Happy Hanukkah!

Tonight is the last night of Hanukkah 2012.  This year I finally got around to reading 1 Maccabees. Quite an amazing story.

Emmanuel

I've had many thoughts about Connecticut swirling in my head the last 12 hours. I wrote a rant to my mother, then copied it onto my blog here, then re-wrote it, and finally decided to not include it in either the email to my mom nor on my blog. It's now sitting safely in my journal, where it should probably stay.

So many thoughts... and my predominant thought is that, somehow, the message of Connecticut is not unrelated to the message of Christmas. I'm not talking about the commercial Christmas, nor the sappy sentimental Christmas. The true message of Christmas is not "Happiness and warm feelings to the world, because now God is on our side." Rather, it is "Joy to the world- joy, that mixture of contentment and peace that is produced through faith and remains unshakable in the midst of trial- because God has done the unthinkable in order to save us from the mess that we have made while trying to run our world without Him.

Yesterday at lunch, before I heard about the shooting, I was telling a friend that my family always lights up a giant cross on our silo for Christmas and Easter. I acknowledged that a cross is not a normal Christmas decoration, but I think it is a vital reminder. That is why Christmas is good news of great joy.

A friend posted a this link to Facebook, and I think the author did a fairly good job of summarizing at least a part of what I have been thinking:

http://www.joshlehman.com/thoughts/what-i-plan-to-tell-my-kids-at-dinner-tonight/

Encounters

As I went to visit my girlfriend on Saturday, I came across a couple of little beggar boys. I knew one of them quite well- I see him at least two or three times per week as I walk to work. Unfortunately, because it was a Saturday, I hadn't been expecting to see him and I didn't have any peanuts for him in my pocket like I normally would. So I said "Hi" and then "sorry, next time" and kept walking.

I hadn't taken more than a couple of steps before I started feeling bad. Why should my forgetfulness mean that he doesn't get anything? But I looked around and didn't see anything nearby that I could buy for him, and I was already running half an hour late... I walked a good two blocks as I tried to decide whether to turn back or not. As I walked a big group of beggar boys walked past- probably a dozen of them.

There must be a beggar boy for every block in this city; am I supposed to feed them all? I stood on a bridge over the freeway and contemplated the situation as the crowd of boys sauntered past. Finally I decided to go back and buy my little guy some peanuts. Or fruit. Or whatever I could find. I wandered all the way back to where he usually stands, buying a massive loaf of bread on the way, only to discover that he was nowhere to be found. I walked to my girlfriend's apartment, assuming that I would at least see some of the other beggar boys along the way, but surprisingly enough I didn't see any.

I have this habit of realising what I should have done when it is far too late, and then trying to do it anyway. As far as I can remember, I have never yet succeeded in doing what I should have done in the first place- all the more evidence that I need to be constantly in prayer and listening to God's leading.

The good news is, my girlfriend needed bread, though she didn't realize it until later that evening. It all more or less worked out.

But I have a better story. I think. Yesterday I was walking home from work, just beginning to climb up a flight of stairs, when a small hand slipped into mine. I looked down, startled, and saw a beggar boy looking up at me with a smile on his face. He obviously recognized me. I expected him to ask for money, but he didn't. He just held my hand as we climbed the stairs together.

The stairs were part of a walking bridge over the autoroute- the same bridge where I had stopped on Saturday. As we crossed the bridge, the boy alternated between looking up at me and smiling at the people who were walking past. He was obviously enjoying the attention. As we walked down the steps on the other side, he called out to one of his friends. His friend did a double-take when he saw us, then tried to act as if it was perfectly normal. At the bottom of the stairs the boys went one way and, after wishing them farewell, I went my own way.

I'm not sure why the boy wanted to hold my hand. Perhaps it was security. Perhaps it was the notoriety of being friends with an adult. Perhaps he just wanted companionship. Whatever it was, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and I thank God that we were each able to brighten one anothers'
day.

Special Visitors

As you may be aware, my parents were here to visit me the last week and a half. I have now sent them home, tired and sunburned, to their frozen tundra.

Hopefully they are recovering well. I was rather torn between showing them everything and taking enough time to rest, since this was their major vacation for the year. Most of our time was spent at my apartment, chatting and playing games. But when we weren't in the safety of my humble fortress, we were:

- sampling the various modes of public transportation
- adventuring through the local market
- exploring the coast
- meeting my coworkers and seeing where I work
- spending a night in a village
- celebrating Thanksgiving
- visiting some local families
- eating several strange dishes
- body boarding!

I have a whole list of things that I wish we could have done. I especially wish I had taken them along on my "morning commute," since it is a daily part of my life. It isn't quite like my commute was back home, that's for sure.

Overall, though, I am very pleased with the time we spent together. We made some good memories, took several hundred photos to make sure that we remember our memories, and then mom proceeded to take pictures of one or two of the photos when they were on my computer screen. Really now, that seems like a bit much! We had a lovely time, and I praise God for it.

When Bread Becomes A Moving Target

There are three main types of bread here. One is the French baguette. The second is a local bread that is very dense and very cheap, and therefore my preference. The third is what we affectionately call "styrofoam bread." Imagine a fluffy white bread, remove half the density, and then make it stiff. Ick.

Unfortunately styrofoam bread is by far the most common bread here. For some reason it is considered to be nicer than my favorite type. This is probably because of the French, who turned up their noses at my bread and made it illegal. Now that the French are gone the bread has made a comeback, but only from a limited number of specialised bakers. As a result, figuring out where to buy the stuff can be quite a challenge.

Half a mile from where I work there are always guys selling this bread. Unfortunately it is half a mile in exactly the opposite direction from my apartment, and there is nothing else in that direction to make it worth the one-mile round trip. So ever since I moved in to my new apartment I have been looking for a place to get the kneaded gold.

I thought I had struck the motherload (or at least a small vein) when I saw a guy selling the bread right next to one of the places the vans like to stop. RIGHT next to it. In other words, the bread tasted faintly of diesel and burned oil. But hey, you take what you can get.

Unfortunately, the next time I swung by he wasn't there. Or the third time. Or the fourth.

Then I found another guy selling bread at another location just a 5 minute walk from my apartment. Again, right next to a bus stop. Oh well, I had found a consistent supplier. Or had I?

I've never seen the guy again since.

I scoured all of the small shops in my neighborhood, looking for one that would sell me the stuff. I finally found one- for that day. The next time I went back he was out.

I talked to my neighbour about it and he said that you have to know what time of day to go to each place. He gets his from the second guy I found, but that guy never gets there until 8:00 in the morning. That doesn't help me; I'm at work by that time. Then he told me about another little shop that carries it, but only after a certain time in the afternoon. I tried there Sunday but apparently the bread hadn't arrived yet. The guy said he was out but it would be coming "right away." In this country, "right away" can easily mean three hours.

