Fudddddgggeee, I'm 23

23 years ago I was born. It’s a bit odd, I really have no idea where the time went and I can’t even imagine what the next 23 years will be like. But the one thing that I can say for sure is that I am blessed. I’m blessed to be 23 years old, inexperienced and what some would patronizingly call naive. What my 23 years of “naivety” and lack of “real world experience” (whatever the heck that means) has afforded me is the ability to be audaciously idealistic.

Dear Self,

Happy Birthday.

I pray that you never lose hope. Hold fast to the belief that things can be better, that the world can be better. There are those who will tell you that these things simply cannot be done. They will try to package their pessimism as “realism” and claim wisdom. But be weary, their agedly wisdom is counterfeit and their capacity to hope boldy has been choked out by the fallacious “real world.” When someone tries to tell you that your efforts are foolish and unrealistic, I pray that you will respond with the same passionate defiance as the little boy with the starfish (http://www.starrbrite.com/starfish.html)

Stick close to those around you who, with their age, have not only grown wise but also increased their capacity for audacious idealism. Continue to believe fervently, as our good friend MLK did, that, “…people everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and justice for their spirits….that what self-centered [people] have torn down, other-centered [people] can build up.”

Stick it to the man. Dream big and act often. Love liberally and spontaneously. Reconciliation is possible, peace is possible, justice is possible, the elimination of poverty is possible. Those who say otherwise are heretics and to which faith they belong is uncertain. Our God is one of audacious and attainable idealism.

Keep it Real. Much Love,
Yours Truly.

A Psalm for Today

This is my offer a desperate plea:
Our blessed exile we've failed to see.
Once a renegade few, first to speak out,
Turned pompous entitlement and lost clout.
For blinded by the comfort of our pews,
Our traditions have become a sweet ruse.
Pacified by songs of adoration,
While "improbable" trumps imitation,
We follow the dualist to our prison,
That false sacred and secular schism,
Where emulation has no room to stand
And deity is set apart from man.
When pious images we all but lack,
We fail to recognize our call to act.

Now galvanized by injustice, do right!
Lift the oppressive vail that curbs the light;
Remove animosity for the poor,
As they beg for your cash outside the store;
Seek out those marginalized and oppressed,
Plead the case of the widow and fatherless;
Dine with the "dirty", the "wicked", the "stained"
Those labeled and ostracized by the vain.
Do for these, that which for us has been done,
For it's in his likeness we've been made one.

"May God bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we really can make a difference in this world, so that we are able, with God's grace, to do what others claim cannot be done."