different names for the same thing

This city is full of interesting people. I've met a Mexican maintenance man who enjoys swimming at the beach; a guy who sells speed and is obsessed with satanic death metal; a young man from Canada whose favorite chips are pickle-flavor; a protestor who believes in eliminating the death penalty; a couch-surfing Asian from New York hoping to stumble on his future in the city; and infinitely more people. And those are the conversations. I can't tell you how many times I've pulled out my little notebook to jot down inspiring, quirky, gross, funny things I've seen and heard.

The other night, waiting for the N on the platform of the underground Van Ness station, I encountered a drag queen. He was dressed in a long blue ball gown with a long black trench coat over it. He had a lot of make up on and his hair was intricately done with random stuff tied into it like artificial flowers and a stiletto. He was walking up and down the platform, speaking to himself and using elaborate hand gestures as if practicing a play. I caught bits of what he was saying and it sounded like some sort of drama. He used props, too, like swinging his umbrella around. And then he would go into dance moves like tapping or ballroom. Since the light rail took forever to come I also witnessed one of his friends who passed by, and re-enacted a short scene with him. Part of me wanted to stare, I will be honest. Another part of me knew that that was what they wanted, but at the same time the last thing they needed. And then I saw (and heard) guys, the other people waiting on the platform, watching them and snickering like twelve year olds. And instead of feeling embarrassed for the man in the ball gown, I felt embarrassed for those guys.

It hurts to think of what life must be like for transvestite, transgender people. Somehow, no matter how strange, it takes a lot for them to embrace that sort of lifestyle in their search for who they are. Because along the way there is so much alienation and rejection, I wonder how their heart can even stand it. It reminds me of the Occupy movement: very misguided and directionless, but passionate and real. I think his lifestyle is egregiously misguided, but it takes so much to wake up each morning saying, “This is who I am,” and it is their faulty destination along a quest to discover, just as everyone else, who they were meant to be. It saddens me more than anything else.

life as i know it

I never, ever thought I would say this. But I am starting to love this city. I walk around its streets and meet its people and sometimes it's horrible, sometimes it's amazing, and other times it's just straight up confusing. But I'm starting to feel possessive about it... I'm starting to call it my city. And the reason for that is because I've gotten progressively more confident that this is where I'm meant to be.

God's goodness in my life never changes. There are so many "in spite of's," but He is a constant throughout my day and throughout my life. This last weekend I had several prayers answered. The first was going to Promised Land Fellowship, and all of a sudden there it was: my church that is both spirit filled and has young adults. And it’s in the city, I can seriously just take the N. It is associated with Bethel Church in Redding, which explained a lot about the service. I was so blown away by finding it, because it was just when I’d gotten pretty defeatist about ever finding one and just stopped trying. I’d talked to the Lord about finding a church, but I don’t remember ever getting on my knees and asking him for one. Which is why it’s so crazy to me that he led me to that church. Even when I don’t specifically ask him, he blesses me. I don’t deserve that. His goodness is something I’ll never, ever understand.

Worship was absolutely amazing. We went on for nearly an hour and a half but I sincerely didn’t mind. I probably wouldn’t even have noticed if I wasn’t wearing heels and my feet asked to sit down eventually. It was incredibly refreshing to declare God’s grace and glory in my life and throw up my hands singing in full abandon before him. I feel like I haven’t done that in a while but it has to be the right environment, and the spirit has to be present, which is not something you get everywhere.

God spoke to me through the message as well. It felt closer to story time the majority of the message. I don’t suppose I was as engaged as I could have been. But it clicked at the end for me. He preached on the spies entering Canaan and the sour report ten of them came back with, while only two had faith in God’s promise for the land he was going to give them. But it was the ten negative people that stirred the people up against Moses, Aaron and the rest of the leadership God had placed there to lead them into power. The moment that got it for me was when he paralleled San Francisco with Canaan. Do we truly believe God’s promise that if he is with us, then who can stand against us? Or do we allow ourselves to be influenced by the bad reports of the city, intimidated and unable to live out his power. I truly felt like that was confirmation that, for now, San Francisco has become my city; my Jerusalem.

Before I left home, the pastor at my parent's church was just starting his series on Acts. The part that has stuck with me over the past couple months was when Jesus instructed the disciples to wait first for the power/Holy Spirit to descend on them, then be sent out.

