To my Katie....

To my Kaite, On the occasion of her departure for the Dominican Republic. I love you. You use this book well. Dad

My dad gave me his Minister’s Prayer Book the day I left for the Dominican. Both law and gospel in that sweet little message. I hate to say it, but, the jacket sleeve explains why I perhaps have not been able to “use this book well.”  It says; “The aim of this book is to deepen and discipline the minister’s life of private devotion.”  Perhaps I have not been able to use the book as a deaconess intern but I have used it as a daughter. On the jacket cover where I found the purpose of the book I found a piece of tape to preserve and hold down the jacket flap. On the following page where my father wrote his note I also find his library seal. Throughout the book are his markings, notes, highlights, and impressions of where paper clips once were. It even still has a mixed smell of his cologne and office. All of these are little reminders for me.

To “use this book well” I suppose I should find value in it and use for it. As I just stated, perhaps as a deaconess intern it isn’t as valuable, but as a daughter it is a treasure. I was a daughter before I was a deaconess intern and so for that it influences the type of deaconess I am to be. As I thumb through the pages I find myself gravitating towards those parts which my father has highlighted. I read them and know at some point for one reason or another my father clung to them. He was once where I am now, his hands once pressed these pages. That he would give this book to me as a comfort says that it offered much consolation for his personal devotional life and for the sharing of the word with others. I cherish every mark, every note, every folded page not for the author but for the previous owner. Even if the book itself has nothing to offer me, every bit of it that reminds me of my father reminds me how much I am loved by him. For that alone I feel I can say I have used it well. 

My heavenly father is much the same. He gives me all his comfort, all his promises, all of his word and claims me for His own though baptism. He also gives me the law in order to give me the gospel. In His word He says; “You use this book well” so that he can tell me “I love you.” We hear His word, we know the law upon our hearts, but do we understand His communication of love? Do we see how precious His seal upon us is in times of difficulty? Do we treasure the trials He gives us to draw us closer to Him? We may not always see a treasure disguised as something normal and irrelevant. In our baptism we have been blessed beyond reason and comprehension. We hold something so normal as water and word, and receive something so grand that we can turn to every day in trials, griefs and difficulties. Then in our final moments, we can know without a doubt that it is ours. We hold all the riches of heaven as real as we hold a thin wafer and drink some wine. He gives it to us, and he gives us the means by which we may know it without a doubt. He has equipped us for the journey, and promises to be forever with us. 

Luke 7:22

Jesus answered and said to them, “Go and tell John the things you have seen and heard: that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the gospel preached to them.

“There are greater honors and higher ranks, but there is no other office that refreshes the weariness of the heart and brings comfort to the poor and speaks peace to the dying and shows a lost world the way home.” -Hermann Bezzel 

DA ME!!!!!!!

DA ME!

Ellos dicen a mi: 

“Da me” cuando tengo nada

“Da me” cuando estoy cansado

“Da me” cuando estoy vacio

Tu me dices:

“Tomalo” cuando estas solo

“Tomalo” cuando no hay nada

“Tomalo” Cuando estas cansada

“Tomalo” cuando estas vacio y descansas en me

Dios es mi luz y mi salvacion a quien temere

This is my attempt at poetry in another language. I have been writing poetry for several years and have 108 pages of writings. Little of my writing; in my opinion, is good. Most of my poetry is just embarrassing. Few people know of my practice because I refuse to share it. The above poem I share because it is easy to do for the fact that it is in another language. I have found there are many things that are easier to do in another language. For example; looking like an idiot and saying stupid stuff. I do it every day. Another thing that I can do is pull the "but....I didn't know because I didn't understand." Probably one of the greatest things about speaking in a foreign language is that you can adopt a new personality. Here, people love abundantly always greeting with a hug, asking about family and saying “Te quiro Mucho!” I am rarely an affectionate person. I depend upon my warm smile, and my bubbly personality to allow people to feel as though they have received a warm hug so that I don’t have to awkwardly draw close to them. I have ways of keeping a safe distance. I also depended upon that same smile to say “I love you” so that I wouldn’t have to choke on the words as I awkwardly say them. All this is to avoid “awkwardness.” 