So the adventure continues!

New Transport Van Record

I have yet another update on the public transport van carying capacity. But I also have a story.

So my account of church left off with me swinging onto a passing van. I felt very cool, like Tarzan. Or perhaps like Legolas swinging up into his saddle. I think I even got a look or two of admiration from the folks sitting in the van. It's not often you see white guys riding in a van, and even less often that you see them swinging monkey-bars style from one end to the other. Wait... maybe it wasn't admiration that those looks were conveying.

So anyway, there I was, sitting in my little seat and trying not to make a scene. We rolled and bumped our way towards the main road that would take us towards where I live. This van would not actually go past my apartment so I planned to jump off at the nearest point and walk from there.

As we rolled up to the stoplight at the main road I looked out the window and saw two guys fighting. One was sitting on top of the other with his knee on his opponent's throat. Fortunately the guy next to me saw this as well, and soon the four other guys in the van had all jumped out and run over to break up the fight. Meanwhile the light had turned green so the van made the turn onto the main road and then slowed to a stop. I think the driver was trying to decide whether to wait for everyone to get back in or just keep going on his route. The fight didn't seem to be ending very quickly...

As we sat there, a hoard of teenage boys suddenly burst through the fence along the road. Half were wearing yellow jerseys and half were wearing blue, and they were all roaring with energy. They flooded into the van, quickly taking up all of the seats and then some. Then they realised that some of their team had already gotten into the van that pulled up behind mine. As quick as they had entered, the boys poured back out of the van. The group behavior was bizarre. I felt like I was watching bees rather than boys.

I was once again alone in the back of the van. Well, me and the apprentice. Up front were the driver and two passengers. The driver and apprentice started discussing something and the other two guys got out. Then the driver told me to get out as well. Fortunately we were only a quarter mile from where I had been planning to get out anyway. I was walking for a while before I began to wonder when the other van with all the boys would go past. I had almost walked the entire quarter mile when it careened past. I couldn't see very well inside but I am sure that it was loaded to the hilt. My best estimate would be 30-35 guys. On the outside of the van 20 boys (I counted) were hanging off the back or crawling around on the luggage rack on the roof. When the van got to the roundabout it rolled to a halt and the driver got out to yell at the boys on roof. I thought he was going to make them get off but he must have just been telling them to sit down and stop moving around, because nobody got off. The driver climbed back in and off they went.

Wow. More than 50 people in/on a van. For now, that's the most I've seen. I'm really glad I chose to walk rather than getting inside that rolling mass of humanity!

How Was Church This Morning?

note: I wrote this last Sunday afternoon but my internet has been out all week so I am just now posting it.

I realised today that I have never yet given an account of a typical church service here. Today's apple didn't fall far [too] from the tree, so here was my morning:

First of all, my church has two services. I had planned to go to the 8:00 service this morning but some group in my neighborhood decided to pound on drums and chant into a loudspeaker system until 2:00 in the morning. So this morning I opted for second service at 10:30.

When I arrived I saw three of my friends standing by the front door. Church here starts outside the church, in the courtyard. In fact, chatting with people before and after church is perhaps the most important part of the service. So we exchanged greetings, briefed each other on how the week went, and talked about volleyball.

As we chatted the music started. My friends had already been at first service so I made my way inside and found a pew that was wide open. This is very important because people continue to arrive for the first 45 minutes of the service. If you start out in a pew with four other people you will probably find yourselves squeezed in like sardines by the time the sermon starts. This is especially uncomfortable during the hot season. If you start in a pew that is entirely empty, your odds are slightly better of having some room during the entire service.

The worship was energetic and well-done. Our choir practices at least three times per week and they take it very seriously. They are a really talented bunch and they get into it. But in addition to that, worship this morning was really good. Some Sundays it feels like all of the practice and polish becomes a barrier and the choir gets distracted from worship, but today was good. The choir was clearly worshiping and much of the congregation did as well.

As for myself, I had brief moments. I'm afraid to say that I was distracted during most of worship and didn't get --- or give --- nearly as much as I should have. Instead I was thinking about the marvel of African beat patterns and all kinds of interesting but entirely irrelevant ideas. Entering into worship continues to be a massive struggle for me here. It is truly a shame; my brothers and sisters here know how to do it!

The worship songs were mostly translations of songs originally written in English. There were a couple of original French songs as well. Some Sundays they include a couple of songs in the majority local language but they didn't today.

Today we also had a baby dedication. It was probably the shortest one I have ever seen in any country because the pastor was feeling sick and didn't want to give his flu to the baby. But the dedication was very nice. Short and sweet.

Afterward a young man stood up. I think maybe he is our missions pastor, I'm not sure. At any rate, whenever he stands up it is worth listening. He regularly takes groups out into the villages to do evangelism and sometimes they come back with incredible stories. This morning was no exception, but I think I'll leave that for another time.

Then came the sermon. I have no idea what it was about. I was trying to follow it, honest I was, but I just couldn't. I don't think it was entirely my fault either. I talked to somebody else after church who said that he got absolutely nothing out of the sermon. He was so lost that part way through he just started reading the Bible and tuned the pastor out.

Some Sundays the sermon is really good. Some days it's okay. And some days... See, here people are not always trained to create speeches and sermons which follow an A, B, C structure with three subpoints for each letter. Rather, sermons often follow a stream, with brief excursions down the tributaries before returning to the original idea but perhaps a bit downstream. Unfortunately, sometimes "A, B, C" westerners get lost and are eaten by crocodiles somewhere along the way.

The other factor is cultural differences. Sometimes the pastor will tell a story and at the end of it the entire congregation will burst into laughter. Everyone except the westerners, who stare at each other as if to say, "Did we miss something?" Or there was an entire month of sermons directed at family issues, some of which only applied to local families.

I didn't check the time but I think the sermon ended around noon. An hour and a half is a really short service. Ah, but wait! They had left all of the special details until last. First they took the offering. The choir sang a song while they passed baskets up and down the isles.

Then came the time for first-time visitors to present themselves and for anyone who had a praise report to share it with the congregation. I suspect that, after the chatting time outside the church, this is the second most important part of the service for most of the people here. Church isn't a set of activities. It is a framework for practicing community. Only half a dozen people took the microphone today, which is less than usual.

When the microphone was handed back to the pastor he launched into a story. He told it as if everyone in the congregation already knew about the situation (I didn't) so I had to kind of piece together what he was saying and fill in the details. The story was incredible by western standards. As I listened I went from surprise to indignation to pity. But as I studied the faces around me, nobody else seemed the least bit impressed. "Yup, that's life here." I guess it was another one of those cross-cultural moments.

