from a friend of a friend...about  forgiveness.

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From: Jphishmeh5
Date: Oct 14, 2005 9:43 AM

October 14, 2005

Somehow at that moment, the bite of sandwich tasted different in my mouth. Since it was late in the evening, the shwarma (meat sandwich) left little to be desired after having been on the cooker all day long. The hummos, runny and tasteless, had me thinking that this was not going to be my favorite dining experience. Anyhow, it was food, I was hungry and it was meeting a need. At the very least, I had good company. Sitting across from me was Yusif. It was his words that brought me to a pause and caused that particular bite of food to somehow lose what little "color" it already had.

Yusif and I had just left a concert at the school by an American folk singer who sings songs about social justice and peace issues. We decided to grab a bite of food. Although the concert turned out to be somewhat dull, my conversation with Yusif would not. Coming from Gaza, Yusif has found it to be a big adjustment coming to Ramallah and to the 11^th grade at the Friends School. I always tell people that Ramallah is like the New York City of the West Bank. No other place in Palestine is like it here, in terms of culture or population. And, coming from a government school in Gaza, Yusif also has had to adjust to an American style curriculum and atmosphere here at the Friends. Anyhow, he is a terrific guy and is doing well. We have become good friends and I even have been invited to visit his family in Gaza after Ramadan.

This particular night our conversation turned in a direction that it has several times before . . Palestine, the struggle for freedom and peace, Yusif's views on all of that and his time serving with Seeds of Peace (a peace organization that hosts summer camps in America for Israeli and Palestinian adolescents). Yusif is like the rest of us who support resistance against occupation and injustice, but the difference with most people is the form and nature that that resistance should take. On this issue, Yusif fits in well at the school and with Quaker values. Nonviolence is the way to go. Peace cannot be accomplished through more machine guns and bombs. Rather, it is achieved through humility, communication, understanding, sacrifice and forgiveness. We were talking about these things and of course we agreed on everything. Yusif likes to talk about Seeds of Peace and the summer he spent camping and sharing conversation with Israelis. So, I thought I would probe a little more about that, to get him thinking, and to know more for myself. I wanted to know how it is that he can sit across the table, sleep, canoe, dialogue . . .  all peacefully . . .  with Israelis. And, he does it cheerfully. So, I asked him candidly . . . ."why . . . . why do you forgive?"

Knowing Yusif's background is what makes my question so significant and even more so, his response. Yusif is a 16-year old Muslim from Gaza who has grown up in a house located on the edge of one of the Israeli Settlements- Kfar Daroom. In order for his family to get to their house they must pass through barbed wire, fences and soldiers, every single time. In addition to that, the soldiers have occupied their house for the last five years during the 2 ^nd intifada, which basicly means that he and his family have lived with Israeli soldiers for the past five years. It wasn't until the Gaza pullout a couple of months ago when they finally left. These are the circumstances under which Yusif has grown up, and despite all of this, there is one more thing. Yusif has a bullet lodged in his spine. A couple of years ago a UN fact-finding delegation visited his house to observe the situation for Yusif's family. The soldiers granted them entrance for fifteen minutes. The delegation greeted the family, listened to their story and left. As Yusif and his father were standing outside saying goodbye, a single shot was heard in the distance. An Israeli sniper had taken aim and shot Yusif in the back.

http://www.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/meast/08/13/gaza.family/index.html

Oddly enough, he was treated at a hospital in Israel, thanks to the UN and friends at the German Embassy. The bullet was left in his spine for fear that if they took it out he would be paralyzed. Now, although he cannot participate in most recreational activities, Yusif can still walk. So, sitting across from me was a 16-year old Palestinian Muslim from Gaza who has known occupation and poverty all of his life and has a bullet lodged in his back.

And I had the gall to ask, "why . . . why forgive?"

His answer was short and simple . . . . "because I want to live."

Now, I don't know if he realized the weight of his words, nor if I do either, but either way, his response changed the taste of the food in my mouth at that moment. Sitting right there I heard more than the words of a 16-year old Palestinian Muslim who has known occupation and poverty intimately, and has a bullet in his back. That night I heard the words of a crucified Christ hanging on a cross . . . "forgive them . . . ."  In the midst of pain, in the midst of the worst possible circumstances, the words "I forgive" are uttered and the world is changed forever. Peace is given a chance. It isn't reasonable to forgive under such circumstances. In fact, it seems downright crazy, but the beauty of it is this, that in forgiveness life is found and the larger the forgiveness the larger the life. There is a mystery about forgiveness that cannot be explained. How is it that liberty comes to us not when we grasp tightly our greatest pain and offenses, but rather when we release them into the gentle and torn hands of our crucified Lord? How it is that only in such forgiveness, life is found, I will never know, but certainly this is the mysterious way of the Cross.