What is awkward in allowing someone to know your sincere sentiments towards them? Since when did it become weird to give a hug? What made me ever think that I should withhold the words of “I love you” from someone I do love? While it is beautiful that another culture and language makes it easer for me to express my emotions and wear them for all to see, it makes me sad that the most beautiful sentiments that I have to share would remain hidden in word and deed. Don’t worry, I’m not about to share 108 pages of poetry, but I do wish to share my double Latin American personality with you. 

There is an outpouring of love that comes with faith. There are times when words aren’t needed and love needs to be shown in action. In fact, the greatest display of love was quite possibly the most horrific, awkward and most rejected. Veiled as a foreigner in human flesh; the son of God came to us, spoke with the language of the people, and learned our ways as his own. Then when he had shown love in every way possible, he emptied himself and became obedient to death. A touch, a word, an action in love carries the most powerful affect when accepted and the most detrimental when rejected. Having been drained of all he physically had to give he took on the punishment of death so that we would not have to know such chastisement. He loved us in ways we couldn’t possibly fathom. He expressed it in ways that we fail to. He continues to love and communicate that love to all his children in the service of the word and the sacraments. What if his love had been withheld for the awkwardness that it carried? Because he loved us, we too can love with reckless abandonment and know that even when emptied of all that we have, He fills us with his abundant love, and his mercies are new every morning.  

Mark 12:29-31

New King James Version (NKJV)

29 Jesus answered him, “The first of all the commandments is: ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. 30 And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.’[a] This is the first commandment.[b] 31 And the second, like it, is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’[c] There is no other commandment greater than these.”

Joy Found in Christmas Grieving....

It was a cold rainy day off yesterday so I couldn’t do my laundry or go out like I had planned (I like to do as the Dominicans do, it gives me an excuse to be lazy). So I snuggled up in my comfy little corner next to the Christmas tree to the only chapter book I have fully revisited more than a couple times in my life; A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. I suppose I revisit it because every year brings new experiences that give new light to my understanding and reading of the book. This time I marveled at the ease I now have in reading C.S. Lewis. When I first handled the book I knew I held a treasure. I knew it would be a book I carry with me, but I also knew I didn’t fully understand the eloquent articulations of the sophisticated scholar; Clive Staples (two fingers to the nose to convey snobbery). The first time I pressed the pages I thought I knew and fully understood grief without understanding C.S.Lewis. Today however, I know and understand just how much I didn’t know. I guess you could say, I now know how stupid I was and still am.

 Today I read knowing how much more I have yet to glean from this book and from life. I find myself crying far more as I read it now than I did before and I wonder what I have yet to learn and how many more tears the book will bring with years to come. Call it empathy, sympathy or just feeling sorry for myself, call it what you like but I have found that there is a wealth of knowledge to learn in grief. Like a fine wine of balanced dryness, and sweetness, grief is a test by which we know the joys now gone and it intensifies the sorrows felt. We better understand the sweetness in the dryness and the dryness with the sweetness. 

We look at the small mundane things of the world that once held no meaning at all. In our grief we find meaning. We look at something as simple as an evergreen that we have seen a million times before but this time we see it. We attach our grief to the object in a way as to seek after and grasp what once was. We see it as something to be understood in grief. For example; every other time your eyes rested upon that evergreen it was just a prop in your world, but now you look at it and remember that the last time you saw it was with a blissful ignorance without the grief laden eyes that now look upon the same evergreen. That evergreen can then also become a symbol of hope. The hope is that sweetness once experienced will find it’s way back into those things. 