Then we began the announcements. There are no printed bulletins here. Even though most (if not all) of the congregation can read, we are still in a society that prefers oral communication. All announcements go up on the powerpoint, where everyone can read them, and yet are also read aloud one at a time by the designated announcements guy. The one we have now quickly reads the powerpoint word-for-word. We used to have a guy who would occasionally spend five minutes giving additional details about an upcoming event that particularly enthused him. I'm grateful for the new guy.

When the announcements finished the pastor asked us all to stand for the final prayer. It was short and sweet, and the service was closed. I glanced up at the clock- 12:34. From the end of the sermon to the end of the service was half an hour.

After church I chatted with some friends for a while and then swung onto a public transport van as it rolled past the church.  And THAT trip is worth another blog :-)

Ridin' the van

I do sometimes ride buses here. They are more or less the same as the buses where you live, and therefore they aren't terribly blogworthy. More often, however, I ride the vans. The vans are blogworthy. These marvelous vehicles were built several decades ago to serve as utility vans. I have little doubt that they performed their duties marvelously before being sent into "retirement" in Africa.  Here they had holes cut into the sides (for windows) and benches welded onto the walls. Four used tires, some dirty oil, and she's back on the road!

These are not large vehicles. They probably have the wheelbase of a typical sedan. Yet the seating is expected to accommodate 21 passengers. When there are more than that, up to six people stand between the feet of those sitting down and another two or three can hang off the back. You would think that carrying 30 people would bottom out the suspension but you would be wrong- these vehicles have no suspension.

The vans drive the same route all day long. When they don't have enough passengers they stop until enough people get on to pay for the next leg of the journey. The most you ever pay for a van ride in town is 30 cents (but usually 20 or less), so at that rate you can understand why the vans need so many passengers to pay for gas and never-ending repairs. Fortunately for me there are a lot of vans that run between my apartment and just about everywhere else in town (and lots of people riding). Otherwise you can end up sitting for 5 or 10 minutes waiting for enough passengers to get on so you can leave.

The insides of the vans are usually bare-bones. Well, bare metal. But often they have pictures. This morning I was languidly observing the collection as I rode a van into town. There were three big pictures. Two were well-known national religious leaders. These told me which religious sect the driver belonged to. The third was a wrestler. If I bothered to educate myself in the whos-who of the national wrestling scene, this picture would probably tell me what region the driver comes from and possibly also his ethnicity.

Those three pictures barely aroused my curiosity. Religious leaders and wrestlers are standard fare here and they commonly share space on windshields, bumpers, walls, T-shirts, and television. The only thing that really struck me was that the picture of the wrestler said "The king is back" and the "is back" part was written along the guy's spine. It made me wonder if whoever designed the poster actually speaks good English and deliberately made a pun for his own private giggles. I kind of doubted it, though, since the French line said "le futur Roi" (The future king), which didn't make much sense if the king was back.

Anyway, in between and around these three paper-sized images were lots of small pictures. They fell squarely into two categories: male rappers and female singers. I assume the guys were rappers because they all wore clothes made for somebody twice their size, they all stood in odd positions, and none of them were smiling. The females were all large women with so much makeup that they looked like china dolls. This look seems to be popular here. Unlike the rapper guys, they smiled.

Then an anomaly caught my eye.  Up there in the far corner. Could that be a white guy?! Oh wait. Nope. That's Michael Jackson.

Strange but true! I bet you wish you could take the van with me. You have to admit, it is way more fun than a boring old bus.

This City

As you may know, we have now entered a period of time when many of the people around me are especially fervent in their desire to please God. They do extra good deeds and pray extra prayers in hope of earning His favor. Last night there was a gathering in my neighborhood with this goal- showing enough fervor and dedication to somehow make the human voice heard far away in God's lofty chambers.

Because of what Jesus did for me on the cross, I have an intimate relationship with God. I know that He hears my softest whisper as well as my loudest cry, and He moves to answer before the question has even entered my mind. So as the chanting floated through my bedroom window, I said a prayer of my own.

You can see the video here.

The song is "God of this city" by Peter Kernaghan, Andrew McCann, Ian Jordan, Aaron Boyd, Richard Bleakley & Peter Comfort (a band known as Bluetree). It's been so long since I heard it that I may not be singing it correctly, but to me it didn't much matter.

Gecko Faithfulness

A little while back, one of the hundreds of local geckos died. I'm not sure what happened to her. She didn't get run over as far as I could tell. Maybe she got sick. You can see her laying on the ground in the lower-right-hand corner of the photo, quite dead and starting to dry out in blazing sun. What amazed me is that this other gecko stayed by her, day and night, for two days after her death until someone took the body away. Who knew that geckos had that kind of loyalty to one another? Surely he realized that she was dead, that she wouldn't ever move again. But still he stayed by her side.

If a simple little animal, who doesn't seem to have much intelligence or awareness, can show that much dedication, how much more is asked of me? May I show myself faithful and selfless for those who are dear to me.

Bathroom maintenance: swim suit recommended

We got internet to the new apartment today! Well, to be more accurate, I got the password for my neighbour's wireless.

 I will use this as my excuse for not updating my blog for the past two weeks. It's at least 80% valid as an excuse, though I could probably come up with a better one if I thought about it for a while.

 So... some things have happened in the past couple of weeks. First of all, we got electricity and were able to move in last weekend. I unpacked about a third of my boxes and pushed the rest against the walls of my room, where they have remained untouched until this present moment.

 Moving is kind of exhausting, especially when things don't work right away. First of all our oven/stove was pathetic. We tried to clean it but it still took me more than an hour and a half to bake something that should have taken 15 minutes. I then made pancakes and it took about 3 minutes per cake. At that rate, my evenings were largely consumed by preparing supper. Martio took another swipe at the stove on Tuesday, using a needle to dig around in the small holes, and it seems to have improved since then.

 Meanwhile our washing machine was sitting in the bathroom with a 3/4" hose fitting. Unfortunately the adapter on the pipe in the wall was 1/2". Martio brought home a wrench on Tuesday. He didn't realize that you normally need two. So the next night I brought home another wrench- but then he informed me that he had returned the first wrench the same morning. It turned out I had brought back the exact same wrench and we still only had one!

Thursday night we finally had two wrenches. I took a look at the pipes in the bathroom, summoned up my two summers of pneumatic assembly experience, and dove in. Unfortunately the parts used here aren't exactly the same quality as what we had back in the states. I remember, many times in the states, being afraid that I was going to break a tiny little piece as I applied leverage on it with a massive wrench. In two summers, I never broke a thing.

 So when I attacked the healthy-sized pipes in our bathroom with relatively small and harmless-looking wrenches, I was quite confident that I was safe. WRONG-O! The sealer used here in place of teflon tape does a rotten job of sealing until it has finally aged long enough to sort of rot into place. Then it doesn't want to budge. I carefully applied more and more force. Then, POW! the shut-off valve shattered into three pieces and a jet of water spewed out across our bathroom. I (very calmly) yelled to Martio that I was creating a swimming pool in our bathroom and he ran out into the hallway and closed our water main.

