And Sometimes God Says “No”

It started with a good quiet time and a handful of ideas I thought could change Cayman.

All right, that’s a bit of an exaggeration but that’s how I was feeling. Glowing like Moses post-Sinai, I rejoined the Israelites to watch each idea get shot down by reality, the final straw being a unique ministry opportunity that, fortunately or unfortunately, didn’t come to fruition. I was crushed. And not just for the rest of the day. I was miserable for the rest of the week. I felt like I was in the five stages of grief and hadn’t arrived at acceptance yet. I was angry, blaming and resenting everyone around me, envious of the satisfaction everyone else seemed to have, wondering how God could be so cruel. I threw my tablets on the ground and resolved not to dream again. But somewhere in the fury it occurred to me this was the first time in a long time God called me to wait. And once I thought about it I could see why.

How we wait speaks volumes to what we believe about God. If we’re filled with trust, we’re more likely to press into his presence and listen for his leading. If you’re anything like me you kick, scream, and try to find a loophole. As much as I like to believe God smiles on my tenacity, if I’m honest, most of my franticness is actually lack of faith in the sovereignty of God disguised as holy ambition. In all my efforts to make things happen I tend to overlook that it’s the Holy Spirit that changes people’s lives, not my brilliant programming. I don’t have to run every ministry. In fact, it’s better I don’t. Being told to wait exposed the idol in my heart, the reality that I believe I am God. And if God granted me everything my heart desired he’d only be encouraging my delusion while robbing himself of glory. I’d crumble beneath the pressure, leaving a trail of half-built ministries and hardly discipled believers in my wake.

The other day I met with a student who’s been outside our InterVarsity chapter. All last semester I invited them to things and all last semester they avoided me like I was the repo man. Yet lately there seems to be an openness to Jesus. I asked them what happened and they told me they talked with a family member and realized they wanted change. It had absolutely nothing to do with me! I was almost insulted God had been working behind-the-scenes (how dare he! He only sent his Son to die for them). I’m finding more and more ministry works best when I’m cooperating with God’s timing, following his leading and not rushing into things praying he blesses them.

Cayman has grown me in a lot of ways but if there’s one area I’ve gotten worse it’s this. When I first came on staff God gave me an image of a little boy and his father working on a car in a garage. The boy had a plastic wrench. The father held the real one. This is what campus is like. God does the heavy lifting and I’m the boy with a plastic wrench just happy to be in the garage with my Father, honored that he’d even let me share in his work. I’d do well to remember.

Microsites, Multi-sites, and House Churches: Will Technology be Our Demise? (Part II)

Before we attempt to tackle the question of how technology has the potential to revolutionize the way we do church, we first must return to the question of what the church is. Typically when we think of church we think of the building we visit on Sunday mornings. But what does that mean for the persecuted church that doesn’t get the luxury of ornate buildings? Does an abandoned edifice standing as a relic of what used to be a vibrant community still constitute as church?

Though it’s become a given, it bears repeating the church has never been a building. The original Greek word we translated as “church”, “ecclesia,” actually means “assembly.” The church is a people. Instead of a two-hour event you attend, it’s a body you are a part of. Even when the people of God are homeless, when they assemble the church is in full effect. And because the church is a people it’s much more dynamic than we give it credit for (third place ministries are great examples of this), which is where we get into the gift of technology.

When I lived in Tampa there was a period of time when particular groups went missing from service on Sunday mornings. Because our church was a network of micro churches, all of them doing mission throughout the week, Sunday acted as a conference of missionaries I eagerly looked forward to. And because some of these people missing were students I led, I felt responsible to get to the bottom of it. As it turned out certain micro churches were streaming the service as a community. We called them microsites; and as dismayed as I was I wouldn’t see certain friends of mine on Sunday, there was a sense something greater was in progress. Our church was in the process of planting a similar movement in St. Petersburg, Florida and live streaming was a way of empowering them to do mission in their context while still being connected to, and loved by, the greater community.

House churches have been around since the beginning of the early church but when streaming gets involved it opens the door for microsites. These microsites, like any house church really, have the potential to take on a life all their own. In cases like the Village Church or LifeChurch.tv, they can evolve into whole campuses with their own pastor while remaining connected to the nucleus via live feed. Other times the site becomes its own entity with its own structure. If you grant the premise (which some won’t) the church is worship, community, and mission then these microsites can be churches in and of themselves with the unique advantage they don’t look like churches.

