(From the Indiana years)

I wrestled with putting this up but decided to.  I write with the knowledge that I am blessed and that what I have experienced does not compare with the worse things that others have experienced.  But these were real to me and so were the lessons.  Perhaps there was some value to writing this.) 

Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.

I write here for every kid who has ever felt left out, alone, picked on, weak, or misunderstood. These days, I reminisce about my experience as an immigrant in the United States.  I think about those times after seeing my international students here get mistreated by people around them.  Being called names, not allowed into certain places, having bottles thrown at them in bars.  

I also think about those people who feel isolated in the church community, who feel judged and lonely.  I remember going to school.  Having an accent, not dressing properly, being socially awkward, being picked on, getting into fights, getting the racist crap.  I never quite knew who to trust, whether it would be my peers or even my teachers.  Never quite knowing whether I would measure up academically, athletically, or socially.  But I do not write here to condemn them; they were just kids or ignorant. I remember going to church.  It’s funny how the place where you would expect to find the most solace and grace turns out to be the place that you find the least of those things.  Maybe all they needed to do was ask the right questions.  Maybe what they needed to show was grace.  Maybe what they needed to teach me was to show grace.  

But I do not write here to condemn them either; many of them were too hurt or lost themselves. I remember home life too.  Having parents who were equally experiencing displacement from our country of birth.  I will not write more about this topic here, but I will just say that home life was difficult.  This topic is something that few people would understand anyway. These experiences are why I fight so hard.  Why I shot a hundred jumpshots a day after school, why I read books, why I taught myself not to speak with an accent, why I have asked girls out who I knew I had no chance with, why I play my guitar the way I do even though my musical abilities are limited.  Why I do not quit when I want to so badly; why I still hope.  Why I cling on to my God and rely on His grace.  

But these experiences were not just for personal development; God has used them for others.  I concede that at those times, it was difficult to see and trust God.  It is only in looking back that I could see His hand.  When I say “I understand” when one of my current students tells me about his or her problems with racism, I really do.  When one of my kids tells me about some major sin he or she has committed (and believe me these are not minor ones), I can say “It’s ok, God is compassionate and forgiving” and mean it.  I can also see God’s amazing patience with me as a sinner. 

These experiences have helped me to be a better teacher, counselor, to protect people and to be a better prosecutor in a couple of months.  Without these experiences, I do not think I would have had the courage or the desire to protect the community one day.  I do not expect everyone to understand or to believe what I am writing here.  But I think some will.