Before grief the evergreen was a prop, in grief it is a painful reminder of what once was, in moving beyond the full blow of grief we can never fully return to it being just a prop again. There is however, a beauty in the fact that once it just was, and now it takes on new meaning. We can now look at the evergreen and look to where we had once been and know that even when grief, sorrow and suffering changes our world, it gives new meaning. We can look at the evergreen and know joy where there was once nothing, all because we have walked through the dark shadow of grief. The morning comes and the light shines and the people walking in darkness have seen a great light! How darkened and meaningless all the props in our world would be if we did not know the pain and suffering once endured by our Savior. He gives new breath, new life in walking our road of tears. He comes to us in human flesh and shows us what it means to live a life of faithfulness. Now the evergreen is not just a prop, it becomes a cross, and later becomes a symbol of hope. 

This life is not just a crescendo of beautiful things only made ugly by grief but perhaps a crescendo of things made beautiful by grief. Bread and wine become a tearful reminder of a final passover meal and progress their way into a celebratory meal where forgiveness is given and God is present. Two intersecting pieces of wood break the heart and carry the remembrance of a dark Friday. From the empty cross stained with blood new life is given. A feeding box for animals was once just that, until a young woman made it into something that could make for a bit of a bed on a night when she had no other choice than to just make do. She gave birth with blood sweat and tears; no different than any other natural birth. I imagine she held her child and remembered the day she received the news that would cause ridicule, mocking, and chastisement, not just for her, but for the child she carried. I imagine she held her first born son and cried the tears of a young mother until fatigue overwhelmed her. I imagine she held the words of the angel and looked upon her son maybe a bit overwhelmed in the normality of the birth. A child brought forth in pain to carry the sins of the world as a man and redeem it from sin and death. It is in his suffering that we find the mundane things of this world to hold beautiful reminders of pain once suffered for us. It is by him that something as cold and normal as rock might communicate once of death, suffering, loss, and pain later to be shattered by His resurrection and His life. I pray that props may be appreciated in your life without experience of great grief this Christmas. I pray that if you are reminded of loved ones lost in the mundane objects of your life, that you may also remember the joy the loved one held in your life. Most of all I pray that everyone would know the exceeding beauty and pleasure of a Savior who comes to us as our Emmanuel and who gives new meaning to the mundane in the midst of grief. Merry Christmas everyone, and God Bless!!!

Joy Found in Christmas Grieving....

It was a cold rainy day off yesterday so I couldn’t do my laundry or go out like I had planned (I like to do as the Dominicans do, it gives me an excuse to be lazy). So I snuggled up in my comfy little corner next to the Christmas tree to the only chapter book I have fully revisited more than a couple times in my life; A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. I suppose I revisit it because every year brings new experiences that give new light to my understanding and reading of the book. This time I marveled at the ease I now have in reading C.S. Lewis. When I first handled the book I knew I held a treasure. I knew it would be a book I carry with me, but I also knew I didn’t fully understand the eloquent articulations of the sophisticated scholar; Clive Staples (two fingers to the nose to convey snobbery). The first time I pressed the pages I thought I knew and fully understood grief without understanding C.S.Lewis. Today however, I know and understand just how much I didn’t know. I guess you could say, I now know how stupid I was and still am.

 Today I read knowing how much more I have yet to glean from this book and from life. I find myself crying far more as I read it now than I did before and I wonder what I have yet to learn and how many more tears the book will bring with years to come. Call it empathy, sympathy or just feeling sorry for myself, call it what you like but I have found that there is a wealth of knowledge to learn in grief. Like a fine wine of balanced dryness, and sweetness, grief is a test by which we know the joys now gone and it intensifies the sorrows felt. We better understand the sweetness in the dryness and the dryness with the sweetness. 

We look at the small mundane things of the world that once held no meaning at all. In our grief we find meaning. We look at something as simple as an evergreen that we have seen a million times before but this time we see it. We attach our grief to the object in a way as to seek after and grasp what once was. We see it as something to be understood in grief. For example; every other time your eyes rested upon that evergreen it was just a prop in your world, but now you look at it and remember that the last time you saw it was with a blissful ignorance without the grief laden eyes that now look upon the same evergreen. That evergreen can then also become a symbol of hope. The hope is that sweetness once experienced will find it’s way back into those things. 

