What I Learned This Summer, Part III: Guarding Your Heart and Nontraditional Housing

This is the third part of a four-part series.  Part I, Part II.

I’ve written two posts over the past couple weeks: the first dealt with my education in business and photography through self-employment; the second, some of my thoughts on homelessness.  This post deals with what I learned about a Christian idea called “guarding your heart” and nontraditional housing compared to my suburban upbringing.  Next week, I’ll talk about the Gospel – the depth of which I grew to understand more this summer.

Guarding Your Heart

I subscribe to several podcasts, one of which is the North Point Ministries podcast, featuring the sermons of Andy Stanley.  I listened to Andy on the radio (this makes me feel old!) many Wednesday nights in high school, and have read several of his books.  I’m incredibly grateful for his wisdom.

The current podcast series started in July, with an episode titled “The Hidden Chamber.”  It was perhaps this episode that, thus far, most resonated with and challenged me.  Andy spoke of the heart as a hidden chamber, as the place from which our thoughts and motivations come.  His text was from Proverbs 4:23-27, reproduced below:

Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.
Put away from you crooked speech, and put devious talk far from you.
Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you.
Ponder the path of your feed; then all your ways will be sure.
Do not swerve to the right or to the left; turn your foot away from evil.

These verses come from a book of wisdom written by Solomon, King of Israel in the mid-900s BC.  Here, he speaks to his son, warning him to “keep” (or guard) his heart.  Out of the heart comes our true self – all the thoughts and intentions, desires and emotions.  They may be black with sin, pure as snow, or some gray slushy mix in between.  The primary instruction in these verses is to keep away from doing evil.  How? Guard your heart.

This was somewhat new to me.  Often, in Christian circles, “I’m guarding my heart,” can either be a fancy, tactful, way to reject a potential suitor, or to put the brakes on increasing emotional intimacy so one don’t give oneself away too quickly to a significant other before the actual marriage.  This was how I understood the phrase “guard your heart,” as do some of my peers (I once received a “not interested in a relationship” message using this phrase as part of the reasoning).  I don’t think this is wrong, but it has become clear that such an understanding displays a flagrant disregard for context, and therefore (in this instance), is unbiblical.

So, what ought it mean?  Stanley suggests that it mean we literally keep watch over our hearts; that is, our thoughts and desires.  So often, we put up behavioral and linguistic filters through self-imposed morality.  Then, when darkness springs from our heart past our filters, others say, “That’s really not like you.”  But, in fact, it is.  Our true self just burst through our façade.  Our heart was exposed.

To guard one’s heart is to relentlessly purge evil from oneself.  To catch those stray thoughts that betray unrighteousness and recognize them as evil.  To know ourselves and seek purity of heart.

However, if we are the ones who are broken, how can we fix ourselves?  I say we cannot: God must come and give us a new heart!

Search me, O God, and know my heart!  Try me and know my thoughts!  And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!  -Psalm 139:23-24

Guard your heart and turn your foot away from evil.  Through Christ, we have a new heart; through His Spirit within us, we have the power to be rid of the evil that springs up from within.  Guard your heart, and may Jesus lead you in the way everlasting.

Nontraditional Housing

I now switch gears to something completely different!  This summer, I read a book called Little House on a Small Planet, by Shay Salomon.  Never before have I so happily read a book, occasionally stopping to shout YES! as I read the ideas contained therein.

Some context:  I live in a regular suburban neighborhood typical, I suppose, of middle America.   Seems like everyone has two children, two sources of income, at least three cars, and various leisure items – whether boats or basketball hoops.  Nearly every home I’ve been to has a large television, several have rooms dedicated to the television. The closest places to eat are about ten minutes away (it takes four to just get out of the neighborhood).  Some of the biggest employers in the area (NASA Goddard, NSA, Northrop Grumman, etc.) have their massive campuses located at least twenty minutes away.  Most commutes, it seems, last about an hour.  We have somewhere between five and ten different supermarket chain stores located within a fifteen-minute drive.  There are three large high schools located in that same zone, as well as several small parks, many gas stations, banks, frozen yogurt places, and one library.

