grandma ran away (from India) with my grandpa (a Hindu) and birthed my mother (in Sri Lanka). My mother went to India for the first time this last winter and met some of her cousins for the first time. The incredible thing about that trip is that almost all of her family in India is in the ministry (evangelists, pastors, church planters, etc.). In fact, she saw a whole town celebrating the people of my family because they had just finished translating the Bible into the town’s language. Also, churches are still singing songs that my great grandpa wrote. When I became a born-again Christian and accepted my call to the ministry, I thought I was the first. Through a lot of badgering and research, I discovered I inherited a rich heritage of Christian ministry and village leadership. Exodus 34:6-7 says, “And the LORD passed before him and proclaimed, ‘The LORD, the LORD God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abounding in goodness and truth, keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, by no means clearing the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children and the children’s children to the third and fourth generation.’” This passage tells us that choices don’t affect individuals. Choices affect generations. This principle is neutral—it works for good and bad, like sowing and reaping (if you sow something good, you reap something good . . .). People call these Generational Curses and Blessings. Let me give you a personal example: my grandparents divorced, my parents divorced, so unless I change something, I’m going to divorce. You might hear someone saying, “My grandpa was a doctor, my father was doctor and I’ll be a doctor. It runs in the family.” I hear many families talk about generational blessings and curses, but I don’t think they realize it. It can be about humor, careers or horrid acts, such as molestation. It’s a serious issue and unless someone does something to stop the cycle, it continues. Are their trends in your family that you have noticed? Have you ever wondered why certain things never work out for you? Have you ever said, “I’ll never do the things my parents have done.”? It could be that you are under the power of a generational curse. There is a way out. My Minnesota pastor says, “You can nurse the curse. Rehearse the curse, or you can Reverse the Curse!” Nurse the curse: play the victim (“I’m just a product of my family”). Rehearse the curse: play dead (“I’ll just keep on going with my life”). To reverse the curse, Jesus gave us the way out: “Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us (for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree’), that the blessing of Abraham might come upon the gentiles in Christ Jesus, that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith.” Galatians 3:13-14 People ask me why I have so much favor. Considering that there has been so much pain in my family, it’s a valid question. I have made a choice to not walk in the inheritance of my Hindu family (divorce, alcoholism, rage, etc.). I didn’t even choose to walk in the inheritance of my Great grandpa (the Anglican priest). I have denounced any ties I have to my family, and, through faith, received the promises of my Heavenly Father. Is this possible? Do I have the right to choose which family legacy I inherit? Yes. At eight years of age, King Josiah did it. “Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned thirty-one years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Jedidah the daughter of Adaiah of Bozkath. And he did what was right in the sight of the LORD, and walked in all the ways of his father David.” 2 Kings 22:1-2 What does this prove? It proves that our biological fathers don’t dictate whose ways we walk in. David was not the biological father of Josiah, yet this eight-year-old king inherited his legacy. As Galatians says, we receive the promises of our fathers through faith. Like Josiah, I suggest that you choose to inherit the ways of your Heavenly Father and not your earthly one. Flesh births flesh. Spirit births Spirit. By walking in the Spirit, in all the ways of your Heavenly Father, you’ll find that all generational curses are reversed. God is totally capable of turning a curse into a blessing. “Nevertheless the LORD your God would not listen to Balaam, but the LORD your God turned the curse into a blessing for you, because the LORD your God loves you.” Deuteronomy 23:5 God loves you and wants you to walk in crazy blessings. Our Heavenly Father knows what He is doing, even if our earthly ones do not. Be careful to not curse your parents for the mistakes they have made, for Romans 12:14 says, “bless and do not curse.” All you have to do is denounce the curse and receive the promise of the Spirit through faith. You have to make the choice, though. “’And you shall eat it as barley cakes; and bake it using fuel of human waste in their sight.’ Then the LORD said, ‘So shall the children of Israel eat their defiled bread among the Gentiles, where I will drive them.’ So I said, ‘Ah, Lord God! Indeed I have never defiled myself from youth till now; I have never eaten what died of itself or was torn by beasts, nor has abominable flesh ever come into my mouth.’ Then He said to me, ‘See, I am giving you cow dung instead of human waste, and you shall prepare your bread over it.’” So, what are you cooking on? Because of the sins of our fathers, it might seem that we have to cook on “human waste,” but God is giving us a way out. Stay tuned in for more articles on curses. |
Die for my Enemies
“Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:7–8)
As of now, typing is rather difficult. Even though there is no snow today (December 19, 2006) in Minnesota, lying down in the heat consuming, hardened grass may not have been the best way of resting, especially for one hour. It was worth it, though. As I rested on the frozen ground, after jogging through a suburban community and dense woods, I decided to soak in the mysterious, Minnesotan blue sky. In my peripheral vision, a few trees and bird silhouettes bordered my view. For me this was a needed and refreshing experience. Because of that time spent outdoors, my forearms and fingers are, only now, beginning to function normally—typing is starting to get easier. In order to fully absorb the environment and beauty around me, I gave up my warmth to the chilly night and deep Earth. Like I said earlier, I did that for an hour.