But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.

So I told the Lord I was going to take that and have that be my game plan as well. The receiving happened within a month of moving here, and since then I've been in the process of asking him where my Jerusalem will be. There are so many unknowns in my future; I literally feel like I'm living month to month like a rental lease. Not just housing and finances, but all of it. And yet, at least for now, I feel confidant that San Francisco is where he has placed me.

And then, out of the blue, a very sweet older man came over and asked if he could pray for me. Turns out it wasn’t just a “Jesus loves you” generic prayer; he was gifted in the prophetic. I am ashamed to admit I was a bit reluctant in my heart. Not outwardly, I was entirely open to it. I know that sounds kind of contradictory. I will never turn down prayer, but at the same time something in me thought “oh boy.” Isn’t that horrible? I don’t even know what that was. Because if I’m going to think like that how many other opportunities of blessing has the Lord just been wanting to give me and I just shut them down?

God answered several prayers of mine through that one prayer of his. There was so much confirmation and affirmation I’m not even sure where to start. He said heart of worship, which is the second prophesy now I've received where someone has mentioned that. I need to ask the Lord what he means by that, and if that’s something he wants to multiply in me. He said the Lord is blessed when I worship, and he honors my heart of complete abandon before him. I was like, woooo! He also said I will experience God’s grace in this upcoming year in ways I haven’t before. I will be learning and discovering more about myself and he will be alongside me. Which is exactly what I’d been hoping this next year would be, what with trying to explore and get into journalism and seeing where that takes me.

He talked about freedom, a freedom to be who I am in Christ, and the ability to declare and walk in that freedom before others. I’ve had a desire for boldness but been having a hard time figuring out what context that would be in. Again, I find myself often intimidated by the city, in the form of all the different kinds of people I see or encounter on a daily basis. I see need, but that emerges as fear. I would love more than anything to enter into that freedom and have others see me as the God-loving person that I am.

And then he said creativity, not knowing in what context that is in. But he saw the Lord multiplying creativity in me. And then he said I don’t know if you work, but I see promotion for you. At that moment I wondered why I even worry about my future, and feel silly for the times I do, because if ever God’s got my back on anything it’s what he’s calling me to do. He ended by saying he sees me as a little girl dressed in my pajamas, approaching my Father and curling up in his arms. Safe and warm and comfortable. And he said God says those are His favorite moments with me. I felt so affirmed and happy when he finished. I gave him the biggest hug and asked him what his name was. Javier. And then Javier excused himself to go to the bathroom, and I got the sense that praying for complete strangers in that way was nothing out of the ordinary for him. He just feels prompted by God and he obeys, nothing to it. I felt so blessed and encouraged to be on the receiving end of that obedience.

Life as I know it is, straight up, blow-my-mind awesome. This journey with the Lord is something that will be impossible to get old, and I can't wait to be on this adventure forever.

...and justice for all

I discovered early on that, in the words of Swedish Ambassador Harald Edelstam, "I cannot tolerate injustice." This inability to tolerate injustice has brought me to the roots of human misery, called me to engage in the fight for the rights, freedoms, and the dignity of others. - Joan Baez

There are several things in life that I don’t believe in. I don’t believe in regrets. I don’t believe in apathy. And I don’t believe anyone should ever have the ability to take away the free will of another human being. It happened during the time of Moses in the 13^th century BC. It happened at the time of William Wilberforce in the 18^th century. It happened during the time of Martin Luther King Jr. in the 20^th century. And now, here in our generation, it is a rampant crime affecting 30 million people in the 21^st century. Debt bondage, forced labor, sex trafficking, are all forms of modern day slavery occurring every day on a global scale.

E. Benjamin Skinner (author of “A Crime So Monstrous”) says, “Two hundred years after the birth of Abraham Lincoln, there are now more slaves than there were at any point in human history.”

It completely blows my mind to think about how the sale and servitude of human beings is a part of everyone’s life in the Western world as we eat our food, wear our clothes and use our electronics and appliances; a lot of which, if we cared to find out, trace back to forced labor. But it’s not convenient to know, and I am ashamed to admit, sometimes it isn’t cost effective to know, either.