 We stood in our new pond, looking at the pipe hanging from the wall. Until that jagged end was plugged somehow we couldn't turn the water back on. That was really bad because it was 9:00 at night, we hadn't yet eaten supper, I was dripping with sweat, and I was supposed to be driving some coworkers to the airport in half an hour!

We studied the pieces that were left. To my amazement, we realised that we could connect the washing machine directly to the wall if only we could loosen the right pieces and then put them back together correctly. I had examined the mish-mash of adaptors the day before and come to the conclusion that no matter what we took apart, we would need to run to the hardware store to finish the job. Removing the shut-off valve from the equation had opened up some new options. I v e r y carefully unscrewed the necessary parts while Martio ran next door to our neighbour, who fortunately had informed us at an earlier date of his secret stash of teflon tape.

 When Martio came back I wound the pieces with teflon, tightened them up, and then Martio turned on the water mains. Hmm.... we already had one shower in the bathroom. We didn't really need a second one. After studying the arrangement we realised that, for whatever reason, the rubber seal on the washer adapter wasn't fitting tightly against the source pipe. Easy fix! Martio ran into his bedroom and came back with an old bicycle tire. He cut out a circle with his leatherman and then punched a hole in the middle of it. We inserted that into the washer end, I re-tefloned all the connections, and tightened it up. Martio turned on the water mains, and PRESTO! No leaks.

 It was then, and only then, that Martio confessed to me that in moving the washing machine away from the wall to get at the pipes he had accidentally ripped the power outlet out of the wall and it was no longer working. Sigh. Still no washing machine.

 But at least we had water again. I took a quick shower and my coworkers had the decency to be half an hour late, which gave me time to scarf down supper.

 That was Thursday night. Part of it, anyway. The rest of the week felt similar, even if it wasn't as dramatic.

So today I have spent most of the day laying around, sleeping, and reading "Me, Myself, & Bob," which I would highly recommend. The washing machine still doesn't work. Nor does the fourth burner on the stove. And maybe not the oven. But we have internet! One thing at a time is enough for me right now.

Moving

It's late and I need to be up early, so I'll just pop on some quick pictures. Here is the old apartment

Here is the new apartment with our junk piled up.

Here is the new apartment after we moved most of our junk into our respective bedrooms, where it is still piled high.

At the moment I am still living in the old apartment (picture #1) until the electrical company gets power to our new place. Please pray that they do so soon.

The 4th

I might have completely missed the 4th of July if it hadn't been for all my British friends. My day started with a text from Aranel wishing me a happy 4th of July. She's English. Then at coffee break as we discussed the day Martio (who is British) insisted that we needed to have a bonfire and fireworks in the parking lot after dark. He then proceeded to organise this event and that evening he stacked the wood himself (with some eager help, of course). So we ended up with a bonfire organised by a Brit, fireworks provided by another Brit, and as we all stood around the conflagration A suggested that we all sing the American National Anthem together. A lived in the UK until he was 14. It's nice being in an organisation where we can enjoy one another's cultures and celebrate together. We help them build their bonfire for Guy Fawkes on November 5th, as disturbing as we may find that practice, and they kindly provide us with rockets just as their ancestors did so many years ago over Fort McHenry. Next up is July 14. Does anybody know what that is?

Momentary Light Affliction

Since Monday I have not had lights in my apartment.

Okay, to be completely honest I do have one light that still works, over my bathroom sink. The rest of the apartment, however, starts getting murky at about 7:30 and by 8:00 it's legitimately dark. Fortunately we have some bright lights just outside my apartment, so by pulling back all of my curtains I can get enough light into the place to avoid bruising my shins on the furniture. 

Sound like a pain? I guess it is, especially when I am trying to cook, but I really don't mind. I really don't mind because I am planning to move tomorrow. I can handle packing in the dark because I know that the situation is temporary. I am moving to somewhere where it will be light at night.

This is the power of hope. It doesn't just apply to little things like changing apartments; it also applies to life as a whole. When we have faith that our life here on earth is temporary, our struggles and confusion and discomfort become more bearable and our joys take on a deeper meaning. The best is is still coming! (Ephesians chapter 1)

My kitchen during supper prep. last night

Quasi-local cuisine

Last night one of my african friends came over to visit. Whenever I know he is coming it stresses me out a bit. I wonder what we are going to talk about. I wonder when he will show up. His arrival can vary from time to time by as much as three hours- or sometimes he doesn't show up at all. And I think more than anything else I worry about what I will feed him. He generally arrives around 8:00, which is a good hour before the normal supper time here.  It is expected in this culture that a host will feed his visitors, and usually mine come two at a time. It really should not be that big a deal cooking for three instead of one, but the fact that it is late and unpredictable, and that most of the things I eat do not figure into their menu, causes me to spend the entire afternoon dreading their arrival. The odd thing is, once they are here I enjoy myself. So I just need to learn to trust God with the pre-arrival jitters.

Anyway, that was more than I meant to say on that subject. The point of all of this is that last night I didn't cook at all. My friend did all of the cooking! Furthermore, what he came up with was surprisingly familiar. Instead of a typical rice concoction (which he and I worked on together last time he was over) he opted for potatoes. I'm a fan of that! It turns out the people in his part of the country grow potatoes, unlike everyone who lives in this part of the country, so spuds are a regular part of his diet.

This was his method:

-get a pot of water boiling
-toss in 6 to 8 potatoes, dirt and all.
-in a pan, start frying an onion in oil.
---add a bullion cube, salt, and pepper to the onion. (not healthy, but yummy!)
---add meat or fish. All I had was a can(tin) of sardines, so that's what we added.
---let it simmer until the onion tastes more like the bullion cube and the sardines than like an onion.
-Once the potatoes are done, remove them from the boiling water and plunk them into cold water. Once they are cool enough to hold, peel off the skins with a knife.
Put all of the potatoes into a kitchen-size emortar (every household has one here) and smash them with the pestle, adding a substantial hunk of butter in the process. My apartment doesn't have a mortar so I introduced him to my potato masher. I think a mortar and pestle would have worked better, especially since we weren't patient enough to wait until the potatoes were completely cooked.
-Plop the mashed potato onto a big tray and spread it out
-pour the onion and meat sauce over the top of it

And then, in typical local fashion, we each pulled up a chair, sat on opposite sides of the dish, and dug in.

I ate way more than him. When I asked him why he wasn't very hungry he explained that he eats lunch at 5:00. Yikes! No wonder he eats supper at 9:30. Poor guy; he must get really hungry at work.

After we had eaten our fill we each drank a glass of water. That's the way it is done here- you drink after the meal and you don't generally drink much.

