blobs of black with wisps of white

blobs of black with wisps of white. that is the best way to describe the first three pictures produced by students in the photography studio. but, alas, i can say, “there are students!” although i am sure that it is a precursor to annoyance, the constant chatter of “PROFE, PROFE (short for professor)” is music to my ears. the rise and fall of it’s melody serves only to remind me of the two months that i spent alone in the studio waiting for students to come. last week, like magic, two came. then four. then seven. they’ve all been back this week, and will hardly leave when class is over. i taught a class of 6 this morning at 9:30... and by the end of my lunch break, they were all lined up outside the door asking if we could have another class.

if i’m honest, the last few months have been difficult. it’s been rather hard not to lose hope, not to wonder if this whole photography studio was just a bad idea, not to think that success is out of the realm of possibility. two months of waiting doesn’t seem that long, but coupled with four months of planning and building, and six months of language school, i was beginning to think that the last year was measuring up to one big lackluster daydream. fortunately, some daydreams come through to fruition. sometimes answers come riding in on a white horse just in the knick of time to tell you that you aren’t crazy, that your dreams are worth dreaming, and that success isn’t always measured in numbers and tangible entities. sometimes it can be measured in feelings. emotions. even the sight of a child using a homemade shoebox pinhole camera.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said,

“To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one's self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived - this is to have succeeded.”

how remarkably different our world would be if we all measured success by this standard. as for me, i will succeed. as for you, the part that you’ve played in this work (whether prayerful, financial, or emotional) is success beyond that which can be put into words.

these pictures are hope. they are success.

I still don’t know the roads we’ll take, but it seems like we’re heading in the right direction...

Class is in session.

With the darkroom complete, and my photography/developing skills mastered (okay, maybe not “mastered”) the photography studio opened it’s doors to the general public of La Capri two weeks ago. The dark room is functioning splendidly. Thanks to Roger (a photography professor from Fresno City College, who was kind enough to spend a week here in Costa Rica teaching me how to teach photography) I feel confident that the prints being made in the studio are of good quality. I feel confident that the darkroom is ready for students. I feel confident (or at least that is what I tell myself) that I CAN teach photography. That I CAN help these kids find interest, talent, and passion. That WE CAN help others better themselves. That WE CAN help others find their true identity.

Heiner (14) showed up the very first day. He seemed excited to learn about photography and developing. We just chatted for a bit, and then he left promising to come back the next day. But before he left, he asked for money. I told him that thats not what we’re here for, but that I am more than happy to teach him about photography and teach him how to use that as a means to earn money... Heiner hasn’t been back since. This seems to be the sad side effects of some short term mission groups that go into an area of poverty, give out things, and then leave. I get the overwhelming sensation that this is what is expected of me. I am a gringo, therefore I have money, therefore I should give it to them, and then I should leave... This is going to take time. It will take time for people of this community to trust me. It will take time for people of this community to know that I’m not going away tomorrow. It will take time for people of this community to want to invest their time. It will take time for students to come.

For now, I am waiting. I’m practicing patience, something I don’t have a lot of. I am trusting that the kids that need the most help will come. I am trusting, hoping, and praying that the studio can be a place for the broken and needy. I am praying that Heiner comes back.

I still don’t know the roads we’ll take, but it seems like we’re heading in the right direction...

ragamuffin

“The prayer of the poor in spirit can simply be a single word: Abba. Yet that word can signify dynamic interaction. Imagine a little boy trying to help his father with some household work, or making his mother a gift. The help may be nothing more than getting in the way, and the gift may be totally useless, but the love behind it is simple and pure, and the loving response it evokes is virtually uncontrollable. I am sure it is this way between our Abba and us. At the deepest, simplest levels, we just want each other to be happy, to be pleased. Our sincere desire counts far more than any specific success or failure. Thus when we try to pray and cannot, or when we fail in a sincere attempt to be compassionate, God touches us tenderly in return.”

-Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel.

When I feel like I can’t bring myself to pray, can’t bring myself to read the bible, can’t bring myself to love, I feel like I am bad. That there is something wrong with me. That I am doing things wrong. That I am not who I was made to be. That I am far from God. That I am not pleasing to Him. That I am not worthy.