It seems one reality we are fully conscious of when it comes to slavery is sex trafficking. But sometimes I wonder if we really understand the implications of it. We see pictures of sad-faced girls from Cambodia and we watch entertaining movies like “Taken.” Yet if we fully grasped the concept of these vulnerable, innocent girls having their mind, body, soul, future and hope viciously stolen from them, I have NO IDEA how we could just sit back in silence.

Trafficking is, straight up, an extremely lucrative, annually $32 billion business. The sale of humans is a unique industry because, unlike the products we purchase off the shelf never to be seen again by the salesman, human beings can be used over and over and over. No wonder it has now surpassed profitability of arms trafficking in the international crime industry, to be second only to the illegal drugs trade. This reusable nature can be, and is, exploited to its furthest extent.

As in the nature of any business, an incredibly intricate network has been formed to ensure the stability of their operations. There are those skilled at acquiring this “merchandise,” whether it be through kidnapping or deception. Once they have been acquired, they are either retained or passed on to those who know how to market the girls’ “skills” and through psychological, emotional and physical abuse, know how to make sure the girls never leave.

At the other end is the very reliable clientele, their constant willingness to pay consistent with their constant lust for sex. And all along the way are the rich, powerful, corrupt individuals ready to buy off every chain of the legal system. One of the scariest things is the way these operations function on an international level. It is THAT EASY for a girl from South Korea to end up in South Africa, it is THAT EASY for 70% of prostitution in Europe to be made up of women from Romania, Bulgaria and Hungary alone.

You know what is incredible? The realization that the church is a uniquely positioned institution that has influence both locally and globally crossing every barrier known to man whether it be geographical, racial, financial, economical or whatever. Seriously, what other business or organization can say that? There is a gigantic array of vocations represented on any given Sunday morning. WHY AREN’T WE UTILIZING THIS.

When Jesus told us to love our neighbor as ourselves, I have no doubt he meant on both a local and global level. It’s not limited to just our daily interactions with people, but also the people that we DON’T know. What an incredible, perfect illustration of Christ’s love if we advocated for freedom and hope for people who don’t even know they are human enough to deserve it. How many churches are utilizing their resources and influence to do that? Sometimes it feels like the universal church is busier dividing over religious differences than coming together in the Lord’s work.

In addition to the giant issue of profitability we must combat, is the equally overwhelming reality of poverty that many times drives people to be sold in the first place. Parents hoping to give their child a better life, children begging on the streets that get picked up, girls that are tricked by promises of a waitressing or nanny-ing job, are all floundering to stay afloat economically. And here they are shown a way to make money, and lots of it, without needing the training or education that they can’t afford anyway. They actually have something to offer that someone else wants, even though it comes in the form of their own bodies. If the traffickers can be so occupied showing them that, where are we, showing them they are worthy and capable of so much more? How can we incorporate business models like micro-financing to focus on prevention, before people feel desperate enough to sell their child for $25.00?

After attending Not For Sale’s Global Forum on Human Trafficking these past two days, I have taken away two life-changing realizations.

1. There is hope for these people. Up until now I’d felt burdened and overwhelmed by what I knew, but I have now witnessed an incredible collaboration constantly forming between government, businesses, non-profits and the church. It is going to take all sectors of society to win this fight against slavery. But so long as there is Mike McCarthy from CNN, Jeremy Affeldt from the SF Giants, Sarah Ferguson the Duchess of York, Douglas Alexander MP from Britain, Jack Dorsey from Twitter and Dave Morin from Facebook, Larry Wu from Starbucks, Manny Pacquiao of professional boxing, actress Mira Sorvino, John Ortberg from Menlo Park Presbyterian, Pastor Eddy Byun from South Korea, Kindley Walsh-Lawlor from GAP Inc. and thousands of others, there is a powerful movement I want nothing more than to be a part of.