This is where I’ve lived my whole life.  I didn’t question it much until I started spending more time in the forest behind my house.  The Patapsco State Park is a beautiful place, with a great many trails for running and walking and thinking and discovering.  There was something much more peaceful about that world, compared to the suburban landscape.  Then, I went to college, and discovered I could live well with less stuff in a smaller space.  I learned to love walking everywhere, a love that grew even more when I lived in Galway, Ireland, for 4 months.

This summer, I did not have my own car, making travel difficult.  I could only leave the house a few hours at a time to go to the library or run errands or go take photographs somewhere.  I missed being able to walk to most of the places I needed to go.  Why design our communities by separating the commercial, residential, and working worlds the way we do?

As I cleaned out a lot of stuff in my room I thought I’d need after high school and had never touched, I wondered how much room I really need.  I’ve lived well in a 10’x15’ space here at college – do I need a whole lot more than that?  Do we need all the space our house offers?

Then I read this book that asked questions like What does a dwelling look like when it encourages companionship and intimacy?  Why do people with big houses still complain about not having space for themselves?  What does the rest of the world think of large American suburban homes?  The book features interviews with many people who built tiny houses for themselves, taking only the items they needed and used regularly.   They noted that a smaller house brought their family closer together.  They noted, somewhat counterintuitively, that when people came to visit, they loved to spend time together in the small spaces.  They noted the increased sense of freedom: a smaller or nonexistent mortgage, lower utility bills, less time eaten up by maintenance.

The book also dealt with zoning laws, alternative energy, and many other aspects of owning a smaller home.   It touched on community building as well.  What if the commercial, residential, and working worlds were more interconnected than the typical suburban experience?  Commutes would be shorter, gas usage would decrease, we’d have more time at home with family, and so much more.  What if our homes were smaller?  We’d save money not buying stuff to fill it up, heat it, maintain it, pay it off.  Families would grow closer together, or at least be better equipped to deal with each other with less of a chance to run and hide.

I’m asking many more questions now.  I don’t yet know all the answers, but I am becoming more and more aware that suburban sprawl is not the best solution.  We are a people made for community – what solutions can best foster that?  We are a people designed for freedom – what solutions will bring financial, relational, and emotional freedom?  I, for one, want to find and implement those better solutions.

What I Learned This Summer, Part II: Homelessness

This is the second part of a four part series. Read part one here.

Last week, I gave a brief overview of the lessons I learned relating to my photography business over the course of the summer. This and the next two posts deal with some thoughts I have, and lessons I learned, relating to a myriad of topics such as homelessness, “guarding one’s heart,” suburban homes, and the Gospel.

I returned home from my spring semester to find our local newspaper, the Howard County Times, sitting on our kitchen table. One of the prominent stories (now mysteriously missing from internet archives) discussed the problem of homelessness among students in Howard County. In one of the wealthiest counties with one of the best school systems in the nation, about 500 students do not have a regular nightly home. Some are shuffled around among extended family members; some are literally homeless. I was astounded. Further internet searching led me to the Plan to End Homelessness, a document detailing a Howard County initiative to prevent future homelessness and help those already without a home (around 220 at the beginning of 2010).

What can I do? The question began pinging around my brain almost daily. The homeless, unloved, stuck where they are whether through unfortunate circumstances, mental imbalance, laziness, or some combination of any number of factors. Passed by on the streets, considered a burden. Yet are these not also children of God? Are they not as deserving of love as those of us who consider ourselves well-off? At the same time, what point in there is throwing money in the jar they’re holding? Is that love; does it solve anything? I am one redeemed by Christ on no merit of my own. By His grace and by His power I can participate in His work to redeem and restore all things – what then can I do?

