Kiss My Brain

My brain needs a smooch. Or a synapse-massage, perhaps. I'm still in Pasadena finishing up the last three days of a two week intensive at Fuller. And I'm knee-deep in excellent books for the two courses I'm working on this quarter: Ministering to Street Kids and Contemporary Culture in Missiological Perspective (a.k.a. "Our culture is steeped in uglies from both modernity and post-modernity, so whatcha gonna do about it, young?"). Today in my Street Children class we pretended we were in Bucharest and devised practical strategies for setting up a ministry to care for those Children Underground. We argued a lot, but ended up with a ministry that looked a lot like Young Life for children of the street: Go to where they are, love them, and help them get integrated into a space that cheers for their freedom.

I'm up late desperately trying to translate articles about the street children of Naples, Italy. My Italian is still pretty rough, but not as rough as the streets of Naples. Some of my great-grandparents were born there. When I was in Naples this summer some Italians told me I have a distinctly Neopolitan face. One day I think this face would like to care for street kids in that city. Big dreams. Lots more to learn.

Learning makes me happy. But it's tiring, too.

(Thank you if that was you who prayed for my health last week. I started feeling significantly better just 24 hours after I asked oh Ye of the blogosphere to talk to Jesus for me.)