When I stood up, I drunkenly stumbled towards my house, away from the trees. A lady surprised me as I walked home. Somehow I did not sense her presence (though it was dark) and she walked by with a German Shepherd on a leash. Frequently when I see people, like that lady or a close friend, I think, would I be willing to die for that person? It’s a startling thought. In this world, many people never reach their full potential. In fact, it is rare that a person whole-heartedly strives towards the greatness inside each and everyone of us. I fully plan on finding my greatness in God. Why, then, would I sacrifice my life for someone that will never be something great? On top of that, why would I die for someone that I’ve never met? Even that raises other questions in me. Would I die for someone that I don’t respect? Who am I to judge a person's worth? Would I die for a child molester?
This has been really hard for me to understand. So, I searched the Scriptures. I found that Jesus Christ “died for the ungodly” (Rom 5:6). The verse following this says that “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (5:8). Christ died for us even though we were His enemies (Rom 5:10). Before dying on the Cross, Jesus told the disciples that “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Before this, he says “My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you” (15:12). If I am going to love people like Jesus did, I have to be willing to die as He did. From now on, I choose to recklessly love. In order to enjoy the Minnesota Outdoors, I gave up my warmth. In the same way, in order to love people, I am willing to give up my life.
If you ever hear me say that I love you, know that I mean it—even if it costs me my life.
As of now, typing is rather difficult. Even though there is no snow today (December 19, 2006) in Minnesota, lying down in the heat consuming, hardened grass may not have been the best way of resting, especially for one hour. It was worth it, though. As I rested on the frozen ground, after jogging through a suburban community and dense woods, I decided to soak in the mysterious, Minnesotan blue sky. In my peripheral vision, a few trees and bird silhouettes bordered my view. For me this was a needed and refreshing experience. Because of that time spent outdoors, my forearms and fingers are, only now, beginning to function normally—typing is starting to get easier. In order to fully absorb the environment and beauty around me, I gave up my warmth to the chilly night and deep Earth. Like I said earlier, I did that for an hour.
When I stood up, I drunkenly stumbled towards my house, away from the trees. A lady surprised me as I walked home. Somehow I did not sense her presence (though it was dark) and she walked by with a German Shepherd on a leash. Frequently when I see people, like that lady or a close friend, I think, would I be willing to die for that person? It’s a startling thought. In this world, many people never reach their full potential. In fact, it is rare that a person whole-heartedly strives towards the greatness inside each and everyone of us. I fully plan on finding my greatness in God. Why, then, would I sacrifice my life for someone that will never be something great? On top of that, why would I die for someone that I’ve never met? Even that raises other questions in me. Would I die for someone that I don’t respect? Who am I to judge a person's worth? Would I die for a child molester?
