A Long While

It has been a long while since I have posted anything, Obviously. I should write more, I need to write more. It is an avenue of expression that when traveling I seek out, but when at "home" in America, I rarely pursue. Perhaps it is time to change that. In third world countries it is easier to sit and write than it is here. Here, I must find space, peace, motivation, and reason to write rather than to veg in front of a movie or computer screen.

So.... Lets do this, I will start writing again, a little everyday do my best to post it here. If you are all for this. Let me know. It is encouraging to have people interested in the things I write. If I dont get any feed back, well, then I will keep my thoughts to myself and focus on the book I am working on :-) Here we Go!

Transition

Leaving the capitol city at the break of dawn, Joan tucked in the back of an all too common hatchback corolla, a steaming cup of coffee resting in my hands I breath a nervous sigh of knowing. Knowing, that I am about to enter the place that will be home, but is not yet. Knowing, that transition is hard, but the morning is beautiful. Knowing, that I may not enjoy all of it, but it will be worth it. It was a moment of intersection, leaving all that has been familiar behind and jumping into the unknown….again.
In astronomy “transition” can be used to describe the visible shadow of a moon crossing the surface of a planet. I often wonder if it is not that I am in transition, but that I am a transition. Shadows are real, you can touch them, but they are constantly moving and never put roots into a place, they may rest for a while, but then are gone. This could be my life.
Crossing the Hindu Kush from The capitol north to my new city I marvel at this country, I have taken this road once before, I was astonished at the beauty of this country that time as well. The Salong Pass was built by the Soviets as a gift to the people of this country, to link the capitol with the Soviet Union, to increase trade and ease of movement, or so they said, as soon as it was completed they used it to roll their battalions of tanks into the capitol. I am again reminded of how harsh history has been to these people, how in spite of it they have never been conquered, though nearly every empire in history has attempted too. These people were created wild, and will always be so. To try tame them would be more problematic than leaving them wild. Something truly wild must either be broken, or befriended. If broken it will do as told, but will lose a great piece of itself in the process. If befriended, the entire strength of this wild being will serve from a heart of love and honor. I feel so often that my life of change and transition is a process of one wild being befriending another. It is not safe, I am not safe, it will not be tamed, nor will I. There have been times in my life that I have felt nearly broken, felt I was about to lose a piece of the heart I was created with, but each time the one courting my love and honor leads me into new pastures, to places though unfamiliar are filled with nourishing fields. I once again find myself in new pastures, unsure of the best place to graze, unsure of where the water is flowing, unsure of where to find soothing shade. I do trust this other wild being that I follow, wondering where this shadow will find a home.

The Return

A swap of cultures is always a challenge. Hearing the call to prayer, the smell of Kabobs, dust, being kissed by men, untamed streets, a constant awareness of my surroundings, an ebb and flow of permeating stress that follows the condition of the city and country, having to struggle to communicate, being the center of attention almost constantly, these are a few of the things that great me. There is also the excitement of returning to friends that are not used to people often leaving and returning, the joy of driving my motorcycle, being greeted by my dog everyday when I come home, having a house that is my space, the feel of handmade carpets under my feet. The return is always bitter sweet. Missing those I love in America, while excited to return to my life here. I have a continuously growing and deepening love for this place, while my awareness of the distance to America grows as well. With friends and loved ones spread out across the globe I can never be in all the places I would like to be at once, if I am here there are events I feel I am missing in America, when in America there are events I am missing here. These include the good, and wishing I could walk through difficulties with those I am in community with. This is the dichotomy of life in constant return, a life lived with homes, not a home. I must be content in the place I am, not always wish for the place I am not. The eternal creator must be the place I rest and call home, not a location or community.
I am blessed to live in a time when technology allows me to stay connected with those that I am in community with, even thousands of miles away. Being in America for a couple of months showed me just how amazing the friends I have are. To be able to sit down for an hour and immediately dive into the grittiness of life, to not need to explain my current location to be understood. To have friends that trust me, that know that the creator is going to take care me. Friends that are excited in my excitement, that desire to stay a part of my life, friends that I can dream with. This is the beauty of the return, these friends are not in one location, I am always returning to these friends, coming or going. Friends are the layers that add vivid color to the existing beauty of this planet.