At a major intersection near my town, where several big-box strip malls stand, there are often one or two homeless, cardboard signs in hand. Several times, I passed by, noticing the same tall man wearing long pants in the early heat of Maryland summer. What can I do? A sense of fear and a sense that I couldn’t do enough or do anything effective paralyzed me for some time. I was well aware of a deep irony: my trips that brought me past him were to get a tailored pair of dress pants at a nearby clothiers, an expensive article of clothing I expect to wear twice a year. This man had no such luxury. So one day, I parked the car and walked down to the intersection, waiting for traffic to stop so I could cross.

Introducing myself, I asked his name. “Calvin,” he said. His sign read Homeless, God Bless. He wore a faded baseball cap and a scraggly beard, yet had life in his eyes. Hope, even. We talked for about 5 minutes as cars passed by and one or two people gave him some spare dollars. He thanked them profusely and waved as the nonstop bustle of my hometown continued. Calvin told me he had lost his job in the recession about a year or so previously. A job prospect in Arizona had fallen through, but he was hoping to be hired again very soon. The loss of his job and his home forced him to turn to God. The words of the Bible sustained him; the trust in God and His goodness kept him going. He spoke in glowing terms of God’s faithfulness – such joy in such a situation! I spoke what encouragement I could, agreeing with Calvin – God is faithful. I shook his hand and gave him what cash I had as I left, speaking a sincere “God bless you,” as I left. “God bless you,” he responded, “I look forward to meeting again in the celestial city.”

I spent the ride home trying not to burst into tears as I thought of this man’s astounding faith and peace in such a difficult situation. I thought of his sincerity and gentleness. I thought how strange it was that in my attempt to bless another in the name of Christ, perhaps it was I who left with a greater blessing.

I passed by Calvin twice more that summer, stopping once to get him a bottle of water on the day that was particularly hot. I haven’t seen him since, and I pray he got that job he had mentioned to me.

I relish the chance that I would see him again – not here, but in that celestial city, that New Jerusalem.

What can I do? I do not know the full answer. But I do know that homelessness is not simply a problem to be solved – the homeless are a people who need to be loved. Tossing money their way as I walk by is not love. Acknowledging their humanity, having a conversation, offering them a meal or drink – I’d say love looks a whole lot more like that.

What I Learned this Summer, Part I: Photography

I have returned to Virginia Tech for my final semester. After several days of meeting freshmen and helping them move in and get settled in their new home here, its time to reflect on the past few months. I learned a lot about business and photography, which will go into this post; a follow-up will detail some of the lessons I learned on a broader scale of life and faith.

Hey, if you are not taking the time to periodically look back and remember your experiences and learning, you are wasting a big opportunity to grow, know yourself, and even have a better idea of where you are going. A life devoid of self-reflection is dangerous.

As I was setting up my business, I discovered that legal and governmental "stuff" is just obnoxious. Not only did I have to fill out a great many forms and wait for them to be notarized and processed, but meticulous record-keeping and quarterly tax forms are required in addition to the yearly tax return filing. Say goodbye to the 1040 EZ.

Having an advertising budget of $0 makes things really difficult. "If you build it, they will come" does not really apply to small businesses in portrait photography, especially in an area where there are loads of people trying to do roughly the same thing. You have to go out in your community and communicate your ability and presence. Thankfully, the "high school mom email network" was helpful in this regard, as were other previously-established word-of-mouth venues.

The placement of your office/workspace is critical. I set up my workspace in our basement at a built-in desk. I had a good amount of space to spread out, but was away from windows and noise and people. If you are not an amazingly self-motivated person, this setup will be most unhelpful. Halfway through the summer, I found myself growing frustrated with the arrangement but without a better spot for relocation. Ergonomic issues with typing and computer location led to sore wrists as well.

Know your stuff! You have to practice, tweak, experiment, and plan. The work I put into everything for the first few months of the summer gave me much greater confidence in my photography than previous years. I was better equipped to give direction during portrait shoots and more able to communicate my skills and understand the wishes of my clients effectively.