Before grief the evergreen was a prop, in grief it is a painful reminder of what once was, in moving beyond the full blow of grief we can never fully return to it being just a prop again. There is however, a beauty in the fact that once it just was, and now it takes on new meaning. We can now look at the evergreen and look to where we had once been and know that even when grief, sorrow and suffering changes our world, it gives new meaning. We can look at the evergreen and know joy where there was once nothing, all because we have walked through the dark shadow of grief. The morning comes and the light shines and the people walking in darkness have seen a great light! How darkened and meaningless all the props in our world would be if we did not know the pain and suffering once endured by our Savior. He gives new breath, new life in walking our road of tears. He comes to us in human flesh and shows us what it means to live a life of faithfulness. Now the evergreen is not just a prop, it becomes a cross, and later becomes a symbol of hope. 

This life is not just a crescendo of beautiful things only made ugly by grief but perhaps a crescendo of things made beautiful by grief. Bread and wine become a tearful reminder of a final passover meal and progress their way into a celebratory meal where forgiveness is given and God is present. Two intersecting pieces of wood break the heart and carry the remembrance of a dark Friday. From the empty cross stained with blood new life is given. A feeding box for animals was once just that, until a young woman made it into something that could make for a bit of a bed on a night when she had no other choice than to just make do. She gave birth with blood sweat and tears; no different than any other natural birth. I imagine she held her child and remembered the day she received the news that would cause ridicule, mocking, and chastisement, not just for her, but for the child she carried. I imagine she held her first born son and cried the tears of a young mother until fatigue overwhelmed her. I imagine she held the words of the angel and looked upon her son maybe a bit overwhelmed in the normality of the birth. A child brought forth in pain to carry the sins of the world as a man and redeem it from sin and death. It is in his suffering that we find the mundane things of this world to hold beautiful reminders of pain once suffered for us. It is by him that something as cold and normal as rock might communicate once of death, suffering, loss, and pain later to be shattered by His resurrection and His life. I pray that props may be appreciated in your life without experience of great grief this Christmas. I pray that if you are reminded of loved ones lost in the mundane objects of your life, that you may also remember the joy the loved one held in your life. Most of all I pray that everyone would know the exceeding beauty and pleasure of a Savior who comes to us as our Emmanuel and who gives new meaning to the mundane in the midst of grief. Merry Christmas everyone, and God Bless!!!

A Great "Glory Cloud" of Witnesses

Today is one of my favorite festivals in the church year. While my fellow strong hearted Lutheran friends nurse their reformation hangovers, I woke early in the morning to meditate on this special day (I thank you Lord that I am not like those other sinners!). I had many thoughts running through my mind. Writing them out always helps me piece them together. 

First off; this day reminded me of the hope that I have (I bet you think you know where I am going with this). My hope is that one year from now I find myself at the end of a pilgrimage that finds it’s completion at the feet of a statue of Saint James (Not where you thought I was going with that?). It would be a pilgrimage to reflect on and praise God for His strong hand in my life and not to find Him, or sanctify myself. That is looking to the future with a whole year to go and many miles before I am able to know that day. 

Second; I had one of those dreams again last night. I think I blogged about that reoccurring dream once before, It was a dream about my Grandmother who died some years ago. That dream reminded me of a scene from a t.v. show I recently saw. It was a scene where a mother is weeping over the loss of her son and she talks about how every day is like waking up to a bad dream and you have to “continue being a mother even though you don’t get to have a child anymore.” Granted; the pain of loosing a child is very different from loosing a grandparent or even a parent, nonetheless there is still a pain. Having been raised as a pastors daughter, our family saw a-lot of parents grieving the loss of a child. One thing I remember my parents often saying in response to the loss was; “Parents are never supposed to burry their children, it goes against a natural order” 

Finally; the other day I attended a deaconess class within the home of one of our members. It was a a home in the inner city “barrio.” It is one of the oldest “hoods” in the city, and not in a nostalgic, endearing sort of way. We are holding classes with a woman who lives with her mother. She moved in with her this past year shortly after her sister died. We visited this family as the sister/daughter/aunt was dying. The mother; bearing the marks of age and experience having lived in this old part of the city for many years expressed anticipated grief in saying; “death has visited my house and taken one of my children before, and here it is again.”