So there you go, if you want to try living in my shoes for an evening you can make that for supper tonight. As for me, I'll probably go back to my standby of macaroni and tomato sauce. My basil bush is taking over the entire garden, so I grab any chance I have to incorporate basil into my meal.

Friday night

Last night was a great night. There were about 50 young people gathered together in an "upper room" and singing worship songs- in English! I don't think I've had that kind of experience in three years. It was truly a blessing.

Something else de très spéciale happened yesterday evening as well. More on that later...

And today I went to watch an international track meet, hoping to spot some potential Olympic competitors. As I was riding over to the stadium my friend, who was already there, texted me to say that the meet wasn't happening after all. I continued to the stadium anyway, figuring it was a good excuse for a long bike ride. When I got there I was pleased to discover that, contrary to my friend's claims, there was a lively competition going on. Here are some pictures of the winners:

100 Centimeter hurdles:

Long jump

Pole vault (though the judges argued about whether or not he ever actually vaulted)

Standing Long Jump (this is the "standing" part)

As you can tell, all of the winners were the same nationality. The judging must have been rigged.

Then, as I was leaving the stadium, look what greeted me in the parking lot:


You never know what kind of excitement can be found on a Saturday afternoon at the stadium!

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I took a video of one of the go-karts doing warm-up laps. You can see it here.

Mami Mia

After frisbee we went to the "Mami Mia" restaurant for supper. Fortunately there was ample seating outdoors for our sweaty mob. Once we had pulled 5 tables together and seated our 20+ selves around them, the ordering ritual began.

My friend "Storm" speaks the local language fluently, and when the waitress discovered this she decided to talk to Storm rather than trying to deal with the varying levels of French spoken by our assortment of Americans. I thought it was a wise choice on her part, as did Storm, but it quickly got complicated. I have learned enough of the local language that I could follow the general gist of what Storm and the waitress were discussing. The conversation went something like this:

Waitress: What would you like?

Storm: I'll have a chicken chawarma.

Waitress: A what?

Storm: A chicken chawarma. It's right here on the menu.

Waitress: (squinting at the menu with a perplexed look on her face) Sorry, we don't have any of those right now.

Storm: Oh. How about a chicken sandwich, then?

Waitress: Yes, we can do four. Does anybody else in your group want a chicken sandwich?

Storm (in English to the huddle masses): Does anybody want a chicken sandwich?

Me: I do.

Waitress: Does anybody else want a chicken sandwich? We have four.
(I wasn't sure whether this meant that they could only make four, that they wouldn't bother killing a chicken unless they got four orders, or whether it meant that four had already been sitting on a shelf for the past half hour and she wanted to get rid of them.)

Storm: Who else wants a chicken sandwich? We need four people.

Random people #1 and #2: I do!

Random person #3: I want a chicken burger!

Random person #2: "Oh wait, I want a chicken burger too."

Storm to waitress: Do you have chicken for chicken burgers too?

Waitress: Yes, four.

Storm: No, I mean for burgers, not for the sandwiches

Random person #4: I want a chicken burger!

Random person #1: Me too!

Storm to random person #1: I thought you wanted a chicken sandwich.

random person #1: Yeah, sorry. I thought they were the same thing.

Storm back to waitress: We want four chicken sandwiches and three chicken burgers.

Random person #5: I want a chicken burger too!

Storm to waitress: four chicken burgers. Do you have enough chicken for all of that?

Waitress: (said something I didn't understand, but she accepted the order)

We then went on to order pizzas, chawarmas, and other items in more or less the same manner. I was astounded when, some time later, the food came and everyone actually got what he or she had wanted. It was tasty, too.

Launch It!

Greetings!

I acknowledge that I have thoroughly neglected my blog. My apologies. To be honest, I think I set too high of a standard for myself. I felt that whatever I wrote needed to be either highly amusing or deeply insightful. The problem is, I rarely have the inspiration for anything insightful or the time and energy for anything highly amusing.

So, I hereby resolve to do a better job of keeping you in touch with my life, even when it seems humdrum.

Last night, for example, was pretty boring. I got soaked in sweat and almost knocked out and today I am walking around with a limp.

"What did you do?"

I played ultimate frisbee, that's what I did! And I played it on REAL GRASS, something which might not impress you but it meant a lot to me. I hadn't walked on grass in more than a year.

We played hard, had a lot of fun, and felt the full effects of nearly 100% humidity.  As for the almost getting knocked out part, that was just me and another guy jumping around too much in the end zone. Neither of us caught the frisbee but I did catch his elbow!

I must add that I also made two glorious dives over the course of the evening. I could take a picture of the green stripe on my shirt as evidence. I almost even caught the frisbee on the second dive. It's all about the effort, not the results!

Our results were pretty good though, come to think of it. We lost a fairly close first game and then easily won the second one. After that we switched teams around. My team started out well but struggled when we lost some players. 9 versus 13 isn't easy!

When we finally got done everyone was soaked with sweat and some of us (well, mainly me) also sported a nice layer of dirt and grass. We then decided to go to a restaurant. I think that experience is worthy of it's own blog post, so I'll leave you in suspense.

Parting tip of the day: If you freeze dish soap in a ziplock bag it makes a great home-made ice pack.

Pentecost

Yesterday was Pentecost. I'm sorry that in the states it has been dwarfed by memorial day. As important as memorial day is, Pentecost is more important. The Holy Spirit is not only our helper and guide but also the deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until our redemption (Ephesians 1:14). For the past month or so I have been digging through scripture, trying to learn about the Holy Spirit and praying that God will show me what life in the Spirit should look like.

I am not planning to blog about it because I still have far more questions than answers and I don't think it is worth creating conflict with my wide variety of musings. I'm quite certain that I could offend the theological sensibilities of nearly every one of my friends with at least one paragraph out of my five-page (and growing) essay. I end up re-writing parts of it every time I read through it anyway. I think it is much more useful for me to simply encourage you to do the same study for yourself.

I leave you with this prayer passed down to us from one who has gone before:

Prayer of Augustine:

Breathe in me, O Holy Spirit, that my thoughts may all be holy.
Act in me, O Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy.
Draw my heart, O Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy.
Guard me then, O Holy Spirit, that I always may be holy.

Amen.

The new deal

Recently my small group read through a portion of Leviticus and then Hebrews ch. 8-10 in order to compare the old and new covenants. There were a lot of different discussions that came out of that. I would highly recommend taking the time to do it for yourself, even though it might seem rather dry at first.

I couldn't help but  feel that I had forgotten, or perhaps never known about, half of the new covenant. If you look at the old testament (covenant), it served many different purposes. Of course the primary purpose was to enable a relationship between God and His creation. It provided a system of purification so that God could dwell among sinners. But the covenant was more than that. It was also a way to unite a people. All of the festivals were community oriented as well as God-centered. It was a health code, meant to protect them from diseases that science had not yet discovered. It was also, in a very straightforward way, a system to bring joy to God.