I remember being in the third grade. It was nearing Christmas break. The school had a gift store set up in the library so that we could buy gifts for parents/siblings/friends. Being an only child, and probably not having many friends (due in part to my completely stylish mullet) I bought presents for my parents (with their money of course). Couldn’t tell you what I bought my mom. Couldn’t figure out what to buy my dad. An eternity of stressful decision making (which was more likely 35 seconds of stressful decision making) yielded me with an owl figurine that was standing on a small block of wood. I don’t really think my dad likes owls. In fact, I’m pretty sure he has never had anything to do with owls. I can also be sure that he thought it was about the most useless piece of junk he had ever seen. I can be sure of this because as an 8 year old I thought it was about the most useless piece of junk I had ever seen. I can remember where he sat as I gave him the gift. I can remember feeling ashamed that it was all I had to offer him. I had nothing else to offer. I had nothing left to offer. Nothing.

Point being, I have nothing to offer now. It isn’t the owl that is important to a father-like God. The importance is the 35 seconds. The time that I desired to find the perfect gift, to bring the perfect gift, to be the perfect gift giver. Whether I find that gift, whether I give that gift, whether or not there even is a gift is irrelevant. The desire is what touches a heart. The desire to want to want God. To want to be able to pray. To want to be able to serve. To want to be able to know Him. Whether you can or not is meaningless when God is already holding you firmly in his arms, adoring you for the simple desire stirring inside of you.

That owl sat on the stereo in our house for years... I think I was finally the one to throw it away. I don’t think anyone noticed. It wouldn’t matter if anyone had... the owl isn’t the point.

“...and the loving response it evokes is virtually uncontrollable.”

I still don’t know the roads we’ll take, but it seems like we’re heading in the right direction...

I am gonna photograph... click, flash

Long awaited, but the time has come. On June 16^th, I entered a house in La Capri with my first ever team, and construction began on what is to be a photography studio. The idea was born about three months ago from nothing more than a daydream. As I flipped through pictures from a photography blog, I thought to myself, “How cool would it be to take pictures for a living?” While feeling quite awkward in front of the camera, I’ve always loved being behind one. I’ve never been considered a great photographer, yet I know that God likes to use some of the least qualified to do His great works. The daydreaming questions turned into actual questions as I asked my boss what he thinks of me opening a photography studio to teach photography and film developing classes. To my surprise, he jumped at the idea, with an encouraging, “Do it!” A week later we found ourselves in the office of a pastor with ideas spilling out of our pores. The meeting ended with him offering a house for us to use in La Capri (a community that we’ve had our eyes on for expansion), rent free!

Months of planning and research has led to the following overview of what we hope the photo studio will provide, accomplish, and change in the community:

Target Students: ages 12-20 who have an artistic disposition that has yet to be discovered or yet to be encouraged. We want students who are at risk due to living in drug or violent communities. We want students who have something to say, something to scream, and stories to tell, even if they don’t know it yet.

Schedule: “The Studio” will be open Tuesday through Friday with two class sessions each day. Tuesday’s class will focus on new techniques, skills and assignments. It will be spent in the community, with people of the community, talking, listening, and capturing. Assignments will be purposefully open themes to encourage creativity. Wednesday will be spent in the darkroom, developing film from the day before. Thursday (also in the darkroom) will be a day of selecting negatives to print and enlarge. Friday will be when everything comes together, as we put pictures from the week into our photo journals and write what we saw, what we heard, what we felt, through poetry, lyrics, and stories.

Costa Rica is no different than any other part of the world, in the sense that there are pockets of poverty and pockets of wealth. The two rarely meet, and only know the other through what they see on TV. One has a voice, the other doesn’t. One has options, the other doesn’t. One is smart, the other isn’t... It’s easy to see the error in this logic, but it’s harder to believe that it isn’t true. My hope is to provide these students with voices so that they may show the joy, pain, fear, hope, love, hate, and stories of their lives and their community through the pictures that they take. The majority of the people in the San José area haven’t heard of La Capri. The majority of the people that have heard of it won’t go there. If the worlds of the “haves” and the “have nots” can come a little closer because of the photos that are yet to be taken, then – mission accomplished.

I still don’t know the roads we’ll take, but it seems like we’re heading in the right direction...

El Cohete...

If you happen to visit Costa Rica and hear people mention “el cohete” (the rocket) chances are my car is being talked about. It has become quite famous around these parts – always referred to as “el cohete,” never as “Dustin's car.” I like to imagine that it got its name from the stark resemblance it bears to an actual rocket, or because the top speed is astonishing. Regardless, I am proud of my 1986 Nissan “rocket”...most days. Aside from the lights that only work some of the time, the tear in the driver's seat, the absence of a radio, paint that's pealing, and a spoiler that is somewhat connected to the trunk, it does have one small problem...it doesn't always start the first time I turn the key. It likes to make a very loud grinding noise the first couple of times I try, which can sometimes be avoided by turning the defroster on before I turn the key (don't bother asking how I figured that one out).