As we enter into an increasingly post-Christian, post-modern era asking someone to come to our church is becoming a bigger threshold to cross. Some don’t feel “ready” to attend a church service and, while I do agree after a certain point they must get past this, house churches can serve as an entry point into Christian community. It’s a way to bring church to people who feel outside of God’s grace. House churches have been powerful instruments in the past (and undoubtedly still are), but technology provides a way for the church’s influence to carry to places and people groups we didn’t previously think possible.

Borders, Circuit City, and the Local Church: Will Technology be Our Demise?

It seems as if a new wave is rising in Cayman of young people streaming Sunday services from their houses. You ask them what church they attend and they timidly confess (because Cayman is a bit behind on the times) they watch church from home. These aren’t naïve new Christians afraid of church discipline. These are passionate disciples of Jesus who just can’t seem to find what they’re looking for in the local congregation.

But what happens when every passionate Christian has traded the biblical command to continue meeting with one another for viewing individual Sunday services from other countries in their homes? Will it cause the death of the local church? The answer is a complex one – one that I don’t have totally worked out nor have the space to fully answer here but the answer lies in our response to the question of what “the church” is and what “the church” does.

If “church” was a chapel or cathedral we visit weekly to pay our respects to God, sing songs, and listen to a sermon then yes the local church might be in danger of getting outsourced. But “the church” is more than that. Yes, part of church is worshipping God through music, teaching, and prayer but the church is a family of other believers, the local expression of it being a community you are loved by, held accountable to, and speak life into your circumstances. Sitting in your house streaming church by yourself falls short for a few reasons. First, you can’t be community by yourself and second, it bypasses the horizontal aspect of following Jesus. While it may be a convenient way to avoid church politics, a huge part of our discipleship happens in the context of community. We can listen to a ten-week series on the theological significance of loving our neighbor as ourselves, we can even be taught how to do it, but the discipleship cycle isn’t complete until we’ve actually loved someone.

But more than loving other Christians, church is also where you are equipped and sent to love the lost. Whereas community challenges our individualism, mission defies our consumerism. To skip out on Sundays because our individual needs aren’t being met implies the church exists for us; and though we are part of the church, the church has a mission it’s trying to accomplish, a place it’s trying to reach. Sitting at home alone doesn’t catapult into God’s redemptive work in the world nor does it provide people to share in that mission with. Few things disciple believers being on the front lines.

If church, at its core, is about worship, community, mission, and discipleship, my fear for this generation is it settling for a cheap imitation of church convincing ourselves it’s the real deal. Church is, and must be, more than us individually streaming Sunday services in our living room. It must be more than Sunday services in general.

However, because the church is a people and not a building, I believe “the church” is much more fluid than we think. While technology could hurt us (our weaknesses are our strengths used less than optimally), I don’t believe it will. We still long to be part of something bigger ourselves. However, I do believe technology will transform what church looks like. And that, my friends, is for another post.

Remembering the Afflicted

When asked if he felt as if people forgot about the Occupy movement after the cameras left, famous rapper, Lupe Fiasco, remarked that part of what cameras do is highlight something and, in the process, bring it to the forefront of our minds but when they leave so does our recollection of that event. Last week I wrote about the shooting in Isla Vista and the tragedy that was. But upon further reflection I recognize this same forgetting principle to be at work in my life, not just about this event but most things.

Last Fourth of July I was devastated to hear about a five-year old boy who was hit by a bullet in what appeared to be a gang-related shooting in Chicago. He was rushed to the hospital where there was no guarantee he would make it. I silently vowed to follow the story to the end. Unfortunately, this paragraph is the first time I’ve remembered since it happened.

The beauty of the news is it brings the tragedies of the world to our attention. The scandal, however, lies in how quickly we forget. Unless we’re personally affected, things are back to normal the next day. But even after the cameras disappear and the pain is no longer in the spotlight, the afflicted community will continue to wrestle with the disaster. The hurt and shock of Isla Vista will exist even after we’ve forgotten (as it has in Newtown, Aurora, Boston, Malaysia, and Nigeria). This past week I’ve been reminded of this luxury I have, which those in the situation don’t: I get the option to forget.