Look at the beginning of Hebrews 8. Under the old covenant there were many different types of sacrifice and offerings. Some were meant to atone for sin. Others were meant to express gratitude to God and affirm reliance on His provision. We understand that Christ's death atoned for our sin once and for all, making ongoing sacrifices of atonement unnecessary. But what about the offerings of thanksgiving? What about the altar of incense that rose night and day before God as a sweet-smelling aroma?

The author of Hebrews says that if Jesus were on earth He would not be a priest because those sacrifices and offerings were still going on at the temple. But today they aren't. The temple has been leveled. So then, who is providing the constant worship to God? But what about the thanksgiving? What about the praise? What about the communal statements of faith and dedication half a dozen times per year? Is there anything to replace them?

I think worship is a mandatory aspect of our new covenant with God, just as the Jews under the old covenant were commanded by God to thank Him and worship Him in certain ways. I have often been guilty of worshiping only when I felt "ready" to worship. That's the wrong attitude- and in an unnatural foreign context it means that I have rarely truly worshiped. Worship is a choice, and it requires sacrifice.  It is also a pleasure, so I don't want to make it sound like a drag! But I do need to take worship more seriously.

Of course worship isn't just music either. It can apply to anything that I do with the heart purpose of glorifying God. There are days when my work is worship to God and other days when it isn't. "How can that be?" you ask. "Your work is God's work!" Yes, but on far too many days I do it on my own power. God will still use what I do but He is not glorified as He should be in the actual doing of the work because I am the one in the driver's seat. That is also a dangerous place for me to be, especially while doing "God's work," but that is another post for another time.

On the other hand, I have experienced true worship of God in something as mundane as running, when I deliberately did it in honor of God and for His glory rather than my own.

Moving on to other aspects of the old covenant, what about scripture memorization? God told the people of Israel to write scripture on the doorpost of their house and bind it to their hands and forehead. It may not have been literal, but constant immersion in the the Word of God was not an optional part of the old covenant and I don't think it is optional under the new one either.

What about community? There is so much here that I think it would take several more blogs to unwrap it. The old covenant created a community of faith. Do we believe that the new covenant has no similar goal? Sometimes it doesn't seem like it. We preach personal salvation and tend to adopt a "just me and Jesus" attitude. Hebrews says that since we are under this amazing new covenant, "let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds, not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another..."

Look at the prayer of Jesus in John 17. He asks the Father in verse 21 "...that they may all be one; even as You, Father, are in Me and I in You, that they also may be in Us..." That is a unity that far surpasses the unity of Israel under the old covenant. We have an intimacy with God that was impossible under the old covenant. We should also be living out a unity with one another that has never been seen before in the history of the world. We preach that, in order to enter into the new covenant, we must die with Christ and be raised again with Him, born anew of the Spirit. That means that we all have died the same death and live the same life. Why, then, do we often act as if our walk with Christ has little or nothing to do with anyone else?

Frankly, the evangelical world as a whole has a lot to learn from the Catholic church in this regard. Do we really believe that we are united in Christ to the rest of His Body? ALL of it? Even the parts that we don't agree with all the time? If so, the structure of our denominations, our churches, our families, and our personal lives should reflect that.

I have a garden

Even though I live near a desert, it is not impossible to have a garden as long as you can get your hands on a crate. I purchased such a crate, pre-loaded with nice dirt (which is almost impossible to find here) and thriving produce. Now I just need to keep everything alive! We shall see whether I take after my father or my mother in this realm.

Here are my new charges:

Martio (I have decided to give all my friends fun code names) claims this is fennel. I think it's dill. We shall see. Either way, it'll be nice to have.

Basil! Hopefully this time I won't kill it off. Basil is one of the major workhorses in my cooking repertoire.

Mint. I'm very excited about this one.

Spring onion. I need to do som research to figure out how to use this. Anybody have some suggestions?

Tomato. Juicy red goodness! I think I'm going to find another pot to put it in so it doesn't end up overwhelming its neighbors.

So... the only things I have any experience raising are tomatoes, onions, and basil- and my experience with basil included the funeral and burial. So if you have any suggestions, please add a helpful comment!

You may wonder where I have been...

So I'll tell you. At least this week. As for all the other weeks in which I haven't been checking my blog, I'll leave it to your imagination. Here is this past week:

 Monday night: hosting two friends who just flew in from Germany

 Tuesday night: floor hockey, followed by a public transportation debacle that took more than an hour.

Wednesday night: Two African friends dropped in shortly after work and stayed until 10.

 Thursday night: I had a lovely evening with two of my coworkers

 Friday night: I started a newsletter (believe it or not!), went shopping, and finally had a little time to catch up on e-stuff

 Saturday morning: moment of panic when I realized the next day was Mother's Day, followed by two hours of making a card for my dear Mother. I love you Mom!
The rest of Saturday: hanging out with my African "family."

Today: 1. Making bread for the day 2. writing an apologetic blog post 3. making a graduation card 4. church 5. meeting/rehearsal for the theatre group at church 6. graduation party 7. volleyball

Tomorrow night: working on newsletter, long overdue chat with my parents on Skype

So there you go! That's where I've been.

Just Spiders, Don't Worry

Thursday and Friday I was at a rural school doing a project with a local group. That evening I stayed with some friends in a village nearby. We had a delightful evening including these amazing little biscuits that were halfway between a pancake and a sugar cookie. Mmm!

When it was sufficiently late we fetched the spare bed from the porch and brought it into the living room so I could sleep in the relative warmth of the house. As we moved it I noticed a cluster of spikey-looking pods in one corner of the frame.

I asked my host about it and he said "Oh yeah, those are just spider eggs."

Great. Since he didn't seem the slightest bit bothered, I obviously couldn't tarnish my manliness by saying anything to display my lack of appreciation for the arachnid class.

I turned off the lights and started thinking about the baby spiders lounging less than 2 feet from my head. The odds were good that they would just stay in their cozy little eggs. But what if the sudden presence of my body heat encouraged them to emerge and explore the new world while I slept? Might that exploration include my mouth? I had a brief mental image of waking up and finding myself covered with a hundred tiny black spiders.

But I steeled my mind, cherished the thought of telling my death-defying story at a later date, and went blissfully to sleep.

I'm happy to report that I was still alive when I woke up the next morning.

Package from home

...loaded with candy!

It also had some really neat pictures from when I was little, which I won't be posting so as to halfheartedly preserve my anonymity. Actually it is because I went through all the effort of taking pictures of the pictures and then accidentally deleted them right afterward. Doh!

There were also some very encouraging and thoughtful little cards.

Thank you to my family. I love you!