When I observe Yusif's life and the sacrifices he has made, I wonder to myself, how could he come to such a place of forgiveness? How can a person be offended to such an extent and then forgive to an even greater extent? I don't know and when I evaluate myself honestly, I struggle to know whether or not I would do the same. I'm not sure that I could. Knowing myself, I think I would take that offense, watch it turn into anger and then fight back. Isn't that the natural response?. But, that night the words of Christ were quietly pounded into my ears by Yusif. The words of life were knocking on the door of my heart, not from a pulpit or a leatherback Bible, or a gospel tract or a hymn, but rather by a humble 16-year old Muslim boy, sitting over a plate of hummus.

Yusif has never sat in a church pew, nor been to a potluck, nor bought a Michael W. Smith cd, but I do know this, the words of Jesus came from his mouth that night. Whether he knows it or not, he is preaching God's message, and I am convinced that the light of Christ is in him. That night my dinner did not sit well with me. The convicting truth of God's message of forgiveness in the face of my weakness was eating at my stomach.

"Why do you forgive?" . . . . "because I want to live."

I hardly post, but if I don't do this now, I probably won't do it.  I hope you aren't getting the Daily Digest. This is intense.. and long. but again... worth it. 

DAVID CHOE HAS FOUND GOD <-- just got out after 3 months in a Japanese jail. if you want the whole story, read the complete email. (note: we mean no disrespect to mr. choe by posting this email. it was sent out to his press contacts, so it's assumed that he wants others to read his story)

Even though I've never done crack or speed, I think witnessing for God and saving souls is like speed or shooting up, I just wanted to kick back and stay low key today, but I ended up talking about GOD from early this morning till 2 in the morning the next day, I was so tired and all I wanted to do was crash, but just then my crack head neighbor was coming out of the laundry room and I just kept blabbing about God and I brought her to tears, and then I couldn't sleep, so I scrubbed the floors, and washed a huge stack of dirty dishes that aren't mine, like a junkie on speed, till 4 in the morning. I was scared and embarrassed of what people would say about me all day today, but I couldn't deny God anymore, and surprisingly the people I thought that would mock me, make fun of me, write me off, or call me crazy, stopped, and listened, really listened to me. I watched hardened emotionless, heartless cruel people just like me, cry tears of remorse today, and it makes me feel higher than a kite. Am I just a junkie now for men's sorrowful tears and souls as opposed to my life of crime? If so, let it be, let me O.D. on GOD. I'm a junkie for the Holy Spirit and I don't even need a needle to shoot it into my veins to feel its effects flow through me.