This has been really hard for me to understand. So, I searched the Scriptures. I found that Jesus Christ “died for the ungodly” (Rom 5:6). The verse following this says that “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (5:8). Christ died for us even though we were His enemies (Rom 5:10). Before dying on the Cross, Jesus told the disciples that “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Before this, he says “My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you” (15:12). If I am going to love people like Jesus did, I have to be willing to die as He did. From now on, I choose to recklessly love. In order to enjoy the Minnesota Outdoors, I gave up my warmth. In the same way, in order to love people, I am willing to give up my life.
If you ever hear me say that I love you, know that I mean it—even if it costs me my life.
Minnesota Zoo School
I went to the "zoo school." If you don't believe me, watch the video (I'm in it).
Relevant Published my Article
I went to the Relevant Magazine website today, and saw my article advertised on the front page. This is my first published writing (I think). You can either go to Relevantmagazine.com, and see it on the front page, or you can look at it directly.
The Occasional Side-Hug
In high school, Zach's soccer team called him "the Constipator." On and off the field, he congested any chance his opponents had at scoring. In high school, even though he wasn't popular, he had a reputation. But that's not important anymore. The Constipator, now attending a mid-size university—the kind too small for fraternities, but big enough for co-ed cheerleaders—now has a great task in front of him: reclaiming a status equivalent or greater than that from high school. "Ahhmmm," Zach said (meaning where do I start?) the first time he realized that he no longer held "the Constipator" title.
The students of Minnesota's Champlain University were not impressed by his new clothes (hand-me-downs from his sister), his faded khaki hair (a combination of a mullet with a comb-over) or his style of conversation (avoiding eye contact and moaning). Zach not only didn't fit in, he caused the rest of the student body to question their own personal worth and hygiene. His idea of health differed from most people's. While most students on campus believed in the "five-second-rule," for the amount of time food can spend on the ground before it's uneatable, Zach strictly followed the "it's not scissors rule." He ate many substances of food, but only Jell-O and Lucky Charms regularly. His idea of health differed from most people’s. Zach's skin above his right elbow elevated and formed two tones of a pink rash because he went the first week of school without a shower and refused to cover his thirteen year old, lily and rose patterned, mattress with sheets. "Ahhmmm," (meaning I feel sick) are the first words Allan (a navy student from New Jersey and the son of a butcher/hairstylist/jockey), Zach's roommate, heard from him as he emerged from under their bunk bed with his left hand in a warm chocolate pudding snack pack (only one week past the expiration date). In fact, most of Zach's first meetings involved pudding and sickness. Soon, Zach found out that people don’t like mixing pudding with sickness. Five out of the five students and teachers Zach met in his first week of school avoided him--he was a considerable distance from reclaiming "the Constipator" type status. Even so, he still managed to find the approval of his peers—kind of.
"Zach, if you jump off of that, I'll give you five dollars" Zach's dorm room neighbor, Taylor said. That's why Zach's ankles are swollen now. Some cantaloupes are smaller than the size of those ankles (a lot tastier too).The five dollar proposal served a more powerful role than an exchange of goods. In his mind, "I'll give you five dollars" meant "I will give you my respect and the occasional side-hug." Sacrificing his ability to walk was worthwhile. However, before this final attempt, he fought diligently to earn "the Constipator" status in the eyes of his school, particularly the group he lived with.
That particular group called themselves, "the Dirty Dozen." The Dirty Dozen, if any group could be, seemed like the perfect match for Zach. The group hated the radio because it felt that creative expression didn't grow there. The members appeared to hate it when groupthink hindered the innovations of the individual. Zach fit because he had creativity and operated as an individual. The campus acknowledged the Dirty Dozen by reputation: the group that lasted a week without showering. When Zach recognized the quality of this group he said, "Ahhmmm" (meaning "Finally, a group that will give me respect and the occasional side-hug). Their friendships were established during that week without a shower. In that time, differences, allegiances, or social status didn't matter. That week was beautiful and sacred to them. It was the start of something.
"Ahhmmm," Zach suggested to Allan in an attempt to find his respect.