But then of course some would disagree and rightly so. First, I don’t know if it’s possible for us to constantly carry the woes of the entire world and still function like normal human beings. Perhaps it’s God’s grace towards us that, to some small extent, we get the option of what we remember (granted there are things we wish we could forget). Second, things must get back to normal. As much as we want to stop, life continues and we must learn to live with it. But lastly, the real scandal is that there are some tragedies we don’t get to forget because they never made it on our radar in first place.

This past month and a half the Bible Study that meets in my house went through David Platt’s Radical, in which he tells us that 30,000 children around the world die every day in obscurity from starvation and preventable diseases. Roughly one billion people survive on less than a dollar a day while another two billion live on less than two. We get the luxury to operate as if they don’t exist. But just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not real.

In a society bound to forget, the first step of standing in solidarity with “the suffering” is to remember even after the world has forgotten, to develop what Gary Haugen in The Good News About Injustice calls object permanence towards evil.

While I don’t necessarily know what this looks like in situations such as Isla Vista, one of the best ways to remember is to invest in it. If the issue as to why we can’t remember lies in its distance from us (emotional or geographical), investing (time or money) brings it closer to home. Suddenly the afflicted have a name, a face, and a story. And when they have a name, a face, and a story we are more inclined to act on their behalf. As followers of Jesus, I don’t believe this is optional.

This week my wife and I are taking time to pray, asking God how he’s calling us to remember those we’re inclined to forget. Will you join us?

Max Dillon, Elliot Rodger, and the Gospel

In honor of my tenth blog post, I initially planned to talk about bands playing ten-year anniversary tours, why they’re awkward, and why we should go anyway. But in light of this week’s past events, I feel the need to address something else instead.

This past Friday my wife and I saw The Amazing Spiderman 2. Though the film was visually and conceptually great, the thing that hit home for me was Jamie Foxx’s character, Max Dillon.

While Max is a geeky and slightly obsessive electrical engineer, at his core he just wants to be noticed. Most of his life he’s been a nobody people walk over and ignore. He is so starved for attention the instant anyone makes him feel like he has purpose or value, he pledges lifelong allegiance to them. All he wants is to be recognized and for some reason, this literally has never happened to me before, I wanted to tell this fictional character that God sees him. Yes, there were the issues of dependency, idolatry, and violence but God sees and loves those people just the same.

Then Isla Vista happened and it occurred to me that though Max Dillon is fictional, he is real. He is real in people like Elliot Rodger and God sees him too.

Now before people jump down my throat and accuse me of being on his side: I am not. The chief end of woman is not to acquiesce to a man’s whim nor is the measure of a man the amount of women he sleeps with. Women are people; not property for us to own, subdue, rule over, or dominate. Their love is not something we are entitled to. Being a perfect gentleman is not an act you put on with the hope of accomplishing something for your own personal gain. That’s manipulation and when you pull that stunt you are no better than the jerks you denounce. In fact, you are worse. You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I can say it because I’ve been guilty of it.

Furthermore in his entitlement Rodger deceived himself to believe he’s a god, worthy to be adored while deciding what is just in the world, completely overlooking the fact he’s also a human who, based on his own scathing judgment, deserves to be annihilated (someone undoubtedly will point out the irony in his death).

But once you get past the contempt and the disgust and sift through the sick behavior of Rodger, the real issue (after the cultural perceptions of masculinity – thanks Laci Green) that manifested itself in vitriol arises: he was a broken man who felt invisible his entire life. Like Max Dillon, Rodger wanted to matter to someone. He wanted it so badly it drove him to do whatever he could to feel important. And when I can get past my outrage, I’m saddened.

Because the truth is Elliot Rodger mattered. He mattered to God. Not Elliot Rodger god but the Creator of the heavens and the earth and everything in them who became a man to die on the cross so he (and not just him but the people he killed as well, whom he will have to answer to said God for) could be reconciled to Him once again.

Isla Vista taught me the Max Dillons of our world are real and, at the risk of oversimplifying the issue, they need to also be told their value is not based on what others feel about them nor is worth of other people contingent on how well they serve us. We are valuable because we are made in the image of God, because we were bought at a price. And as long as we chase after secondary things we will find ourselves empty and, in our brokenness, breaking everything we touch. Our hearts are always restless until they find rest in Him and when I get past my indignation, I can remember that.