Un-Quarantine

Sin is a disease. There is no greater threat to the health and wholeness of the human race than the infiltration of sin that has permeated earth and oozed from the pores of humans since nearly the beginning of time. There are sins of action and sins of inaction. If there was a single concentrated phrase to sum up what it is, it would be any thing that is unloving, anything that does not align itself with the goodness of the eternal creator. By some, sin is embraced, others fear it and still others are apathetic towards the acceptance of its mere existence. Sin is the very essence of death itself, it reeks of it, its stench often sweet in its initial fragrance rots in the nostrils leaving the senses numbed to its continued fetor. Sin is the rotting carcass left when Adam killed perfection in relationship. Although it is vile and epidemic in its cancerous advancement, there is a cure. Our eternal creator sent his son to restore and revive the life of relationship so its stench no longer sticks to our being. Scripture tells us we can and should enter the world, though filled with this endemic disease, to live surrounded by this virus, we have been granted immunity from its permanent effects. Unfortunately, many of the people that claim this inoculation have chosen instead to quarantine themselves from those still living with this illness. They live in fear of contracting a disease that is not allowed to kill us unless we allow it to be injected into our restored veins. By doing so they have lost the ability to share the antibody that runs through their soul. Instead they set up hospitals offering personality transplants rather than life saving IVs. We are not called to be hospitals, but medics, to enter the war zone and tend to the wounded and dying. We have taken it upon ourselves to attempt to learn the art of diagnosis and surgery rather than to simply stop the bleeding. Many have grown so comfortable in their sterilized environments that any seen with dirt on their hands is seen as diseased and must be kept from their zone of quarantine until they are deemed cleaned. We were not healed of the disease to live in quarantine, but to be able to enter into relationship with those still affected by it and share the cure. Lives lived in the light of truth must be lived un-quarantined. It is the enemy of life and the sower of sin that desires us to live lives cut off from the rest of world not in community with it. In a room filled with blindness there is no more powerful personality that that of sight. If entering the filth, pain and disease was wrong then Christ could not have done it. If we desire to be Christ-like a.k.a. Christian, then that is what we must do. Is it dangerous? Is it scary? Could it get messy? Of course! Jesus was killed for his efforts, and look what happened because of it, he destroyed the very disease that killed him. We treat people as we would cattle, if we can get them in the pen and stick them with the vaccine then they will be saved and the work is done. People are not animals and they can to choose to reject it even if it enters their veins. Healing is a process and it begins in relationship with a person that is willing to share their blood, the air in the space they live, and even laying down their life for another, John stated that as the greatest love to lay down ones life for his friends, not to lay id down for God, not to lay it down for principles, not lay it down for other “believers” but to lay it down for your friends, clean or unclean. Not until we as a mass are willing to step outside our safety zones and enter the disease zone in the un-quarantined world will a revolution of healing take place.