Preparing for Heaven while on Earth

It has struck me recently that the purpose of our time on Earth must be growth. Think about it. For the first 9 months of life we do nothing but grow. It must seem like a very long 9 months for the baby in the womb. He can not even remember the beginning of it because his brain was not yet formed. All he knows now is a faint glow that darkens at strange intervals, sounds from far off, and strange movements that he can't explain. Will this go on forever? What is the purpose for all of it?
Fortunately we are born before our brains have developed advanced reasoning capabilities or half of us would be raving lunatics when we came out.

The purpose of this entire period is growth, preparation for life in the world. Although it seems long at the time, it is only a short part of the average human life. If you live past 75, your time in the womb is less than 1% of your total time on earth.

Now lets look at our total time on earth, which we consider to be an eternally long time when we are 10 and maybe not so long when we are 20 and actually not long at all when we are 40 and really short when we are 80. Let's compare that to eternity.

In light of all that time, why would God bother putting us on earth for an eyeblink if it served as nothing but a chance for us to "do our own thing" before we pick up our harps in heaven? There has to be a connection. Somehow, what we do and what happens to us here on Earth must be connected to our everlasting existence elsewhere.

Obviously, as Christians we believe that the eternal fate of our soul depends on how we respond to Jesus's action here, in our little world. But more than that, I want to suggest that everything we do will influence who we are and how we will live in eternity. I believe that we are here to grow.  Just like a baby in the womb, we are expected to mature and to increase in our capacity so that, when we enter the bigger and wider world, we are ready to embrace the challenge and make the most of it.

Heaven is a bigger world. It isn't eternal retirement and it isn't a giant nursery in the clouds. It's the Real World,  a place of growth and development and challenge as we seek innovative ways to bring glory to the King of the Universe.

Grace

(This was written a week ago but I couldn't connect to the internet so I am posting it now)

Last night I was reading where Paul was talking about how he considers all gain to be loss compared to joy of knowing Christ, and tonight when I downloaded the free song of the week from www.kingsway.uk I found that the chorus of this week's song is a remake of an older hymn-

"when I survey the wondrous cross
on which the prince of Glory died
my richest gain I count but loss
and pour contempt on all my pride"

It's interesting... late last week I was reading in James about pride, how it is the enemy of unity and leads to every kind of evil and discord. Then I was reflecting on the juxtaposition of an infinitely awesome yet intimately active God. Then I was reading some passages that focused on faith- how fixing our eyes on God helps us to follow in trust even when our situation seems hopeless.

This simple chorus sums up all those ideas.

Jesus was God. Beyond our greatest powers of imagination or logic or speculation. Infinitely more wise, powerful, and beautiful than anything we have ever encountered. He chose to become a man and die with his hands and feet nailed into two blood-soaked planks. He did that to reconcile me to God.

How could anything possibly be more important or valuable to me than that relationship? It's unthinkable. And where is there any room for pride? Who am I to boast about anything, I who am weak and sinful and mean? The thought of it is sickening. I am nobody, but God chose me. I deserve nothing but He gave everything. All I can do in return is offer a humble and joyful "Hallelujah!"

Have thine own way, Lord. Thou art the potter, I am the clay.

Lighthouse visit

On Saturday I had a very unique opportunity. I got to crawl inside a lightouse, in between the light and the lens.

Here is a video:



At the beginning of the film the tour guide is telling us about the modernization of the lighthouse.

When the lighthouse was built in the mid 18s, the lens was turned by the force of gravity slowly pulling a counter-weight down a two-story tube. Every two hours the lighthouse keeper had to crank the weight back up to the top so it could descend again and keep the lens turning. Today the lens (still the same one installed in the 1800s) is turned by an electric motor.

Back in the day the lamp was gas. Today it is a halogen bulb the size of a hot dog.

And yet, despite the modernization, the lighthouse still serves the same vital role that it has for more than one hundred years.  Light is precious, especially to those who are lost. The method may change, the equipment may change, but the beacon doesn't change, it never goes out, and it is never out of date.

Be filled with the Holy Spirit

A friend once told me that when Paul told the Ephesians to be filled with the Holy Spirit, he wasn't giving the image of a cup or a pot. Rather, he was using the image of sail.

A person who is trying to advance by their own methods is like a sail that is facing into the wind.  It might seem that straight ahead is the most logical route, but in a sailboat that will never work because a sailboat is dependent on the wind. A sail facing into the wind whips back and forth violently as if trying to rip free from it's ropes and toss itself into the waves. It cracks like a whip, then swings the other way and cracks again. It does no good to anyone and, frankly, it is a bit frightening.

On the other hand, a sail that is turned entirely with the wind puffs up like a soft pillow and steadily pulls the boat along. The ride is very quiet, and can be very peaceful, but it is also a bit dangerous. The boat slogs up and down as the waves pass under it. If a large wave bears down the boat will have a very limited ability to maneuver and will likely take on a bit of water. I liken this to someone who is "filled with the Holy Spirit" in that he or she is getting plenty of Spiritual nourishment but then he or she is hoarding it. Yes, they are moving along, but they are still at the mercy of the waves because the waves are passing them up.

However, a well-trimmed sail on a tack is an amazing experience. As you pull in the sheets (ropes) the sail initially whips around a bit but the oscillations become faster and faster until the fabric is humming. The entire boat shivers slightly along with it. The hull rolls over onto it's side as the sail picks up the full power of the wind. The hull surges forward through the waves at a terrific speed, throwing spray into the air and leaving a wake far behind.

All of this speed and power come from the fact that the sail USES the wind rather than just trapping it. The faster air moves, the stronger it is. The pressure differences between slow and fast air are so great that they can hold a massive 747 in mid-air.  A well-trimmed set of sails create a similar effect.

This is being filled with the Holy Spirit. It is the constant adjustment of the lines so that you are always taking in the full power of God's Spirit in your life- and then allowing it to flow through you for His glory. Worshiping, sharing, serving, teaching, praying- God did not give us His Spirit so that we could slog through life, rocked up and down by the swells. He gave us His Spirit so that we could turn into the waves and rescue the lost and drowning.

image by Jonathan Pompe- I lightened it slightly

Disaster!

It was like Hoover Dam, except much smaller. My water filter has two buckets. You pour water into the top one and then the water runs through a filter and into the bottom one. The problem is, you can't see how much water is already in the bottom bucket. To make it even more complicated, the top bucket is quite a bit smaller than the bottom one. So one day I filled the top bucket twice, thinking that it looked about half the volume of the bottom one.

Apparently it's a bit larger than half the volume.

The next morning all of my canned goods (that's "tinned" for you Brits) were rusting away in a pond on the counter top. Unfortunately I also had one non-canned item- a box of Maizena corn flour. The water had soaked through the cardboard box and the paper liner and turned the corn flour into a semi-solid brick. I couldn't even get it to come out of the box in clumps, so I ripped the box apart and then pealed the wrapper off the soggy block.