Jesus is the only hope we have and it’s for that reason I’ve committed my life to spreading the word: God sees the Max Dillon and the Elliot Rodgers of our world and he desperately wants them to know his love.

Planting as a Process

If you asked me what I spend the majority of my time thinking about (after Jesus, of course), mission would be somewhere near the top of the list. Few things excite me more than dreaming of ways to advance God’s kingdom here on earth while loving my neighbor in the process; and between innovations like the Acts 29 Network, the Verge Network, Asbury Theological Seminary’s new degree in church planting, and the like, it would seem I’m not alone. An apostolic wave is rising within the church.

Even the ministry I work for recently put together a cohort dedicated to planting new witnessing communities on campuses where there are currently none present. It’s been absolutely remarkable to watch some of my closest friends/heroes birth missional groups on their campuses; and though I’m not a part of the cohort, I am proud be part of the movement by pioneering new student ministry in the Cayman Islands. 

Yet while this wave excites me, it also makes me insecure.

I saw a video not too long ago of students hopping on a bus to drive to a nearby campus to plant an InterVarsity chapter. They prayed, talked to students, and casted vision for what could exist in their institution. Of course, I thought it was amazing. Charles Spurgeon once said, “Every Christian is either a missionary or an impostor” and these students embodied that philosophy. The hard part for me though is the fact I’ve never planted that fast.

For all the conversations being had about planting, it sounds instantaneous. I’ll hear stories about students who take a weeklong mission trip to another country, talk to some students, and say the ministry has been started. But is it really as simple as arriving on a campus, getting some folks to sign up for a bible study, and then leaving? I’m finding the answer for me is no. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned in the past year and four months (aside from the importance of knowing your context) it’s that planting is not so much an event as much as it’s a process.

Yes there’s moment the seed gets placed in the soil but there’s also the instant the sprout breaks ground. Which constitutes as planting? Both. It’s the process of cultivating the soil, watering the seed, and watching it surface until it develops into something sustainable.

A friend of mine and I were talking this past week when he asked me what kind of timeline I was looking at for Cayman. I didn’t have one. I just figured I was going to be faithful to the time God has called me here and not think about moving until I had to renew my contract. While the need for a timeline is important (after all, every leader needs vision), things are always easier in theory than in praxis.

As nice as it sounds to entrust the work to people after you and move on to the next exciting venture, planting is a commitment. It sometimes means being willing to stick your flag in the ground and commit to a place longer than you intended. I believe any planter would agree. Sometimes it just needs to be said (namely, for me) Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither will your ministry. It’s okay if things take time. It’s part of the planting process. 

The Rung in the Wall, Part II: Hanging with Friends

After spending three-and-a-half years in the heat and humidity of Tampa, San Francisco felt particularly chilly that afternoon. Adjusting my beanie and buttoning up my sweater, I made my way through the Mission district to talk God with a friend over Chinese. Somewhere between the BART station and the restaurant it occurred to me I had never actually had a conversation with this person and suddenly I grew anxious. Though they seemed nice and sincere in their love for God, I couldn’t help but to be reminded of all the Christians I met only to be let down.

If I’m honest, I don’t really get along with Christians. Whenever I recount arguments I’ve had with people, more often than not, it’s been with Christians. It’s never an issue of denomination as much as it’s an issue of discipleship. I often feel like the odd man out and as much as I’d like to believe it means I’m Christ-like, I won’t lie to myself that way.

Around conservative Christians, I’m the liberal heretic. I don’t subscribe to right-wing politics, I’m not a young earth creationist, if I had to pick a favorite writer I’d probably say James Baldwin, and you can sometimes catch me at bars trying to love my non-Christian friends. Yet around more liberal circles, I’m the conservative tightwad. I don’t drink (though it’s okay if you do), I don’t watch rated-R movies (though it’s okay if you do), I do believe in the authority of Scripture and as much as I complain about the church and Christians, I am still part of the family.

Just the other day I was at lunch (apparently, I eat a lot) with a local pastor discussing life in Cayman when he said something interesting. Because locals make up less than half of the population, Cayman is a very transient country. Oftentimes folks move here with the intention of staying “for only a few years” and don’t want to invest in relationships. They never unpack. Conversely, most locals don’t want their friendship anyway because they figure it’s only a matter of time before these sojourners leave them like everyone else.

