Who is the lamb and who is the knife?

Today I picked my parents up from the airport, as they came home from whats called a discovery trip with Samaritans Purse, Operation Christmas Child (the shoebox thing, but not just for the tsunami like that one time that they were really badly organised by some other group and never got there) in Vietnam.

For those of you who don't know a) I went to Vietnam for four weeks in Nov/Dec 2008 and b) OCC is an amazing christian mission thing that allows a fantastic organisation to get a foot in the door and brighten up children's lives, as well as doing other amazing work in the communities.

So my dad showed me one of the videos of this little boy, who got a cat in the hat toy in his box and for some reason it really got to me. I guess cos its such a simple thing that we take so for granted, and yet it was so amazing and beautiful to this little boy, that it made the whole thing become that way.

It reminded me of when I was there, I played catch with this little girl at a school we visited really briefly, her name was chai and we played catch for like, 45 minutes until we all had to stop playing with the kiddies, give them the tennis balls and footies we'd been mucking around with and head off.

Sounds simple enough I guess, but our guide had to tell her about three times (in their language too) that it was for her before it really clicked properly, and the look on her face was simply incredible.

Another time we gave away a football and had to tell the young boy three times (this time with us attempting his language with help from the guide) before he realised, and he cried. Our guide told us that this was one of the poorest villages around, and that he had never had anything like it, and may never have if we hadn't given him it. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

And then there was slum survivor a while back, I came back shaken up, convicted and actually kinda disturbed, I cried myself to sleep that night thinking of all the people who never get out of that situation.

Part of my point here, is that I learn so slowly. I think part of me is afraid of being passionate, afraid of the type of deep convictions that simply must be acted upon. Ok, forget 'I think', I know.

I get so many opportunities to be truly ignited for a cause that matters, and often I am, but never for long enough to do anything about it, and I bet that is a huge reason behind it, fear of action and its repercussions, fear of...
Well the unknown I guess. What a silly thing to be afraid of...

Only two options, Love and Fear.
Only two results, Love and Fear
(I should memorise this lol)

I'm always harping on about love, blogging, writing, talking, painting, writing songs, drawing, wasting time not actually doing anything at all...

So how do I get past the fear?

the rhthym of the rocking is unknown

Just in case I hadn't stolen this idea enough already...

Dear Peter Pan,
I will miss you. So damn much.
You don't even know how much I'll miss you. You can't, cos I don't.
It might be as much as I expect, or maybe more. I think the most random things will make me think of you and our very random, often inappropriate-conversation times.
I can honestly say I love you.
In an odd, six-way-marriage-perfect-stripper-cake-of-celebrities-alice-in-wonderland-peter-pan way.
Kthanxbai!

Dear Vietnam,
I already miss you so much.
It has been nearly a year since we met and you changed me and I painted some of your walls and much of myself and much of my pants.
My fat old history teacher likes your neighbour/cousinish fellow better than you. He prefers to sit on his fat ass and drink beer and eat food. I prefer to walk fake-drunkenly through your incredible organised chaos streets and try not to get hit by a bus.
My fat old history teacher maintains that it is less commercial.
He may be right. However, he also prefers the hindu goddess of death to the one true living loving god.
I do not trust his opinion.

Gam ern for the good times!


Dear beautiful,
I loved you even when you were mostly closed up, scared and vulnerable.
I loved you when I only knew about the ones on your wrists.
Recently you have been opening up, like a fearful, hesitant, incredibly beautiful flower.
I do not love you more, because I believe in trying to love people the same all the time you know. Strongly, unconditionally. Consistently you know?
But it is amazing, and I feel so privelliged to get to hear what goes on in that beautiful brain of yours. And you are going to pass year twelve. Even if neither of us sleep all year, you will pass, and so will I. k? good :)

Dear Amazing,
I feel like... like one day I will scream at you.
Like one day I will yell with all the desperate confusion and humanity in my soul that even though I don't think homosexuality is the best idea humans ever had, there is something deep and urgent inside me that tells me all people are gods people, all people are real, feeling, breathing, crying, sinning creatures of gods incredible creation.
One day, I will snap and tell you that believe it or not, frowning at something you feel to be too low brow will not make it as conservative as you. That those things are often funny. Believe it or not. One day, I will scream.

But I love you, so even when I snap, please don't stop loving me because I'm too liberal for your taste..


Dear Incredible,
You are exactly that.
The pain you have/are/will endure is just...
I can't even...
just....dude...
I know right?
I love you SO MUCH
k?
many loves and hugs and jasmine flowers for you forever...