 As I sat next to this woman during the class I studied her.  Her skin is well aged and I remember being overwhelmed at the beauty this held for me. Most days I have a difficult time looking at and appreciating my well rounded curves and here I was marveling and admiring her many tiny wrinkles. I looked at her face and studied all that she was. I remember reading somewhere that as you get older your speech becomes more simple. It is an ironic notion for me that we work hard to accomplish, build up, and achieve goals only to speak more plainly and perhaps not at all about those early strivings. So as I studied this woman, I tried to fill in the gaps of unspoken words, filling in every line of her face with some imagined story. I looked out the door at the busy street and wondered how many times she must have looked out that same door, and how much has changed since the first day she moved into her house. I wondered how much more violent the streets outside might have been fifty years ago. I wondered if she swept the floor with one arm while holding a baby on her hip with the other arm. Or, maybe she just let the kids play on the floor while she tended the fire in the kitchen. I wondered how many tears she cried and what sort of events in her life made those wrinkles.

I couldn’t fill in those lines, I could only admire them. I remember how I did the same with my grandmother. I remember looking on her face, squinting my eyes and trying to see if I could blur my vision enough to blur out the lines of her aging. I would get a glimpse and then would open my eyes all the way and would think, “this is better.” Not natural, and not normal, but better. She is closer to resting with all her lines. Take the lines away and you take away a clinging to Christ, a story of her pilgrimage of drawing near to Christ as He drew near to her. It is not within a natural order that we should burry anyone, but those lines, those tears, those pains, those nightmarish reminders of what we once were and are no longer are also beautiful reminders of what we shall become. We don’t have to look any further than the cross to fully understand that the marks of sin, the burden of the cross, the pains of the flogging bring about our redemption. Not our pilgrimage, but the pilgrimage of Christ himself. He took up the cross and although he did not have the lines of age, he endured the stripes of or sin in youth. He endured abuse, affliction and death so that we might know the promise of eternal life and redemption. The beauty of those lines, and those marks, though reflecting a life in a world of sin also remind us of a God who promises to make all things new. So on this festival day, I praise God for that promise, that even in the midst of waking and remembering that I don’t get to have my grandmother with me, I hold the promise that the One who made us both unites us in His body and blood and one day I shall wake to behold His face and not another! One day, my pilgrimage will find it’s end at the feet of my Savior, bearing the marks of his suffering for my redemption. There, he will fill my lines of age not with imagined stories but with the story of His suffering and death, and I shall be made new.   

Exodus 13:21

And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to lead the way, and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so as to go by day and night.

Hebrews 12:1

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,

Revelation 1:7

Behold, He is coming with clouds, and every eye will see Him, even they who pierced Him. And all the tribes of the earth will mourn because of Him. Even so, Amen.

Let your "What if..." become "What now..."

Can I just say... it really pains me when I get on facebook and see all the changes that are happening to those I love and to not even be able to be present for them. So many of my friends have gotten married and now I message them under new names without having had the pleasure of presence at their wedding or meeting their significant other. So many of my friends have had children and I watch them grow through their postings on facebook. All this observing from afar leaves me sulking with a pain of “what if this is just going to be what my life looks like?” “What if I am forever stuck on the other side of this computer as a means of connecting with others and this is my only way of knowing the lives of my friends?” “What if my photos on facebook never expand beyond just me and the places I have been?” “What if the only connections I make with people are the fleeting meetings and friendings of facebook?”

There is a dull pain that I know everyone has felt at one point or another. It is an aching pain that allows you to go about your day and pretend like it isn’t there. It is a pain carried on the person, haunting them not with what is, but with what might be. The more we open ourselves up to loving others the more we know this pain. The dull pain is self inflicted with all the “what if’s” of this world. “What if I never get into the school I want?” “What if I am alone all my life” “What if I am left alone long before I am ready to be alone” “What if the image of my life that I hold so close slips out from underneath me?” “What if they die?” “What if I die?” “What if that was my fault?” “What if I do?” What if I don’t” These questions are a way of tempering the soul from having to experience the full blow of the outcome of the question itself. In other words; I often feel like I cling to these questions as a way to guard myself from feeling the full pain. A dull pain always present eases me into what could potentially be a BIG HUGE PAIN! The truth is, it gets exhausting and it blocks my view from all those things in this world that do offer peace and pleasure. 