"What? Why would you . . ."
"Ahhmmm."
"There's no way you can fill it up in two hours," Allan asserted and pointed to an empty gallon of water."
"Ahhmmm."
"Taylor, come here! Zach says he can fill this jug with pee by the end of the night," the whole dorm floor heard Allan shout. Taylor, accompanied with eleven floor mates, went to Allan and Zach's room. The room never was very messy, but always in accordance with Zach's health code—eight out of the eleven men accompanying Taylor refused stepping past the separated pieces of computer and pudding to enter.
"So you're going to fill it up in one hour?" Taylor asked.
"No. He's not filling that up in my room" Allan said to Taylor.
"Ahhmmm."
"There's no way he can do it. No way, man," Taylor said to provoke Zach.
"There's no way!" Taylor's eleven companions chanted.
"Ahhmmm," Zach replied.
"No way!"
"Ahhmmm." And Zach drank two liters of flat root beer. And Zach filled the jug plus six IBC bottles. Still, the group didn't give him any more respect than what a person who pees in a bottle deserves.
"Ahhmmm," (meaning maybe if I pull the fire alarm, the guys will respect me) Zach thought to himself. 2 am is when Zach's floor sleeps. Zach doesn't. Zach hammers on his carpet, and watches TBN. Hammering and TBN didn't get Zach the respect he wanted, so he pulled the fire alarm.
"Who pulled the fire alarm?" murmured the bloodshot crowd. Protocol requires that the dorm is evacuated in the event of a fire alarm. Because Zach stayed in his room, he didn't hear their murmurs. Unfortunately, Zach lost respect the night he pulled the fire alarm, and that's what led to the swelling of his ankles.
Besides the two failed attempts for gaining respect, Zach tried several times to integrate himself into the Dirty Dozen—the group that consummated their friendship through the week without a shower. Since then, they haven't included anyone else--it was more convenient that way. To them, adding a friend would be like rewatching three seasons of Smallville in order for a newcomer to catch up.
"Zach, if you jump off of that, I'll give you five dollars" Zach's dorm room neighbor, Taylor said. Zach stood over the fire escape, three stories up. "Ahhmmm" (meaning this is my chance to gain their respect) Zach thought to himself. This time the Dirty Dozen watched in amazement. With the rest of campus also watching, Zach still held his confidence, like a man that hasn't realized his fly is down. The blue railing separated him from achieving his glory—he lunged through it.
He jumped. He stuck the landing. Unfortunately, sticking the landing meant that his ankle swelled. All the momentum the forty foot jump developed halted as he said, while everybody watched, "Ahhmmm." The grass he landed on looked unaffected, but his ankle swelled to the size of an amateur cantaloupe. Zach looked more confused than hurt. It didn't matter, though. Because during the fifth second of his airtime, he felt greater than "the Constipator" could have ever. Even so, most people on campus still don't talk to him or give him the occasional side-hug. The Dirty Dozen took him in, though they aren't looking for any more friends.
The End.
Sri Lanka #8 (The End)
Actual Last Lankan Post- Summer 2005
It's over. Perhaps, I could say that the impact of this rite of passage will last past August, but that's not fitting. It's over, and I'm glad. Glad that comforts will be available, and glad that I have been engaged. I thank God for this summer- He never told, asked, or commisioned me to Sri lanka, however, I give Him credit for all the times "unhindered joy!" was an acceptable exclamation.
I see two possibilites upon my U.S.A arrival (I leave July 25th).
1. Satan will attack his darndest, heh, and I will fall.
2. Satan will attack his darndest, and I will fall...and suck some carpet (prayer with the Christian God).
Please pray. This summer is a catylyst for something important in my life. Pray that the energy is focused in the right direction, for much of the Sri Lankan bi-polar tendancies have been refined in me. Believe me, I am not afraid of losing my salvation, but I've always fallen the hardest after God moved deep in my life.
If you have any last words, or prayers, please comment. When you serial killers of the LORD fight on my behalf through prayer/encouragement on xanga, I know that something is absolutely rocked in the Spiritual, and above all, I feel popular. Don't take that away from me.
Either way, thanks for such high grade friendships. In Sri Lanka, the foreigners I've conversed with have been quite impressive- NGO, Volunteer, Ministry, Stinkin' rich, and impacting people. Yes, God has brought incredible, giving people to Sri Lanka.
I still believe that my friendships are with the highest calibur people around. You people are freaking sweet. Maybe it's because Captivating is one of the only books I took to Lanka, but I'm starting to feel deeply. One of the first areas impacted, is my appreciation for you all. Would you please give God some glory and realize how rare you are? All people are special- not to me. On July 17th, Newsweek actually declared that "Pradeepan has been blessed with the greatest of aquaintances." If you are reading this, don't get distracted by lies, and take it to heart that I desire to be with you, that I love you. Many of you have taught me about true love and revealed aspects of the Father I profaned. I think a "thank you" is appropriate right about now: Thank you. Now you may give yourselves a "God Bless You."
It's over. Perhaps, I could say that the impact of this rite of passage will last past August, but that's not fitting. It's over, and I'm glad. Glad that comforts will be available, and glad that I have been engaged. I thank God for this summer- He never told, asked, or commisioned me to Sri lanka, however, I give Him credit for all the times "unhindered joy!" was an acceptable exclamation.
I see two possibilites upon my U.S.A arrival (I leave July 25th).
1. Satan will attack his darndest, heh, and I will fall.
2. Satan will attack his darndest, and I will fall...and suck some carpet (prayer with the Christian God).
Please pray. This summer is a catylyst for something important in my life. Pray that the energy is focused in the right direction, for much of the Sri Lankan bi-polar tendancies have been refined in me. Believe me, I am not afraid of losing my salvation, but I've always fallen the hardest after God moved deep in my life.
If you have any last words, or prayers, please comment. When you serial killers of the LORD fight on my behalf through prayer/encouragement on xanga, I know that something is absolutely rocked in the Spiritual, and above all, I feel popular. Don't take that away from me.
Either way, thanks for such high grade friendships. In Sri Lanka, the foreigners I've conversed with have been quite impressive- NGO, Volunteer, Ministry, Stinkin' rich, and impacting people. Yes, God has brought incredible, giving people to Sri Lanka.
I still believe that my friendships are with the highest calibur people around. You people are freaking sweet. Maybe it's because Captivating is one of the only books I took to Lanka, but I'm starting to feel deeply. One of the first areas impacted, is my appreciation for you all. Would you please give God some glory and realize how rare you are? All people are special- not to me. On July 17th, Newsweek actually declared that "Pradeepan has been blessed with the greatest of aquaintances." If you are reading this, don't get distracted by lies, and take it to heart that I desire to be with you, that I love you. Many of you have taught me about true love and revealed aspects of the Father I profaned. I think a "thank you" is appropriate right about now: Thank you. Now you may give yourselves a "God Bless You."
Sri Lanka #7 (The end is coming)
Potential Last Three Part Sri Lanka Post
“Exceedingly abundant” is a direct quote from a dear friend I received in an email. She might have stolen it from Ephesians 3:20m, but that can’t be proven. Right now, I am spending alone time with my ThaTha (grandpa). He’s asleep. Quality, quantity, it’s all the same to me. Okay, back to “exceedingly abundant.” For awhile, the tensions between my mother and I has been quite stressful, sinful even. I know what you’re thinking, however, Pradeepan wasn’t completely right in his attitude or interaction with his mother. I’m a man of God, yet I’ve given the devil a foothold in this area. My good friend Raja counseled me concerning this area the other day. “Raja, how do you honor someone you’ve lost respect for?” I asked him.
Raja’s father disowned him when he was 9- because he converted to Christianity. During the heat of the civil war, he was turned into the police. His father told the police that Raja was part of the LTTE (The rebel force in Sri Lanka Sri Lanka-
Finally, I brought my thoughts to the father. You know, the whole bring it to the throne instead of the phone type of thing. “Father, I am border line hating my mother. If this keeps up, I think I’ll hate her.” The LORD told me that was a lie. “You do hate her.” Is what the LORD communicated after that.
1 Corinthians 13:4-7
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged. It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful and endures through every circumstance.
Thanks DC Talk for telling me that love is a verb. Truly, I am thankful. For some reason, I had never realized that hate was also a verb. Literally, I practiced the opposite of everything that love verse concerned. However, it happened only when with my mother. I profaned the love between a mother and a son- I didn’t value it, I made it common. I chose to hate. Now, I choose life. Praise God.
Sorry, sanguine personality, so back to the whole “exceedingly abundant” thing. Raja counseled me in a van on our way to some NGO medical conference. The conference is still going on in Vivuniya , Sri Lanka America
This year, the same team, the same ministry came to Vivuniya. So did I.
The leader and I continued to talk until one of my friends mentioned that I play guitar. Soon, he asked me to play bass with the Sri Lankan music group. Holy Jesus!
But, this is where the exceedingly abundant thing comes in…
He asks me to sing and play guitar by myself. Lead worship.
I went from repenting to this. Only God. More than I could imagine.
I love you guys. This will be my last post while in Sri Lanka
Love, Pradeepan
Pictures.
Sri Lanka #6 (Mindset of a Man)
The Mindset of a Man
July 10, the first day of my non teenage years since the humble age of
twelve.
July 9, my birthday was amazing. Somehow the day summarized much of my teenage life. I was going to post a Xanga entry on one of the adventures (I got taken to an all girl school to hang out), but I have a more important message, and I don’t want you all to think I’m a freakin horn dog. Three posts in a row about girly adventures. Not in my house.
Here are some birthday pictures.
Today was the first day I asserted the mindset of a man into my head. At 5am Mohan Uncle’s arrangements to take a long walk on the beach commenced. A great start to this new era in my life. The warm wind, one of my favorite things, blew across our faces while uncle exotically exercised. Once you watch a Sri Lankan move like that, there’s no going back to boyhood. Dr. Hoover of ORU’s Aerobics center told me those movements are not affective. I have to disagree. While they might not be efficient, something took place. I fear the day I find out what. In any case, this start was a nice, strangely romantic, start to the year. We didn’t hold hands or anything, but once the sun rises over a Sri Lankan beach, it’s over.
Many of you know that I am not the best with details. I am the kid who forgot about college after all.
That annoyed my mom, though she would have agreed that it was nice to see every single Pentecostal church in the region. My memory told me the service started at 9:30 . At 9:45 we arrived. The service started at 8:30 . Thankfully, the church was so packed that I sat outside, and hardly anybody knew I was there. I found myself without a translator, but when that happens, God usually starts a conversation with me.
Then something happened. “Are those fireworks” I asked my friend with the same birthday. Something didn’t feel right, though they sounded just like Blackcats. He said no. The church service started, and everyone who was outside with me, started running in the church. They realized that those seemingly fireworks were actually machine guns.
I simply stood outside. A bit startled, I just stood. The women and children were crying fairly loud. The men were surprisingly strong, including me. This rude awakening to manhood caught me off guard, but I wasn’t afraid. The gunshots went on for about 15 minutes. By that time, a friend led me into the kitchen. The kitchen is located right behind the pulpit, so I was directly behind the pastor. All these scared people looked to the pastor for strength, and indirectly made eye contact with me. That’s when I felt my first grenade vibrations. It was pretty intense for even a Sri Lankan church service. The Pastor summoned the body to pray, and that’s what they did. Since I was situated in the direction of their prayers, I got to see people crying out of true desperation.
In those moments, I saw 23 years of war memories, lost children and parents, broken spirits, pain, hopelessness all in the eyes of those praying. Then what I saw was accompanied with the yells of resurfaced Tsunami nightmares. These people go through so much. Those eyes. They’ve gone through so much, and though I couldn’t relate, I was a part of it.