2. I am called to be a part of it. If I wasn’t sure before, I am very sure of it now. As Doug Alexander said, “Strategies change minds but stories change hearts.” Human trafficking is a well-avoided, often times uninformed, horrifically painful reality in our modern age. I really believe that bringing the individual stories to light will eliminate just that much more of the darkness in our world, and foster more enthusiasm and collaboration between the different sectors of society passionate enough to make a difference. I am going to be a story teller, even though that means going back to school, current career unpredictability and letting go of several expectations I had for my life. But at the same time I don’t know how to describe how exhilarated I feel, because so long as God has placed me in this world, I am called to be an agent of change to broker heaven here on earth. I am no longer overwhelmed by the problem; I'm overwhelmed by a sense of purpose.

made of glass

There is much to be said for the complex function proffered by a pane of glass. With it we make doors and windows that offer a semblance of security, creating a barrier which we can physically stand behind yet still see through. We use it as a shield and shelter against the elements. But there is no secrecy; there is no hiding. The fragility of this transparent protection is as delicate as the material it’s made of. In an instant, the rough edges of a well-aimed rock can literally shatter both. Yet we continue to place our faith in it, allowing it to span the walls of our houses, our storefronts, every side of our cars. And because of that, sometimes the best-kept secrets are the ones hidden in plain view.

I climbed over the dust-covered sill and through the window, which was held open by a dirty rag tied to its rusted handle. I was standing out on the third floor balcony, leaning against the metal railing that was just slightly too low to be of any good in case of emergency. Even past 10.00PM, closing in on 11.00, the streets below were active with people who were either sure of their destinations or were eager to find one. To my left, the bright lights of a bustling intersection denoted the corner of a ritzy shopping center, populated by men dressed in thousand dollar suits. To my right, the trash filled sidewalk was home to many who dressed in the same tattered clothes every day, probably picked up from a Salvation Army.

Across the street, bold letters written on the darkened windows of a meat market and deli suggested a busy store had finally turned in for the evening. Similar letters associated the establishment with an adjacent restaurant. From my perch, the only remotely suspicious activity was the handful of panhandlers who seemed to have moved in to the side alley. But if you paused long enough to glance inside the store, maybe even press your forehead against the glass for a better look, you would see rows and rows of empty shelves. You would realize that only a third of the store carried merchandise, the remainder of the space was there just for the sake of being there. There was no restaurant, there was no deli. But there were plenty of customers anyway. The kind that knowingly made their way to the back of the store, ready to make a costly purchase.

In the next moment a taxi pulled up to the spa and massage parlor next door. The unconcerned driver climbed out along with his passenger to help her pull luggage out of the trunk. The nervous woman stood cautiously in front of the glass doors of the shop, trailing an overnight carryon. She waited a couple moments before an unseen figure let her in and she slipped quickly inside, hoping to avoid peering eyes. All night, expensive-looking men driving up in their expensive-looking cars would surreptitiously park on my side of the street only to duck under the pink awning and dodge in to the massage parlor. As if parking further away would throw anyone off to his purpose of being there. As if that shop really did offer spa treatments and massage therapy. But passing by those clear glass doors, you would never really suspect otherwise.

Then came the commotion at the busy intersection up the right side of the street. A tall black man who would probably look even taller if he didn’t hunch over was casually strolling before a surge of cars still racing through their green light. His tired face matched his well-worn outfit, from the stocking knit cap that used to be red to the shoddy brown shoes that never fit. Pretending to be oblivious to the screeching and honking surrounding him, he defiantly pushed along his red shopping cart full of recyclables and personal belongings. Unfortunately, one car in particular came just a moment too close to hitting him. In an over-dramatic effort he shoved his cart the rest of the distance to the other side of the street, then marched very slowly to the driver’s window. Knowing he was legally in the right but lacking the courage to believe it, the small Indian driver crouched wide-eyed behind the wheel. He opted to watch the flying spit place itself all over the window, knowing it was the only barrier between himself and the irate man who just wasn’t quite all there. Yet for the homeless individual, attacking the timid driver was probably the only opportunity in life he had discovered in which he could exert power over another person. Every other situation in his life, people told him what to do. He jumped at any chance he could to affirm his own worth, expressing himself as the bellowing man who could clearly witness the effect of his words.

I didn’t watch long enough to find out who won. It is precisely those sorts of face-offs where everyone has lost already so betting on the result is pointless. Instead I stepped back over the wooden sill and allowed the window to slowly creak shut behind me.

falling down and growing up

After graduation, when I first moved home, I was entirely convinced that my life sucked. I didn't have a job, I was leaving my church and all my friends at school, and I was losing the independence of living on my own. All in exchange for no social life, my parents' church that I didn't like, the structure of 5.00pm dinner times and no direction in life. Boo hoo, I know. I was determined to move out as soon as humanly possible.