I mention this because I did retake the spiritual growth assessment I mentioned last week; and while it certainly wasn’t my weakest area, “fellowshipping with believers” was surprisingly low. When talking with the pastor I realized why. In the past year-and-a-half I’ve been in Cayman, already a good number of my friends have left or are considering leaving and because I don’t know how long I’ll be here I’ve been tempted to withdraw. Though the pastor didn’t direct this towards me, I felt the loving correction of the Lord as he spoke. As long as God has called me to be here, I am called to be here. Sitting on the sideline waiting to go isn’t an option, as painful as playing may be.

Last week I talked about my desire for growth. Part of that is relating to my brothers and sisters in the faith, especially as I live in Cayman. I’ve decided to take a chance attend a guy’s retreat with some friends in July. Perhaps if you’ve been struggling with the same thing you can step out in faith as well. Maybe we’ll find God’s goodness waiting on the other side.

The Rung in the Wall

I’ve never been much of a rock climber but as I stood before the artificial wall, a mere boy, watching all my friends scramble to top, it looked easy. Grabbing the first rung, I progressed at a moderate speed until I noticed the higher I went the more of a stretch it became. When I finally arrived at a grip just out of reach, I dawdled and eventually turned back defeated.

When we first say yes to Jesus our growth is exponential. Each day holds a new concept to learn, a new verse to read, a new truth to unlock. Somewhere along the way we seem to plateau. All of a sudden we’re learning the same truths just stated differently. Granted, repeated truths, no matter how elementary, have a way of challenging us in different seasons, it can still feel like our growth has somehow been stunted.

I can confidently say I’m a smarter Christian than I was a year ago, but the question I’m wrestling with is whether or not I’ve become a better one. God calls us to love him with all our mind, soul, heart, and strength. To merely grow intellectually is to become a lopsided Christian. My prayers should be more meaningful than they were a year ago. I should be able to hear God’s voice a bit clearer. My life should embody him more. Perhaps, and maybe I’m stretching it, I should even be a more loving person. As much as I love mulling over ideas, at the end of the day it’s about becoming more like Jesus and sometimes I wonder if I am or if I’m dawdling at the same rung in rock climbing wall of our relationship.

For the past few months the cry of my heart has been to go deeper with God. Richard Foster in his book, The Celebration of Discipline, writes, “Superficiality is the curse of this age. The doctrine of instant satisfaction is a primary spiritual problem. The desperate need today is not for a great number of intellectual people, or gifted people, but for deep people.” I couldn’t agree more. With our fast food, smart phones, and high speed Internet connections, we’ve become a generation so enamored with instantaneous satisfaction delayed gratification is an inconvenience if not an injustice. As much as I long for depth with God, part of me wishes it could happen instantly. But it doesn’t work like that. Like all relationships, depth takes time. The effort put forth in the beginning is not the same kind it takes to press forward. The rungs are higher now.

As unromantic as it sounds, after a certain point we must intentional about our growth with God. Of course it starts with prayer. Then comes the development of a plan. At the beginning of the year I was issued a spiritual growth assessment (http://www.lifeway.com/lwc/files/lwcF_PDF_DSC_Spiritual_Growth_Assessment.pdf) by some people in my church to help identify areas to improve. As usual, I didn’t think much of it at the time but this week I’m challenged to revisit both the assessment and the spiritual disciplines Richard Foster recommends in his book. Something has to change. 

I’ve never been much of a rock climber, but it would seem God is waiting for me at the top and dawdling in the middle is no longer satisfying.

Reflections of an Overseas Missionary

This past week I read Mark Driscoll’s Confessions of a Reformission Rev. in which he tells the story of how the church he started in one of the most unchurched cities in America grew to over 4,000 people in weekly attendance. Both humorous and honest, Driscoll shares nuggets of wisdom he’s learned in the church-planting journey. This book not only gave me a deeper appreciation for him, his work ethic, and his love for Jesus but it also challenged me to look deeper at the soil God has called me to cultivate.

Part of what makes Mars Hill so beautiful is the way Driscoll understands the culture of Seattle, Washington. Home to Tooth and Nail Records as well as famous bands such as Nirvana and Death Cab for Cutie, Seattle is a music haven. It’s also home to fundamentalist and liberal churches barely holding on. In the midst of it, he built a church true to the gospel while embracing the surrounding culture.

