The front lobby of Truman is a mission field.
God is so sneaky sometimes that I just don’t even attempt to plan things. Breaks from school flabbergast me. I plan for them but they never work out the way that I imagine them to go. People approach me and ask what I hope to do during spring break but I never have a clear answer. My options take me to Pennsylvania, Georgia, New York, Boston, and Chicago. Of course, when I choose to go to the ones that I want, it doesn’t work out.(Thanks, God…pffft) It’s Thursday before Spring Break starts and I am in between two deadlines and my aplomb in having an awesome time the coming week is slowly bending. It’s 12:45am and I am packing in the event that I will leave the city. I remain with a mindset geared to an apolaustic time for the coming days. A call comes in from a friend, Yetunde. We play catch-up as I attempt to struggle with the luggage zipper. Then, with all the couth in the world, she asks me, ” can you pray for my school?” At first I say, okay, DUH. But then the conversation goes on and she continues in asking for an active presence of prayer on the campus. Then, I say, “errrgh?” We talk for another 30 min, I say goodbye and then start to unpack my bags.
It’s the Friday of spring break. Where has the time gone? My hours in the day are spent just sitting in the front lobby of Truman college, aleatory moments with random strangers confabulating on about their hopes and worries of the day. Logorrhoea was definitely a common occurrence with some individuals, rambling on about how their midterms did not go well or how lunch was not to their liking. I, who appear to be a perspicacious listener, just smile unbeknownst of my state of mind to the one conversing. Tatterdemalions are among the crowds that I approach talking of their tribulations while channeling their need for the money in my pocket. Nodding my head, I assure people that I am acquiescing to their every word and making sure that they know I am listening attentively. Then, the conversation dies down. A sigh arises deliberating thoughts streaming from their conscious stress meter. Slowly, people open up. A eye roll here, a chuckle there, people start to get comfortable. Then, just as the emotions die down, I ask, “Can I pray for you?” And with a unanimous comply, the crowd joins in on a conversation with God. I get regulars waving as they go to class days after our initial meet. I am content with what God is doing with me regardless of where I am.
Mission work is not going somewhere that is associated with a somewhat dystopian description. To me this association is more faux pas thanprancing around with frippery amongst Ogoni people. I don’t attend to what is idoneous of a person of my stature. Rather, I go with the flow and that’s where I sow with Him in the fro. this season of service, I gave to where I was needed, seven stations away from the red line Loyola Stop. God is good, all the time.
Dried mangos are the way to an asian man’s heart. I am a strange lad.James Kang
Life is just a bunch of decisions.
Blogging. Why?
So, I’m starting a blog. I’m the type of person who believes that writing about your own life on a public outlet is a very, very vain thing to do. I’m assuming whoever is reading this post is thinking how self-absorbed I am to write a note about blogging. This thought crosses my mind when I hear that someone has a blog. But, now I have one and I have to say it’s not bad. It definitely beats having to write out your thoughts in a notebook.(Typing is so much easier) and a little recognition isn’t bad.
So, we’ll see how it goes for the next few times that I put stuff up. I’m thinking that it won’t be so bad. But, who knows. My cynical thoughts may get the best of me. Here’s to blogging.
Mazel tov.