It's been a couple months now, and it's hard to describe how wrong I was. I still don't have a job, I don't have a single friend in Sacramento, I still don't like my parents' church, and it blows my mind why anyone would want to eat dinner at 5.00. That's like, closer to lunch time than dinner time. But would you believe how much I've grown up in the past two months? I've learned so much about myself and about the Lord. It makes SO MUCH SENSE why he placed me where he did, took away all the things he did, and didn't give me the things I thought I needed. I had Isaiah 55.8-9 floating through my head for a month, as a constant reminder to myself.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

neither are your ways my ways" declares the Lord.

"As the heavens are higher than the earth,

so are my ways higher than your ways,

and my thoughts than your thoughts."

I can't lie about how resentful I was towards God, and how jealous I was of all the people I knew who kept landing jobs. I have no right to doubt him though, and it's becoming painfully evident my idea of what's best for me is only the tiniest fraction of what God has in store.

Here's a wonderful quote that describes my outlook on life much more poetically than I know how:

"Ideals are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them you will reach your destiny." –Carl Schurz

If nothing else, the thing that didn't change all this time was my idealism. It's about all I had to go on in trying to figure out what to do next with my life. It also made me more determined to read books and expand my knowledge, because now that I'm out of college I realize there is no such thing as being done with learning. Instead there is a giant world of learning to do and I've missed out on so much of it in the past four years by not reading beyond textbooks and being isolated in my little college world! That's why I read "Abortion: The Personal Dilemma" by R.F. Gardner, a Christian gynecologist.

His perspective is absolutely fascinating, and I definitely recommend it for the insight he provides on the spirituality and legality of the issue. Also as a result I've changed my mind on a couple things. Rather than being a proponent of the sanctity of human life, I think it's more important to value the quality of human life. Biblically, Israeli genocide campaigns, the Flood, Soddom and Gomorrah, Ananias and Sapphira, all imply that God holds a standard that goes beyond sustaining life at all costs. He cared for spiritual condition, purity in the body, and reclaiming the heart of his people. So when it comes to abortion or capital punishment and such, I'd rather advocate for changing the circumstances leading up to a person being in that scenario, rather than try to change the scenario itself. Not to say it isn't important, only that that isn't where I personally fit. For example, incest caused by dysfunctional families, or suicide from depression and hopelessness. Obviously most these situations don't have singular causes, but when you're at that point considering hurting or killing yourself or someone else or your baby, it's become damage control. It's just as important to focus on prevention.

BUT.

Our world is corrupt and fallen. There is no denying that evil exists and is, in many cases, thriving. There is a lot of ground that needs to be reclaimed– this is a spiritual battle in every sense. And for some situations, the cause is so immense the only thing left is damage control. I had a very horrible dream the other night. I'm very thankful I don't remember my dreams, only the impressions I get from them. But the part I do remember was spending a long time of semi-waking hours praying against sex trafficking of young girls. There is no denying how heavy my heart feels at the very thought. And then knowing what a reality it is for hundreds of thousands of girls every day, I don't know how I could even presume to live life as usual. It's all led me to a few conclusions.

I like design because it is a means of communication. To the extent that it captures people's attention and speaks volumes when words can't, I value its importance. But I've been realizing there's nothing life altering about a logo or an annual report. I don't care for UX or UI or gaming or phone applications or the digital direction design is moving in. I don't care to help the world function, I care to promote eternity. It's the story of paradise city I wrote a little while ago. I want to expand people's realities and minds to know what's happening around the world, and motivate them to be involved towards change. So in keeping with visual communication, I think it's just as valuable for me to be able to use written communication in conjunction. I want to be a drawbridge between those who need to hear and those crying to be heard.

And so I've been reading, reading. Currently in "Associated Press Guide to News Writing" by Rene Cappon and "Planet of Slums" by Mike Davis (yay Borders close-out sale!) I'll let you know how they go.