Believe it or not, the rocket wasn't as expensive as she sounds and she's really quite reliable. She has made it out to the beach several times with three surfboards on top and 6 people inside. Most days that I drive the rocket I am more than content, but a few days ago I came face to face with the ugliness inside of me. I had parked in front of POPS ice cream and gone inside for a cone. I climbed back in the rocket and noticed a couple, obviously on a date, sitting on a bench that was positioned directly in front of me. They had noticed me, too. In fact, they were watching me quite intently. I could also tell that they had noticed the rocket's imperfections and were having fun at her expense. “Okay!” I thought. “Let's show them what you can do! Defroster on; check! Pump the gas; check!” All that was left to do was turn the key and hope for a start on the first try. Unfortunately, the grind seemed louder than usual, and it seemed to keep getting louder as I tried a fourth, fifth, and sixth time before she finally started. I knew they were laughing at me...I could hear them; I could see them. It could only have been more obvious if they had pointed, too. I tried to suppress the bad thoughts, which lasted all of a millisecond. “If they only knew the car I had back in the states, they'd be jealous. They probably don't even have a car. I bet they rode the bus to their little date! How lame! At least I have a car!”

The irony of the situation was that I had just read a passage from James a few days earlier, and it wasn't until I read it again a few days later that I realized just how much of an idiot I can be: “The brother in humble circumstances ought to take pride in his high position. But the one who is rich should take pride in his low position, because he will pass away like a wild flower. For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business.” (James 1:9-11)

I understand that by the standards of most people living in the good ol' US of A, I am far from rich. What is less understood is that the large majority of us ARE rich. The idea of “rich” is often skewed and projected onto those who have a beach home in Malibu and a Bentley to drive them there. In reality, simply having a car makes you rich. Being able to choose what you don't want to eat off of your plate makes you rich. What we often think of as a basic necessity is quite likely a luxury, and being able to afford luxury makes us rich. But all of that means nothing. So what if someone laughs at me because my car won't start on the first shot? Will that change who I am? If my identity is in Christ, then my outward appearance (whether poor or rich) won't change who I am. I am embarrassed, not because people laughed at me, but because I took that low position and tried to build myself up while tearing them down.

I am a withering flower whose blossoms fall to the ground. My hope is that we can all learn from my pride, and lower ourselves so as not to be defined by what we possess, but rather defined by Who possesses us. My goal: learn to build up those whose beauty and worth is “hidden” on the inside.

...in all her glory...

I still don't know the roads we'll take, but it seems like we're heading in the right direction...

Can't Think of a Creative Title... So Here is My New Blog!

Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say “infinitely” when you mean “very”; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite. ~ C.S. Lewis

God is “infinitely” huge... and by that I mean that I am “infinitely” small in comparison. If you ever really want to be humbled (which if I'm honest, is never actually something I desire, but more something that hits me like a kick to the teeth... I like to call it the back hand of God), spend a few seconds thinking about the size of the God you are praying to before you address Him. Think about the size of the Milky Way, and the fact that comparing it to the size of the orbit of Neptune is like comparing the circumference of the United States of America to that of a nickel. About a month into my anatomy class at Sonoma State we began to dissect our cadavers. I should preface this story by explaining that my professor was an evil little lady who wanted nothing more than to make me puke by the end of the semester. The cadaver she chose for me to dissect was a 96 year old woman named Edna-Fern (real name, hyphen included). By the way, if you happened to have a grandmother named Edna-Fern that died at the age of 96 about three years ago in the north bay area, I'm sorry for your loss and you may have wanted to stop reading about three sentences ago. Continuing, I'm not sure that I have ever felt as small as I did in that classroom while standing over that body. We explored the circular system, we examined the muscles and tendons that make everything move, we opened the chest cavity to see the lungs and heart. Everything was so intricate. Every detail had been thought of and carefully designed. Every single need that a body has to survive had been satisfied (well that was until now in Edna-Fern's case). What's my point? Good question! I was beginning to wonder myself. I think that my ego/self-serving/North American/whatever you want to call it/self gets in the way of letting God be infinite. I like to try to control my own destiny when I was never in the driver seat to begin with. I reduce my problems to things that are too small for God to care about... too small for a God who created capillaries and cells... too small for a God who takes the time to show off with his sunset paintings and lightning shows that serve no purpose other than to amuse us. I am realizing more and more that I'm like a kid with his toy tool set, trying to replace the radiator in my dad's car.