Let me slow down, I know I'm coming on to strong from left field. Most of you probably think I'm joking right now, or being a freak. But I kid you not. I haven't seen, spoken, or written, to all of you for at least 3 and half months, some longer. On, December 18th 2003 a few weeks before Christmas, less than 24 hours after getting off a plane in Tokyo, Japan, I was arrested, for Violent assault, I destroyed an undercover security guards face with one solid punch, I've never seen anything like it, the guys face literally exploded. and have been in a room the size of your closet ,behind bars, since then till just last week. Amazingly there are only 100 reports of violent crime in the city of Tokyo every year (compared to the millions of cases reported every year in America), in the final days of 2003 I became number 101. Since I was 5 or 6 the only 3 things I've ever excelled at is art, crime, and cursing. From an early age I was always fearless, and went and did stuff no one else dared, because I had nothing (or thought I had nothing, unappreciative prick!), so I had nothing to lose, I also knew I wanted to be a great artist, but was led to believe all artists live poor lives, so I accepted my fate as a poor starving artist, I've worked every kind of job you can imagine and also accepted the fact that I don't take instruction well, and don't work well with bosses. I had my own code of honor, justified all my own *blah to serve my needs, I had a whole robin hood complex going, steal from the rich and give to the poor (and a lot of the time the poor happened to be me). Racking spray paint to rare expensive books, to a pack of gum, to sneaking into movies, to credit card fraud, looting, scams, robberies, groceries, auto theft, re-selling stolen drugs, breaking and entering, sneaking onto planes and trains, etc. I've done it all. I've never said,"no" to crime, I have always been down. I've lived a charmed, spoiled, selfish life, I always get what I want, and no matter what I do or say it always ends up working out good for me, it seems I can do no wrong, I've spoiled myself. I always took care of my crew and anyone who needed help. I was always for the underdog. But in the end I was out of control. When I graduated high school, I had no money but I traveled around the earth robbing, and stealing, and hustling. When I got back home in 1995 or 96, one of my best friends that I grew up with got 10 years in prison, for home invasion. Ironically he gets out this year (our 10 year reunion) when I went to go visit him in prison (10 years ago) he said to me" dave what am I doing here, how did I end up like this, you should be sitting on this side of the glass. you’re the one that loves crime" These words have echoed in my head for the last 10 years, especially in the last 3 months behind bars. After that, I gave up that life for a little bit, only to return to it with a vengeance, I was (and am) a junkie for crime, I couldn't turn it down it's the only life I've ever known, while most people dreamt of cars, and women, I dreamt of robbing banks. I can say having 2 parents that weren’t divorced, having the best friends and family that didn't encourage my retarded behavior was the only thing that kept me from going over the edge, if I didn't love anyone and knew that no one loved me, I would go for broke, and would be dead or in jail for a lot longer right now, of this I'm sure. I always told myself, if the art ever starts to sell, and I make money I'll give up the hustle. And then all of a sudden about 5 or 6 years ago my dreams came true and the paintings started to sell. And then even more in the last 2-3 years when I 've been with MyLan. So all my heavy duty scams went out the door, And I stopped, but all the little petty *blah stayed, and not because I didn't have the money, but because I'm an impatient *blah, and I know I can get away with it, when I'm waiting in a line at walgreens and the incompetent cashier is a retard and the line is super long, and all I want is a pepsi, I say *blah it and rack it, I don't even have to think about it , I don't even consider it stealing, I even feel like they deserve it for hiring such incompetent workers. and it keeps security guards in a job. Without people like me, law enforcement would be handing out jay walking tickets all day. (See I told you I could justify myself) I have had no respect for rules and regulations, no respect for the law. Except my own. My whole life, In this day and age there are more people trying to make it as an artist than ever before, to actually make a living at it, is rare, to make a living painting and drawing what you want, as opposed to what other people want you to draw, is even rarer, to be appreciated worldwide, and get flown out ,wined and dined in other countries is ridiculous, the fact that I've been given this amazing opportunity and all I end up doing is stealing every bike that's not locked up, graffitiing the entire city, robbing unsuspecting stores, and beating up the citizens of Japan is a true testament to my retardation and my self-destructive nature. This has been the most shameful, embarrassing, disgraceful, torturous experience in my life. This is why I've been gone for so long. These 3 months I've come to terms with my denial. I'm not Robin Hood. I'm a f* idiot. In my time in prison, translation problems, after misunderstanding after misunderstanding occurred, and every worst case scenario that could happen, happened.., I read ever book in the prison library, wrote over 1000 pages in letters, did over 300 drawings and paintings with soy sauce(not counting the inmate portraits and prison guard portraits, that I gave away) made an outline for a novel that's over 600 pages, wrote and drew a prison graphic novel, kept ridiculously detailed journals(made lists, tons and tons of lists, my favorite all time, books, movie, artists, and then other lists like everyone I want to kill, everything I've ever stolen etc.),translated telephone book sized Japanese porno comics into English even though I don't speak Japanese, lost all my money, lost all my jobs, lost my health, lost my girl(if it was just jail , she could have stayed strong for me, but just short of cheating, I've behaved unbelievably inappropriately as a boyfriend ,which all came to light while I was behind bars, talk about mental torture, which she should have burned my house down and killed me when I stepped off the plane, but only by God's grace has she remained calm, and has stayed my friend and helped me though my inner turmoil. This is a first for me, I want to kill every single one of my last ex-girlfriends, or vice versa, so staying friends with my girl feels awesome. Being an artist true to yourself and being true to your art, and then also true to your woman is hard, it's a tuff balance) got