I tried to be strong for one girl. She was maybe 10 years, and after trying to convey strength through our exchanges of eye contact, she gave me a smile. Right after everything had happened. Man, this was crazy.
The shots were connected to the LTTE, a rebel force in Sri Lanka
Readers, please know that you’re blessed. When you’re complaining about food, heat or an argument, try to keep perspective.
This was my first day in manhood, and I have a feeling that this won’t be the last time I’ll go through such intensity. Pray for this nation will you? God bless you all.
Here are some pictures of people leaving to their homes.
Sri Lanka #5 (Brothel Adventure)
Pradeepan’s Big City Bordello Adventure!
Preface:
In the last 36 hours, 24 have been spent on a train. For 12 of those 24, 2 options were given: stand or sit on the cockroach infested floor. Xanga friends, if a Sri Lankan heard me saying this, he would say, “poy!” (Poy:lie). Those last statements were only true a couple days ago.
The trains here are crazier than the buses. When I saw my first road here, the traffic’s pure chaos caught my attention, and I thought “Americans could never drive here.” However, God has taken me to the deeper revelation. American’s could not even walk here. Yes, I have a hard time walking in Sri Lanka
Sri Lankans are of the bi-polar sect, especially when it comes to being aggressive. I will use my train experience to begin this thought. Before the train arrives, everyone waiting is considered family. Sharing food, conversations, and laughs all add to the feeling of family. Heck, I even spent some time with a stranger’s baby. Trust. Then the train comes. And, like Eliza, when I use quality as an adjective to describe someone, the family snaps. The people gird their loins like men and run the race to win. As people literally jump on the moving train, others literally try to push them off. Mothers betray their sons, and daughters forsake their grandparents. My train companions actually scolded me for not pushing my way through.
Becoming all things to all people nothing. This is one thing I refuse to mimic. I guess I’m learning something from Scott’s revelation on keeping the core, but changing.
Old ladies do not deserve to die on train tracks. Case closed.
I only said I would use my train experience to begin my thought on the bi-polar actions of Sri Lankans. This thought applies to greater things than transportation, or walking to that transportation.
Girls. Yes, they’re still on my mind.
Sri Lankan girls have demonstrated intriguing extremes for me. When around Lankan boys, or perceived born and raised Lankan boys, they tend to be an almost timid type of shy, as oppose to the prideful type of shy. The girls act that way with me also. Then they hear me speak. Then, like not-Maus when hearing the first clap of thunder, they snap. They realize I’m different, and gird their loins…uh…they get aggressive. Somehow, I become free game. Perhaps a little green card happy, but that doesn’t matter to me. The motivation of a girl giving me attention has hardly ever mattered. Oh what a fun life I live. I’m not going to “poy,” it feels good to be called a beautiful man. Ask a friend to call you one sometime, seriously.
Needless to say, not a lot of ministry has been going on. Don’t forget, that was never the intention for this trip. The intention has been to develop relationships with my family. It feels so good to be with family, like my dad’s mother. Mind you, I had never even seen a picture of her.
Believe it or not, all this has been an intro to a story Zimm and Keesh suggested I share. Maybe it wasn’t an intro. Preface. I like that word. One day, perhaps I can be known for writing amazing prefaces. Moving on…
Pradeepan’s Big City Bordello Adventure!
The boy’s name was Gavtiago. The sun was rising as the boy arrived with his herd to an abandoned bathroom in Colombo , Sri Lanka Colombo
“You want massage?” while demonstrating on my shoulder, was one of the first ideas communicated to me when finally arriving in Colombo Sri Lanka
“Virrapum Illay” I responded. In Tamil that means I don’t like. But, I sometimes use it to say I don’t want (I don’t want: Vernom). A little later, Gav and Nesh took me on a tour through the city. Nesh held my hand (Sri Lankan boys hold hands, fingers interlocked and all. It’s actually quite beautiful when done in purity), and translated Gav’s questions about American women for the majority of the time. Gav “virrapum” the American ladies. He wants one that smokes and wears a bikini. When I say smoke, I mean cigarettes. Colombo Sri Lanka
By the 7th time, I stopped getting annoyed and started getting curious,
and he probably wanted the massage anyways.