It all began on a rainy day in Arkansas, as do many grand adventures, with a trip to Wal-Mart. My brother and I needed supplies. Only the essentials, food and fishing gear and we all know, Wal-Mart is a one stop shop, one that not even Target can compete with for these necessities. Once we had spent an overly adequate amount of money we headed home to pack the truck, a Toyota of course, with all of our gear and goodies. The next morning after a glorious breakfast of homemade waffles, likely from scratch knowing my dad, we headed for the hills. We made our way the couple of short hours to my former college town were we met a friend of mine for an exquisite lunch at waffle house, not of waffles, but hash browns and eggs one of their specialties. After and hour of great conversation catching up on life over the last year my brother and I headed back out into the afternoon drizzle to complete our trek to the big piney creek “high” in the Ozark “mountains.” Once we arrive at our destination after having to widen the path for the truck in a couple of places, with our handy ax, we set out to catch dinner. First cast…Fish On! I knew it would be great trip. That evening we continued to catch our needed supply of fish, and then some, and proceeded to set up camp, start a fire and cook our foil wrapped delicacies. The first night was spent relaxing by the fire and then heading for bed just as a soft pitter-patter of ran began to fall on the canvas of our tent, there is no better lullaby.
The next morning sprang upon us with its full glory. The trees on the hills were just beginning to change into their fall majesty and the water was calm and clear. I immediately grabbed my pole and headed to wet the first mornings hook. Checking the poles I had left the night before I found a nice catfish tethered to my pole and smiled at my success in such a short time. I left him there to rest until I needed him for the ride home the next day. A few fish later, just as the sun was beginning to hit the valley floor I headed the hundred yards back to camp to cook up our breakfast of sausage and eggs covered in cheese, the perfect camping breakfast. Then, the second day’s adventures began. We filled the day with fishing, hiking, exploring, reading, relaxing, and my brothers intriguing desire to dig a hole in the sand. I decided to leave him to his pursuit of the perfect hole and headed down stream in search of the lunker fish I knew was hiding somewhere among the rocks and pools of the Big Piney. I caught several fish to add to the stringer and a few that I released back to grow until the next time. That afternoon we went for a refreshing swim in the cool water while the air was still warm enough to heat us again when we finished. That evening, the lunker having stayed hidden, we cooked our dinner of steaks that had marinating for the last two days and enjoyed a quite evening around the fire. The day past perfectly, although quickly, as any adventure does.
Morning the third day met us with an enclosure of fog and clouds that was breathtaking with the curls of whisping vapor curling off the creek in a beautiful display of natural ballet. The day warmed and the sun burned off the clouds for a bright, warm day. That day, the lunker was mine. After a hearty breakfast we once again headed for the creek, poles in hand. Through out the morning the fish bit and ran with a few deciding to visit it’s relatives on the stringer, but the last fish, was the prize. I had fished the hole several times before, not to much avail, but this time I was master of that domain. I knew I had a big one when the first time I hooked him he ran and broke my line. I retied my lure adjusted the settings on my reel and tried again. This time we fought, he ran, I pulled, he dove, I let him and finally he was on shore, in my hand a splendid large mouth bass nearly 3 pounds, I am sure, huge for a mountain creek. It was the perfect end to several days of fishing. After that we packed up, broke camp and headed out for an afternoon of my showing my brother my old stomping grounds in the forest that served as my escape in college. We visited a glorious over look, jumped from boulders, and marveled at the beauty of creation. We then headed home, after a short stop for dinner with some of my old buddies; we drove home, our trophies in the back.
It was a wonderful time, a first trip of the sort for my brother, and my first with him. I don’t think we will ever forget our grand Ozark adventure.

Change

Change a catchword for some and a terror for others, either way, is a constant in my life. I have come to thrive on it. Which is good considering that the longest I have ever lived in one house is four years, and over the last seven years, I have not had my belongings in more than one place longer than eightish months, unless in storage. However, I have realized that as I grow in maturity and the depth of my relationships grow with those I live in community among, change grows increasingly difficult. Growing up as a child my family was my constant, no matter what city we lived in, the environment was the same, I was home schooled so there was not a new school to adjust too, except the one on Sunday. Location changed, but life was similar. I find now I making an increasing distinction between friends and acquaintances. I look for depth and conversation more and more. I find it imperative to keep up relationships even at great distances and increasing time between seeing those friends. Common pasts are as important as common futures. Though some friends may see the world entirely differently than I do our past together have formed bonds that are important for me to keep. Friendships are becoming greatly compartmentalized, as aspects of my life are completely foreign to many of those close to me. Sharing my life in completeness is virtually impossible. Being a person that loves to communicate and finds it a core of my personality, this is a paradox that I long to resolve, but is difficult. I am a person that loves to be understood, to be known, but living in a place that each community I am a part of only understands or could understand certain aspects proves a difficult facet of my changing life. Love God, Love people is my core agenda. Some interpret those far differently than I do, others can grasp only pieces of this and still others miss this completely because loving self is not present in those disciplines. I do find there are people in my life that understand to a great degree the way I think and live, but for others it is nearly unfathomable. There is a constant struggle to put my life in terms that others will understand and can in some way relate to. I frequently feel as though I am a measure of oil floating in a bowl of water. I am in it, but not quite able to mix. Many would just accept this and say it is the way it should be, due to the faith I have. This, I find unacceptable. Just because my life is one of changes and at times extreme living, I should never accept being separate from my fellow human beings. God loves them in an insane manner, so I must strive to as well, being separate from them, not mixing my life with theirs. Christ did that exactly, he became one of us, and he lived with all kinds of people, good and bad. Through that community living they were changed.
Moving through life, a life in constant change, it is a on going process to learn to communicate who I am as I change, and the people I am around change with time and location. There is no formula for that. Just as the way language is communicated, changes with every location, even if it is under the umbrella of a common tongue, so must what I communicate change as I change.