attacked with the worst case of acne since high school (there wasn't a clear surface on my face, I'm talking boils and puss bombs all over my face and neck, ever book I read in jail has my blood and puss on it, I looked like crater face, but the bible cleared up my acne better that Clearasil) my hair was falling out, my kidneys were damaged, I had 3 nervous breakdowns, contemplated suicide, bench pressed toothless 90 pound junkies,2 vs. 2 soccer games with rolled up socks thieves &junkies vs. Persians & yakuza, 2 prison fights and 1 prison escape attempt, 1 month in general population 2 months in solitary confinement, mastered the art or tantra, practiced drumming every night with my chopsticks, found God after telling him to f* off 20 years ago, lost him again after 1 month, found his son, who -reintroduced me to his dad, until I finally said f* it, and surrendered. His presence was everywhere, a tattered copy of the bible I only had for 3 days, porno novels that had bible verses scrawled in the borders. every time I denied him, I'd get another day, day another week, another month in jail until I finally surrendered and submitted it all to God. Put it all in his hands, and he cleared up my face , my health, and let me out of jail. I have God to stand on now, he is my back up, but I'm still a little lost I been gone for 3 months , so I figured hiding out undercover getting my head back together for a week or two wouldn't hurt, Everyone that owes me money I'll be coming for you soon enough, everyone that I owe money or artwork/paintings too, you'll get those soon enough, I'm looking at my room, at my house all my tons of rare, limited edition junk, and bull*, why did I want all this meaningless bull* in the first place, it's just stuff to replace real human interaction, I threw half of it out already giving the rest away, if anyone wants to buy any of my paintings for bargain blowout prices now is your chance to take advantage of me. I'm gonna get rid of all my *blah, pack up the mini van, and travel around the country and then the world doing God's work, what that is yet, I don't know, I 've already hitched and hiked around the world several times doing meaningless irreverent *, but this time I'll be doing right with Meaningful *, Graffiti murals that aren't totally * up, zines's and comics that make you evaluate or re-evaluate your life instead of me usual theme of absolutely no redeeming values . I've found God, but I will never forget where the *I been and where I'm coming from. I'm scared, but I don't give a * anymore, I will die or go to jail for life , with a happy heart if it's for god's will. I'm sort of tired of creating tired, meaningless irreverent *, I want to do something more meaningful, I mean really who are you? not name, birthplace, hobbies, occupation, * like that, but really who are you? what are you about? what are your beliefs? what do you stand for? I've always been fearless not giving a * what anyone thinks and go and do anything I want, until it came to God. My whole life my only vices have been grime, crime and sex, but you can't get over, your whole life. and not have it all come crashing down over your head, but life doesn't need to be this hard, but men are stupid, and have to touch it and feel it even though they know they'll get burned, they need to feel it for themselves. The * I looked up to ,valued ,and respected is all bul*, all it does is end in loneliness, heartache, remorse, regret, death, and prison, Frank Sinatra's "MY WAY" is a stupid song for idiots. I know it's cliché' to find god at the tip of a needle, down the barrel of a gun, at the bottom of a bottle or behind bars, but life is fragile and tragedy and heartache lurk around every corner. who the * is this self righteous prick, to say or tell anyone anything? I'm the biggest hypocrite on the planet right? Well I grew up a little behind bars, when little kids misbehave they get quiet time, or time out in the corner for 15-20 minutes, the adults get, time out for months to years. But I been on my high horse long enough, I can go on all night, I 've lost my voice from talking non-stop about god since I got out, and I need a rest, thank god for mass e-mails. I'll quit my preachy rant for now. I'm sorry if I haven't called a lot of you yet. I know I sound crazy, but I'm not. I'm gonna stick around san jose for at least another month before I take off, you can call, write, or reach me here. Thank you for all the love and support, I love all of you. I've let go of the hate. How will this change my art. We'll have to wait and see. It was easy to be religious and self righteous in prison because it's basically a military monastery or nunnery, there's no temptation, no where to stray, no drugs, or girls, but now I'm out in the real world again and my real test and battle begins. I used to say ,"I go where the day takes me." But today I'll be  cheesy and say ,"I go where the lord takes me."I'll end this letter, with a song by a gay group called depeche mode, that I heard for the first time today. I need to be cleansed It's time to make amends For all of the fun The damage is done And I feel diseased I'm down on my kness And I need forgiveness Someone to bear witness To the goodness within Beneath the sin Although I may flirt With all kinds of dirt To the point of disease Now I want release From all this decay Take it away And somewhere There's someone who cares With a heart of gold To have and to hold.

Interviewing a Miracle

I’m hoping to interview Pastor Wally Magdangal sometime in the near future… if I can’t do it for work, I still want to interview him, so if you’re interested, come with me to Sacramento!!!  

Pastor Wally Magdangal was the pastor of an underground/secret house church in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia during the Persian Gulf War. His church grew to be among the largest in Saudi Arabia. Due to the impact he was having on the Muslim world, he became the most wanted person by the religious authorities in the land of the Muslims. After several attempts, Pastor Wally was arrested and placed in prison where he was tortured because of his faith in Christ Jesus. In the midst of horrendous beatings and circumstances, God continually showed His love and faithfulness to His servant. After experiencing the humiliation of the Saudi Arabian High Court, he was sentenced to death by public hanging scheduled to take place on Christmas Day 1992. Pastor Wally's is a remarkable testimony of God's provision and deliverance for a man whose only desire was to bring the Good News of God's love to one of the least reached and darkest nations in the world.

Check out his Miraculous Story: http://www.coralridge.org/impact/2002_Nov_Pg1.htm

Here's what he wrote coming back from a missionary trip to Romania...it's long but worth it.