The last few weeks have been an experiment in humbling myself enough to ask God for His help in little things. Hypothesis: that if God is infinitely big and I am infinitely small in comparison, then me trying to fix my problems without the help of God is me attempting to make myself bigger than I am, while attempting to eliminate the need for God.

Request #1: I was planning on driving to Costa Rica when I moved here, but due to unexpected import taxes I was forced to change my plan a bit. This left me with a car to try to sell on craigslist while being 7 countries away. Three months passed with only a single inquiry. Still unsuccessful as of January, I pulled God out of His little box and put him to work. I asked that He would be in control, that He would take all of the stress, all of the pressure, and all of the work in selling the car. The next day my mom called me to tell me that someone was driving up from San Bernardino to buy the car. Next day? Show off!

Request #2: I have been feeling the desire for friends here. It isn't the culture shock that gets me, its the lack of friends to relate to and share life with. It occurred to me that I hadn't asked God to provide friends for me yet... I was counting on me to make my own friends. I asked God. He answered. The next day I was walking downtown San José and saw what I thought was a familiar face. As I got closer, it was confirmed that the face in question belonged to Laura (a friend that I met about a year ago in Guatemala). She is living here for a couple of months to study Spanish... or so she claims! I am pretty sure that God decided to “one up” my request by bringing a friend to me! Next day? Show off!

Request #3: Safety. I was in the shower on Saturday night, thinking about our Sunday trip to the beach when I had the overwhelming urge to ask for safety. I don't know why, but I just kept praying over and over for God to protect us and keep us safe on the drive to the beach. We split up into two cars the next morning. I rode with the Janzen family and the girls drove behind us. The main road out to the beach has a steep, long decent with no real guard rails to speak of. There are lots of places that one would not want to lose their brakes, as the consequences would be less that favorable! Speaking of losing brakes... as we were curving to the right around a blind curve, we felt an impact from behind. The girls had completely lost their brakes and were now along side of us, going around the curve on the oncoming side of the road. They hit a hill head on (possibly the only area that wouldn't have ended in a drop over some sort of cliff) high centered on a mound of dirt, teetered as if they would roll, all before coming to a rest with two tires off the ground, but still right side up. Flash forward four hours as we waited for the tow truck under a makeshift shelter, in the pouring rain, grilling hot dogs... and everyone begins to realize how much worse it could have been. Had it only been a minute earlier or later, had Jeremy not been right in front to take some of the impact and speed, had there been a car coming around the corner... had God not listened to prayer! Not only did He listen and allow everyone to walk away without any injuries, but He had asked me to pray. He had made it known to me the night before, in the shower, that He wants me to listen, to be attentive, and to ask for His help, His protection, His guidance, and to let him be infinitely big beyond anything that my tiny little brain can comprehend. Once again, He answered prayer the next day. Show off!

Request #4: That Scarlet Johansen would realize that she has had feelings for me all along... I think I'm just getting greedy now... no answer to that one, yet.

It is interesting how this plays out here in Costa Rica. Speaking in generalities, the people we are living along side of are aware of their dependence on God. They ask God for everything. It isn't because they are greedy or selfish, but they ask gratefully accepting God's “yes,” or “no.” When you ask for food for tomorrow, a job for your spouse, help in paying the hospital bills, that the water doesn't get turned off to your community, it isn't much of a stretch to ask for rest when you are tired, or happiness when you are sad, or any of the intangible or small things that can be so easily passed off as too small for God. It is no secret that Jesus and the poor shared a special connection. Jesus was born into the poor, He lived with the poor, He was the poor... (Don't believe it? Check out Luke 2:22-24 & Lev. 12:6-8). I don't believe that God loves the poor more, but maybe it is the poor that love God more. Maybe His heart is broken for them because they desire Him, and work to be connected to Him, so that when they need something He is the first one they ask... furthermore, when they receive an answer He is the first one they thank. It doesn't surprise me that the more independent we become (as a nation) the less we need, or even believe, in an all powerful God. The more we think we know about science, the more we can provide for ourselves, the more money we have in our retirement accounts, the less we even need to think about the God who now only serves as our last resort “safety net.” God, I want You in control of me, of all of me, and all that happens to me. I want to rest in Your presence, knowing that You are a father who loves me and loves to see me come to You...

I still don't know the roads we'll take, but it seems like we're heading in the right direction...