Naturally, this made me reflect on church here in Cayman.

Though I initially felt as if a number of them failed to engage the culture because I rarely saw it, as I thought deeper I realized the real reason behind my uncertainty was because even after a year of being in Cayman I still have difficulty discerning the culture.

With over 125 nationalities represented and a population where less than half of the people that live here are local, Cayman is an amalgamation of sorts. Whereas other countries with a more pronounced difference in culture force you to change, in Cayman you never have to. While it’s nice, and key factor in what makes Cayman one of the world’s friendliest countries, it’s made me lazy. How does one start grassroots ministry unique to the country if one can’t figure out the country’s culture?

Cayman is constantly shifting. As more countries take up residence here and subsequently influence younger generations societal expectations change. What was once a part of Cayman’s culture becomes extinct.

Reading Driscoll’s book helped me realize I may have come to Cayman with an idea of what I thought this culture needed. However, without taking the time to listen to the people I’m no better than churches that replicate themselves regardless of the context.

Cayman is beautiful and deserves to be celebrated; its culture preserved. I’m realizing I don’t want to change it as much as I want to be changed by God with it, for the church in Cayman to be the church that Jesus has called it to be and not the church according to me. I want to build a ministry that is true to the gospel, embraces culture, and loves the church but that means I must first learn the culture in all its fluidity.

One of my greatest pitfalls as a leader is sometimes I must learn things the hard way. On my shelf are books I’ve failed to read on Cayman history and how to cross cultures meaningfully. After finishing Confessions I’m challenged to go back to the drawing board: to repent of my arrogance and allow God to show me his vision for this country. This means reading, listening, observing, and asking questions. It means being the missionary Jesus has called me to be and letting go of my own cultural biases to better love the people. It means saying yes to call again.

I think I’m okay with that.

Breaking the Cardinal Rule

In every workshop I’ve participated in there was a rule we had I hated to no end: “no disclaimers.” Oftentimes I’d be in a class with literary giants and to force them to read my “art” felt like a violation on their constitutional rights. But I understood why we had it. Disclaimers have a way of tainting our view and, therefore, disabling us to judge the piece for what it is.

While it’s true great art should speak for itself, every once in a while it’s the story behind the art that adds to its greatness. Take Kanye West’s 808s & Heartbreak.

After reaching a new level of success with Graduation, West loses his mother and calls it off with his long-time fiancée without taking a second away from the limelight to process. The result was his most vulnerable release to date. It was the moment Kanye saw things clearly – maybe for the first time ever. 808s is an existential record that points to the reality that sometimes what makes certain albums meaningful, whether we love them or hate them, is the hell they went through just to exist.

I’m reminded of The Glass Passenger from Jack’s Mannequin. At the ripe age of twenty-two Andrew McMahon wrote his magnum opus, Everything in Transit, and was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia shortly after. The Glass Passenger tells the story of staring death in the face (both musical and actual) and coming out on top – albeit a bit scathed.

Back in 2008 I graduated high school ready to conquer the scene with my band. I put my solo project on hold and started dreaming of our future only for us to break up in the fall. I spent the year doing some serious self-discovery. The result was the best music I’d ever written. I called it Of Triumph & Glory.

Unfortunately, no one heard it.

I moved to Tampa, found Jesus, and my life completely changed. One of the first things I let go of was my hope of being a world-traveling musician. I stepped away from music, the one thing I loved since childhood, to focus on Him; and on the rare occasion I caught inspiration, I couldn’t silence the voices in my head long enough to make something of it. Two years went by without me writing a complete song. I thought I was done for.

Until Cayman…

I’ve written eleven songs, five of them belong to a new EP.

It’s not perfect, nor is it my best material (I know: No Disclaimers), but for what it is, I’m proud.

In an interview at the Oxford Union, John Mayer said he released Paradise Valley to stay current with himself. When Born & Raised came out he lost his voice and couldn’t tour in support of the album. By the time he got well again he wasn’t the same person. Paradise Valley was a bonus record fans weren’t allowed to hate because it wasn’t supposed to happen. That’s this EP.

This is my People & Things. This is my Paradise Valley. It’s titled Wounds & Scars and I hope to share it with you one day.