So much has changed on my perspective from being at home. It took the Lord removing all those distractions from my life to get right with him, and also to see how much he's truly blessed me with. I feel like the Lord took the time to look me straight in the eyes and ask, "Do you love me? Even without your friends, community, church, fellowship or a job? Not my work, not even my people, do you love ME?" And until I'm able to say unequivocally yes; until I am seeking first the kingdom of God and nothing else, I will continue to find myself in the same place. After that, though, is the preparation time. There is so much to do, so much to learn! It makes me feel like Louis Carroll's White Rabbit. And yet I've learned so much already about God's timing, and cultivating the inner life so that he is my source of joy and contentment no matter the outward circumstances.

I've also gotten to spend some incredible time with my family that I value very much. I've been road tripping with Daddy for interviews, learning to skateboard with Collin, and cooking with Mom. Such a welcome change, being a part of their lives again after only drifting in and out for four years. This is a very inspired, liberating, even adventurous time in my life, and I'm thankful this one doesn't take hindsight for me to see how life-changing and necessary it really is.

a brief introduction

Sometimes those moments just happen.

They come out of nowhere and are over before you can even be sure they were real. And the only reason you know they were is because of the inexplicable effect that they leave behind.

It was his paint-covered jeans that first caught my eye. They seemed reminiscent of days when employment was still within reach and time could be afforded for a moment of creativity. But now it was all he could do to hold himself together long enough to make it till tomorrow.

Matted, unkempt curls fell to his shoulders, careless brown strands framing a purposeful, angular face. Considering his denim jeans, a stark statement of need rather than absence of fashion sense accounted for the additional denim jacket. He completed his look with a pair of pointy leather shoes that once upon a time must have cost someone a good deal. Then, somehow, they came to him.

His general air and attitude suggested that in a different age, he would probably have been recklessly protesting the onset of civil war, brought on by the regulations of an overly oppressive government. Given a worthy cause, he had enough idealism and determination to voice his opinion or die trying.

But not here.

And not now.

His amount of direction and passion in life seemed as unfamiliar now as the availability to enjoy basic hygiene.

It is amazing how many thoughts are able to fit within a moment of realization, because the next time I looked up he was greeting me with a generous smile. With his resolute face directed towards mine, he simply said, "Good morning."

I watched his receding figure, all decked out in dirty denim, and wondered if he knew he had just made my day.

thinking about forever

I went to a church service once where the guest speaker spent the entire sermon talking about wrong thinking. He said the solution to the majority of life’s problems is correcting the way we think from negative to positive. It sounded a little too much like The Secret for me to be sure if I should take him seriously or not, so I kind of settled on not. But I’ve been reminded of it a lot since, and I really believe there’s truth in what he was saying. Every time we speak and act there is a thought behind it. People even have what we call a ‘thought life.’ Fantasies, temptations, faulty perspectives, all originate in our minds and are the reasons for so many of the things we do. Very often I am reminded of what Paul instructs us in Philippians 4.8:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable­– if anything is excellent or praiseworthy– think about such things.

It is amazing how much genuine effort it takes to do that because often I find myself viewing situations and reaching conclusions in a very negative light. Then I become reactive and operate in defense mode when the reality is I have every resource to stand above what other people choose to throw at me. Sometimes it is very easy to dwell too much on things and resist the option of finding a solution.

Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace.

It makes sense now why Jesus would tell us to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. All of them, together, form the core of who we are. And all of them should be so enraptured with the Lord that our thoughts are his thoughts and our desires are his desires. When I am being honest with myself, I know that is not my life.

I have heard that verse, along with the Golden Rule, for essentially all my life. I always assumed Jesus said it and it could be called the greatest commandment because at that point, his life mission was all about love anyway. I never realized that those are called commands not because of the nature of the words but because they trace themselves back to Old Testament times. All of Moses’ books were full of commands. And the best part about them being buried in Leviticus 19.18 and Deuteronomy 6.4 amidst verses and chapters full of random instructions is that it solidifies for me the fact that God never changes. He was all about love from the beginning of time, and he is always going to be. It is who he is.

It is who I should be.

I know very well why I’m not. C.S. Lewis describes it wonderfully in his book The Four Loves:

There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

Buddhism is right in that regard. Life is suffering and suffering sucks. But we cannot choose the selfish route and close our hearts off to the world. I know that. And yet most of the time it is what I want to do more than anything else. Love, attachment, hope, it is all very dangerous.