I checked my backpack in, and followed Gavtiago up the stairs. I figured if I just looked, he’d stop bugging me about the massage. “Wanga” (come) said the lady at the desk as she get led me to another room. Gav simply smiled. The empty room gradually filled with Sri Lankan women. Innocent in thinking, I thought “how strange.” Then, I noticed that these women weren’t clothed like normal Sri Lankan women, and wore a lot more makeup than the normal women.
I engaged in a conversation with my heart.
Probably not the best time, for to everyone else it looks I’ve gone brain dead.
“What the crap are you doing in this Bordello” Heart said.
“Bordello” Wait…those are prostitutes?” the innocents/Godly boy inquired.
“Yeah. Just look at them.”
“Eww.”
Heart related and said, “Tell me about it. Guard your carnal treasure Pradeepan.”
“Guard my carnal treasure? Heart, you know me better than that. This is disgusting”
“Pradeepan, get outta there!”
“Lighten up, we are in a bordello after all” I jested.
Not amused, Heart replied, “don’t make me get the Holy Spirit.”
All of that took place in about five seconds. A long time, when so many people are staring at you.
I didn’t know what to do. I talked to the sun, the wind and dessert and still didn’t know how to turn into the wind, so that wasn’t an option for escape. In Tamil, I had to take action. “Virrapum Illay! Virrapum Illay!” I proclaimed. Remember, that means I don’t like, but I used it to say I don’t want. When 10 plus girls are waiting for you to choose one of them for a “massage,” saying I don’t like is not the best thing. They went from seducing me, to a sort of offended anger, as oppose to the irritated type of anger. Those girls got real scary.
I can relate to Joseph the Dreamer. He ran from Pottifer’s wife, and while still proclaiming “virrapum illay,” that’s exactly what I did.
Nesh never went inside. Somehow, he knew. Take this advice, if someone takes you to get a massage, and you have to walk through a bar to get to it, don’t go. Maybe that’s how Nesh knew.
I scolded Gav, and explained to him “naan Pastor” (I am a pastor). He already knew that though.
We had a good laugh about it, and everytime Nesh and I see the shy and polite boy that Gav is, in the presence of mothers, we laugh.
Oh, what a hilarious dirty Sri Lankan of a man.
The End.
This has got to be my longest Xanga entry. Before I leave, I want to affirm you all that I’m still a man of God. The reason Gav, Nesh and I were able to have a good laugh is because nothing happened. Praise God. I never want to go in a place like that again. Eww.
Anyways, I also want to thank you all for the encouragements. I re-read all your comments, prayers, and words of affirmation so many times. Words of affirmation is definitely one of my better ways of hearing love. If I’m not commenting on your site a lot, don’t worry. When I see you in real life, you’re probably going to get a lot of kisses fro me.
Scattered thoughts:
This post might look weird. It doesn't look right on Sri lankan comps.
I might meet the prime minister today.
Made friends with a good English speaking born again Sri Lankan (his father didn’t talk to him for seven years, starting at the age of 9, because of his conversion to Christianity). His name is Raja.
Raja’s best friend has the same birthday as me. July 9th.
God is still transforming me.
I love you, in ways I never knew how to before this trip.
Here are more pictures. Besides one, I’ll just post the links. With the slow internet, it's easier for me.
(Everyone has a photo like this, so why not)
(The mom and I)
(Temple area)
(One of my favorite pictures of those I've taken)
(Random people we hung out with in Jaffna. Look at my face.)
(Rebel force, LTTE, Leader's house)
(Father's childhood neighbor)
(Actual classroom my father used)
(First meeting with my Grandma)
(Free food!)