Take advantage of the free and cheap. I learned a lot from books I checked out at the public library. I built my own sturdy portrait backdrop stand out of scrap wood and a piece of PVC pipe for a total cost of about $2.50. I learned loads from videos on the internet dealing with all sorts of aspects of photography and editing software.

It's amazing what you can learn when you simply go for something. You'll fail and you'll succeed, gaining experience and knowledge no matter the specific outcome.

Check back next week for a summary of what I learned about life and faith.

Musings on Chimney Rock

This past Sunday, a few friends and I visited Chimney Rock in Catoctin Mountain Park, a 3-mile round-trip hike to a wonderful view of the valley.  It being Sunday evening, we saw no one else on the trail.  The feeling of solitude and peace in the fairly young forest was refreshing.

Along the way up the trail, we conversed about all sorts of topics, before taking a detour at Wolf Rock, a spine running along the ridge that almost breaks above the treeline.  From there, it was clear that the sun had nearly set, and we walked quickly on, so as to reach Chimney Rock in time.

We watched the sunset for about half an hour and then hiked back to the car, walking to the beat of the cicadas - "All nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres."

On the drive home, our conversation turned to spiritual things.  One of my friends voiced the question, "Why does God seem so different in the New and Old Testaments?  In the Old, He just seems mean."  It's a good question.  A fair question.  I, too, often struggle to comprehend how the God who became a man and died on a cross to ransom me from death could also condemn entire cities and nations to destruction.  Why would He, in giving the Israelites their promised land, command them to destroy everything and everyone in their path - including children? How does that fit with the notion of a loving God?

In talking about this, I was reminded of a story in the book of Genesis (please read it here), in which God had just made a covenant with Abraham and promised him a son, Issac.  Now, God has decided to destroy the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, for "the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is great and their sin is very grave."  But Abraham bargains with God, asking if He would save the cities should He find 50 righteous people living there.  God says He would do so, and Abraham keeps asking, until God says, yes, He would save those two cities if just 10 righteous people lived there.

Much could be written at this point.  I wish to remain brief, and for that reason, I will only focus on one aspect of this story, at the expense of several others.  What must be made clear, in this instance, is that God does have the right to judge sin; that is, rebellion and deliberate pursuit of evil.  However, God is also a God of mercy.  Were there just 10 righteous people in those cities, 10 people to intercede on behalf of all those who had deliberately chosen to defy God, God would relent in His anger and spare the city.

This, here, is the key.  God hates sin.  Not only is it a rebellion against Him, but it is also enslavement.  In this story, we see that Sodom and Gomorrah are enslaved by sin.  God's justice commands that it be eradicated and, if there is no one righteous to intercede on behalf of the sinner, that justice commands the death of the sinner.  But, if there is someone who can say "let my righteousness cover these who have sinned, that they may not be destroyed," God shows mercy.  This is His heart.  This is the Gospel.

In this conversation with Abraham, we see a foreshadowing of Christ.  Christ, the sinless Son of God, who interceded for the entire world, whose righteousness covers all who will trust and take for themselves this gift.

"For the sake of ten I will not destroy it," says the Lord, of Sodom and Gomorrah.  Ten righteous people will save a city doomed by its own depravity.

One perfectly righteous man will save the entire world doomed by its own depravity.  That is God's mercy to all mankind - in Christ, we can be free from enslavement to sin.  His righteousness covers us.  His death absorbed God's wrath towards sin.  His resurrection is proof of the defeat of sin and death.  We can be free, if we turn to Him.

The story of Sodom and Gomorrah, as you may well know, ends with their destruction.  Only Lot, Abraham's nephew, and his two daughters escaped.  The rest of the inhabitants were destroyed, their utter sinfulness a loud testimony against them.  There was no one to intercede on their behalf (See also Ezekiel 22:23-31 for another example).

Enter the mystery of Christ: God Himself comes to intercede that both His justice and love should be satisfied through the cross.  Sin is defeated and destroyed, the sinner can once again come before God, covered by Christ's righteousness.  The echo in God's conversation with Abraham is now a loud, loud shout.