I couldn't let all this good corn flour go to waste, so I decided to make impromptu cornbread. I dropped the brick of flour into a bowl of water and started stirring. After a minute or two I realized that this wasn't working too hot. That stuff was WEIRD! If you got the water swirling and just kept it going, it was as fluid as water. But if you suddenly tried stirring in the opposite direction, it was almost like stirring molasses. I really should have just left the flour mix like that for the shear amusement factor.

Anyway, I had serious doubts that this would turn out so I also left the egg out of the cornbread recipee. If it was going to flop I didn't want to waste an egg on it. Then I popped it in the oven and waited. Half an hour later, I had created this marvellous representation of a scorched sand-flat in Arizona!

In case there are any doubts, it was almost inedible. Kind of like paper or grass- you can eat it if you are really, really hungry.

My good deed for the day

One night I saw a little baby bird flopping helplessly on the ground. We've had some high winds, so I imagine he got blown of his nest. As I watched he managed to lift off the ground, fly about 3 feet in the air, and then come crashing back down. He didn't move too much after that. He was still breathing but he was either too stunned or too scared to try flying any more. I couldn't think of any way to help him. I figured the best bet was to leave him where he was so at least his parents could find him.

Then, as I was walking to back to my apartment, I saw two cats in the parking lot. I interrupted their domestic quarrel in a most unceremonious fashion and chased them around the parking lot, yelling and howling. Eventually I chased one out the gate and the other over the wall. I'm sure the guards now think that I am absolutely nuts, but I feel happy to have purchased my little birdy friend another hour or two of life. I hope he got ahead of the learning curve pretty soon on the flying deal.

7 years

Jeremiah Small was a single American guy who taught gym classes at a school in Iraq. He was shot to death by one of his students earlier this month. After I read about his death I went on Facebook to see if I could find out a bit more about him. Sure enough, his page is still there as if nothing had happened. Pictures of him having fun with his students, some very profound thoughts, a link to a silly comment about squirrels... I think this guy and I could have been great friends.

What shook me up the most is the fact that he started his cross-cultural adventure at the same age that I did. When he started, he had no way of knowing that he would only get 7 years. 7 short years. As I looked at his pictures and read comments from his students I could tell that he made the most of his 7 years.  He loved the country, he loved his students, and he loved his life there. He touched hundreds of lives.

When I think back on my first year I see a lot of progress but also a lot of stumblings and hesitations and false starts. I am still protecting myself, not reaching out enough, and as a result not making  a difference on a personal level as often I think I should.

So, here is a resolution to be more open to others, especially the ones who come from a different culture than me, knowing full well that I could be setting myself up for some awkward situations. Why? Because it's worth it. That's how we make a difference. That's how Jesus did it.

"...we are called not to narrative construction [...] we are called to become part of a narrative greater than ourselves in the context of a relationship that gives meaning to our lives. It is a beautiful thing to find oneself spoken into meaning."

-one of the last things Jeremiah Small wrote on Facebook

No Showers Bring March Flowers

These flowers are actually fed by a different type of shower- it's the watershed for our dormitory and office block. It is wonderful having blossoms in the middle of dry season, and since it has been nice and warm in the Northland I don't feel bad about showing you the pictures I took yesterday.

These are a few of my favorite things...

In no particular order:

-Hamburgers
-Fig Jam
-Care packages
-Mountain Bikes
-Root Beer
-Games that involve fighting with sticks
-Lemonade
-Calvin and Hobbes
-The full moon

I have enjoyed all of these in the last 24 hours! Tonight is a ceilidh and tomorrow is volleyball. What a great weekend!

It's the little things

One of the things I really love about this place is the exotic fruits. I went to the grocery store and saw a bottle that looked like it was full of snot. I almost started jumping up and down, I was so happy. I've encountered this thick green quagmire before and I know that its flavor is well worth the ocular trauma.

As I write this I am polishing off a bowl of homemade yogurt mixed with this green syrup and a little bit of sugar. Mmmmmm!

Dust!

A little sweat, a lot of dust, and who needs hairspray?

The Community of Faith

Praise God for my friends.

Three nights ago I was asking God why, every time I opened the Bible, I read about brutal battles or laws about mildew or something else that seemed to have nothing to do with my situation. I was asking Him why I never seemed to hear from Him any more, why I sat in my chair night after night and morning after morning studying the Bible and it didn't seem to have much impact on my life or help me to figure anything out. As I ranted I suspected that the answer had something to do with community. I think in the past three days He has been proving that to me.

I praise God for SK, who sat me down for 45 minutes on Thursday and helped me to put some important struggles into perspective.

I praise God for Friday night. M's monologue about suffering was insightful and helped me more than he realized. The others had good thoughts as well.

I praise God for my friends who take the time to write thoughtful blogs. In recent days several blog posts have touched my mind and heart and shed light on some of my questions.

I praise God for S. Last night she sent me a marvelous email.

I praise God for Dr. A. This morning his sermon was the perfect compliment to M's monologue and S's thoughts.

I praise the Lord for placing me in a body, a community of faith. I thank Him for using others to bless me with the insight, wisdom, and faith that He gives them. May He help me to be attuned to His spirit so that I can also be a blessing to them in return.

We don't need to fly solo.

Romans 6:8

Will this fall ever end?
Will I ever hit the bottom?

Thunk

The bottom brings no relief.
A shaking, a tumbling
Cold and darkness

Time.
For what purpose?
Existence.
To what end?
I am wasting away
Why am I here?
My end is near.
Does anyone care?
Does anyone even know?

Day consumes day,
Month consumes month
Decay consumes my flesh

A final stroke
A fatal shudder
I am torn apart,
My soul laid bare.
I am finished.


But what is this?
There, poking from the fissure in my rotted shell
A pale, fragile bud
Pushing out against the cruel earth
Slowly displacing one grain of sand
Then another
Gathering strength to push again
An agony of effort
Moments of unparalleled struggle
Following one after another
For days upon days
in the cold and dark

A final heave
Sunlight!



(John 12:24)

This made me think tonight

The sights

Our tiny dining table. Talk about lack of elbow room!

One of many villages along the river

There is a very nice rest- aurant here.

Fishing hut- you can see a boat along- side.

Grapefruit!

The regional capital

View to starboard

The Pad

Before I show you the special animal, here is a quick tour of the place we stayed. My internet was running really quickly when I uploaded the crocodile film so I took advantage of it.



And here is a film of the birds.

The critters

One of the interesting aspects of the trip was a bizarre farm that raised crocodiles, just about every fruit you can imagine, and even a coco tree!

I think the teeth speak for themselves.

Awww, look at the babies!

The farm also had a porcu- pine. I had never seen one before!

Jellyfish! No... I don't think so. Jellyfish have tendril thingies. What is this?

Here is another one. Can anybody tell me what these are?