It is interesting to think that our biggest fears in this life are carried like bags. We keep the bags with us just in case our fears do come true. At least then we have the bags to pick up the pieces and move forward. The problem is that the bags bind up our hands and keep us from being able to grasp onto Christ.  I find myself asking too often “What if...” and not “What now?” My fear of the future keeps me from enjoying the present. Christ has taken the biggest pain, every problem, and offers the answer to every one of our questions of “What if?”. “What now” is that I am baptized. “What now” is Christ with me. “What now” is Christ always with me, even if the “What if” becomes a reality. Christ on the cross doesn’t save me from the potential of big huge pains in the future but he saves me from an eternity of dull pain. In other words, life is temporal and too short to worry about “What if.” Each day I need His grace to remember that today will be what it will be, and no matter what comes, so does Christ.

Matthew 6:31-34

³¹ “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ ³² For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. ³³ But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

Just another boring old baptism......

I went to a church service where there happened to also be a baptism. I didn’t think too much of it because really, church and baptisms in my mind go hand in hand. It was for a baby; didn’t think too much about that either. It was in Spanish, I had to think a little bit more with that one in order to understand. The elements however were the same; there was water and the word. It was the same old baptism ritual that I am used to seeing in every church I have ever been in before; put a little water on the babies head and say a few words and bang! You have been “baptized!” Done! 

This time though it was different. Everything stayed the same, but I saw something new and amazingly exciting. As soon as the pastor began to pour water on the baby and say the words, there was a huge rush towards the font. Kids came running up curious about what was going on, adults gathered round to get a better picture. There was a huge movement toward the font. A HUGE movement! This was something new for me. It was in that moment that I became a little misty because I realized that this is always what a baptism should be. A desperate rush to the font where we are made new. A daily returning to that place where by the grace of God, the old Adam is drowned. That place of grace and mercy ever flowing until that day when we die and our baptism is complete. I marveled at how these kids and parents had it right. They didn’t know any great theology. They just wanted to see. They wanted to be a part of it, not just get it over with.

That night as I drove home I thought about it all as I watched the sky fire up with brilliant colors of red, orange, purple, and blue. It took me a minute to realize what I was looking at and to think, “Wow! What a sky! What a God.” I even caught myself whispering those words to myself. No night sky is like another, and yet we tire so easily of them. We have made mundane that which God never tires of to do for us. At the heart of all my awe and amazement is a BIG God who transcends our pitiful need for emotion and never tires of doing what we label old or normal, he does them over and over again for us! He paints the sky with fire, he comes down in water and word and brings forth new life. He draws people to him to come and see and wonder what this thing that has happened is. He makes all things new! We can make what is new old, but He never tires of loving us, and so he never stops making new. 

I know I have used this quote before but I love it and it addresses what is quite possibly the greatest problem in the American Church; boredom. G.K. Chesterton says this in his book “Orthodoxy,” he says; “But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun.; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic monotony that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never gotten tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” 

Thank God that he never tires because we would be lost and without hope if he allowed himself to feel even an ounce of boredom or tiredness. Perhaps it isn’t even so much that he enjoys doing it, but perhaps, maybe, just maybe, he does it because he enjoys when we enjoy it. He hangs the sun every morning without applause or great fanfare but perhaps every so often he delights to find someone driving along who catches themselves in the midst of something that could only have been created by a creator and they marvel at it. He opens the font and pours forth radiant blessing not because he has to but because he wants to, because he loves us, because he wants to make all things new for us.  

Revelation 21:4-6

New King James Version (NKJV)

4 And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

5 Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me,[a] “Write, for these words are true and faithful.”

6 And He said to me, “It is done![b] I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts.