Tag Archives: writing

The problem with christian media

Posted on by under Longer thoughts

The problem with Christian media is that it so often misses to be missional. The well made stuff, created by the modern, the aware, reaches, at best, up to something the world does and then does it like, almost as well. Not like quite, but you know, it’s really up there. It’s some really good stuff. Some gold vlogs, some good Instagram.

I refuse to believe that with the power of the holy spirit withing us (God living in us, the creator of creation, holy of holy, he who can not step into a room without us falling dead down, struck down by beauty, lifted to heaven by as much as looking at Him), I can’t believe this would be the extent of art in his kingdom, the extent of media, the extent of communication. There are bigger boxes to step into. There’s more partnership with the Spirit to explore.

I’m complaining without knowing a solution, except for this: Be a little bit crazier.

(Meeting people)

Posted on by under Longer thoughts

On the 14th of December I flew to New York. And to get there, I needed to get to the Orlando airport, which is like: 3 buses away from Sarasota. On the first one a guy was smoking weed right next to me. Greyhound. America is very weird when you come from a country that knows what public transport is. Then I needed to walk from the Orlando greyhound station to the next bus stop, and I ended up in quite an unsafe area.

The whole vibe was weird. Someone shouted something at me but I just kept going. I was wearing my favourite jacket with a big hood, because it makes me look scary rather than like a victim. Also when people can’t see your face the don’t really know how to approach you. Though then I actually did get stopped like twice, but just good people asking if I was fine. I was moving very slowly with my three suitcases that I kicked at every now and then, so I guess that makes sense.  Someone told me they were working at the scrapyard right there, so if something happened I could just scream. Great.

So, anyway, I made it to my next bus stop and met this guy who was also waiting for the bus. He passed my “not-creepy” test which means he didn’t try to fill all the silences. If you can both go back to looking at your phones a few times without the other person asking stupid questions it makes me feel better, because it makes me feel like I can leave the conversation if I want to.

This guy was also leaving the area to get somewhere safer. He was young, pretty put together. He said he was a drifter, but that he didn’t quite know what he was doing anymore. After one of the silences he hesitated and shook his head at himself, but finally said that he sometimes just wanted to give up. The kind of person who used to want so much, and knows there is so much, but doesn’t know exactly what that is or means. And all of a sudden it’s slipped through your fingers.

We took the bus together. Met a random man from England who was very chatty and I just nodded, pretending to understand the heavy accent. We started talking to the random girl next to us as well. We talked about what a random meeting it was, just four strangers in a bus. Then we made it to the main station and went our separate ways.

I took the final bus to the airport where I slept overnight and flew to New York the next day.

This story doesn’t really have a point. Or maybe this: How can you save people? I just want to be better at helping, I wanted to say exactly what that guy at the bus stop needed to hear, but I felt like I just got too chatty with my advice. I should have let him talk more. If nothing else because I’m curious now. And also this: I like the people you meet while moving, but I love in some sad way the people who are also moving. And it’s nice meeting them on multicoloured streets under black nights. I wish I could do something for them and us. What if you had a place where the travellers could just come and stay for a bit, for free somehow or to really connect and put their stuff down for a while. Something.
And lastly this: I just hope he finds the right people, good people, to surround himself with. I think he’s looking for streets to sleep on and it could end so badly or it could end well. I wish home upon all of us. In all of us: safety.

Sunday thoughts (3)

Posted on by under sunday thoughts

Our minds need to shift. To conquer anxiety and defeat depression: we need to add faith to our hope. (Some of us are good at hope, because we have had no other choice.) It means in every defeat you’ll stand back up again.

But faith means living in the victory – when you’ve decided what you believe; about God, about yourself, about situations – it’s the active choice to stick with that in any given moment. So much will depend on what you dare to believe.

Different Feelings:

Posted on by under Longer thoughts

(Different ways of being in places that aren’t really home)

Leaving – The sudden realization that you’ve already left a place. But you’re also still there. You walk the streets and you see the views, but like in an old photo where everything’s already memories.

Arriving – When you’ve put your feet down. Stopped walking, stopped pacing, stopped turning your head around. You’ve sat down and you’re there. A feeling that exists in short, defined moments, usually parallell to emotional contentment and the good kind of acceptance. Can echo into longer or shorter seasons.

Going – Similar but different from leaving. You know that where you are is for a time and that you’re going somewhere else, but it doesn’t make you any less present. Drop the emotional detachement. If leaving is the feeling that you should have already left, going is the knowledge that you will, when it’s time.

First

Posted on by under notes

Completely random thought from the other day:

There’s never been a generation more aware of their own sin. They might not categorize it as such, and they might try to cover it up – or cure it – with some twisted form of self acceptance. But don’t underestimate how much the world knows its judgement. And how much it acts in compensation for that.

(And of course let’s not skirt around the edges of chains, but let’s focus on how they fall.)

2018.09.23 Goodbyes

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(The sun falls into our garden at an angle, and it flows over the dead tree with five perfect spiderwebs in its corners. Threads grow from the ground up into it, my mum put them there for flowers to follow. They will continue next stummer. Right here, the sky is half blue, half dark gray. Water rests on the grass from ten minutes ago. It’s green still, and for now all golden, in this last rest of summer. For goodbye, go down with it.)

This is actually goodbye because I’m going to America again. Like, tomorrow. I’ll try to write there too, but here’s something I’ve discovered: This blog is about swedish summer, and about this cabin in the midst of it. If I continue, I need to figure out how to make it about the rest of my life. Possibly by figuring out the rest of my life. We’ll see.

Hugs from me.

New Notebook.

Posted on by under life

I switched notebooks today. My parents bought me my previous one when they were visiting me in Florida. It had wooden covers and lined pages, which meant it couldn’t be drawn in and it never looked that good gluing cute notes and memories onto the pages. It was just writing, handwriting that started of nice but then lost it somewhere halfway through. The last page is always an important one, and I wrote on it: this was not pretty, just used. It’s sad, but also not sad, with times like that. Not pretty, just used.