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.

Many of my best memories from the last twenty-five years are of Grandma’s house. Over the years it has been the one home that while it changed, has never moved. My life has been one of constant movement and change, but I have always known that the old farm in Alma called “Five Oaks” would be a place that I go to rest, be fed and loved. There would always be the little things that made it familiar, the old hide-away bed, the ticking of the clock, paintings of sad clowns as well as some she painted and of course, grandpa snoozing in his chair.
Grandma was a classy lady; unlike any other I have known. Many of my loves she nurtured and exuded. She taught me to fish, one of my great loves, some of my earliest memories are of her taking me down to the “Big Pond” to fish, fishing has become a retreat and is one of comforts and pursuits that I have done from Arkansas to Kyrgyzstan, but all started with her. My love for adventure and exploring the outdoors began from a very young age, tromping through the woods, creek, and fields at Grandma’s House, my ear was always tuned to hearing grandpa’s whistle marking the time that grandma’s cooking was nearly done. Meals have always been gourmet at her house. I remember her once getting onto grandpa for not being able to tell the difference between salmon and tuna salad sandwiches, ranting about how she could have married such an unsophisticated man, but I always knew there was deep love in that house, Grandpa still kissed her goodbye when he left the house.
Holidays always felt like walking into a five star hotel, perfect tasteful decorations filled the house and the smell of home cooked delicacies like goose and pheasant drifted through the house. She had a love for the finer things life from art, to travel and most definitely good food. Finer things, that I too now have an appreciation for due greatly to her influence. Also, she drank good coffee before it was cool to do so. She tried her best to make sure her kids and grandkids were well mannered, from how to set a table, to knowing the difference between salmon and tuna salad sandwiches. With her training of me and through my mother, I have been comfortable and complimented on my manners in the fine restaurants and homes of Europe and America.
Hospitality and a graceful demeanor permeated her personality and home. I have always been comfortable bringing friends by, for either a bed to sleep in or a quick lunch. She was also never afraid to pry into them, making sure I was running with a good crowd. Grandma was also tough, being one of the 3 grandsons that always looked for adventure and mischief at grandmas house, I remember once being chased away from the road by grandma with a very scary slipper in hand. She was always sure to let me know what she thought, from her dislike of my long hair and tattoos, to her support of me in the work I now do.
I have so many incredible memories of her; moving a snake off the path on the way to the pond, teaching me to fish, traveling with her and Grandpa, being introduced to her friends at Sunday lunch, chef like cooking (except for toast), and most of all, her hugs every time I walked through the door.
Just as she continually made a small piece of Arkansas more and more beautiful with her class and taste, she will now make Heaven more beautiful with the faith and love perfectly fulfilled as she meets our eternal creator…. and pesters him for the safety of her Grand Kids around the world and at home.

Nearly 25...

In a few days I will reach the birthday that officially marks I am an adult. If I had a car to have insurance on, the rate would go down. I will be able to rent cars and I will be firmly planted in my Mid-20’s.
Last night watching the full moon move across the sky as the city began to sleep, I started to think back and wonder at the events that have the shaped the man that I am and the one I am becoming.

Here are some of the Highlights….
I have traveled in 14 countries, on 5 continents, seen the worlds 3 largest mountain chains and three largest rivers. I have built houses in Mexico, furniture in Chile, wheel chair ramps in Arkansas, and dug the foundations for a meeting place of fellow believers in Nepal. I have used music to speak truth and bring smiles to orphans of HIV/AIDS in South Africa, I have introduced men in prison in New Mexico to my Eternal Creator, had deep conversations with new friends in the “Coffee shops” of the red light district in Amsterdam, and I have worshiped my Creator on the holiest of all Hindu Sights. I have discipled students through intense life transitions, taught kids to hammer their first nail, heard incredible stories from grey haired wise men all over the world, caught fish in countries most of my friends don’t know exist, watched the sunrise over mountains reaching past 27,000ft, I have been affected by the actions of bombers and gunmen, I have held abandoned babies, taught at retreats and summer camps, I’ve been made a Godfather, walked with friends as they entered life as married men, Listened to hundreds of my fathers Sermons, hit a homerun, hunted a trophy buck, lived in a tent for a couple of months, had hair to my shoulders and a Mohawk, learned life and chess lessons from homeless, played rock and roll concerts in foreign countries, led hundreds in time of praise, reenacted battles of the Civil War to remind people of the past so we may never fight that way again, walked the streets of Afg*anistan, I have pursued truth, relationship and adventure anywhere, and everywhere possible. I have a love of finding beauty in the world around. I have a passion for seeing what is true, and a desire to communicate that to whoever will engage in conversation with me. Normal is a word that has vastly different meaning to me now than it did a few years ago. My friends are spread out across the planet. Anywhere I haven’t visited, I want to. Any one that doesn’t know the truth, that can’t see beauty, I want to help them do so.
What’s next…? More of the same. I am just getting started, my dreams are continually growing and my realization of how big God is with them. The intricacies of his character are always being revealed in new ways as I see him in the eyes of the broken and suffering. Life Goals? Seek truth, speak truth, Live Unashamed, confront fear, and walk with my ear tuned to the gentle whisper of my eternal creator, willing to do whatever he asks.
It’s been a good quarter century, here is to the rest of it…

Singin' in the Dust

In the last couple of days I have had a couple of reminders of the things in this culture that make this the beautiful and special place that it is.
Walking on the street yesterday evening, in the throws of a teeth grinding dust shower, I passed a man singing. He was not singing under his breath or loudly, he was just singing, walking down the street, in the dust. He managed to fit a Salaam right in with the rest of as we passed. There was no shame, no embarresment, absolutely nothing odd in the fact that he was walking down the street singing. It is quite common to hear this in this city, but I have not been on the street much lately so this was a reminder. Poetry and song are such a part of these people here. It was a wonderful reminder of the pieces of Gods personality that have been placed in the hearts of these people and their culture.
The second reminder came today. I was visiting a friend, who is a local carpet seller, about selling some of his things in the café. We sat and drank tea and talked for about an hour discussing business and life, as I left I made sure that he had the things he needed to get a free gift as a part of the promotion he have going right now. He said he did, but that he would not bring them, it would shame him. He was afraid I would think he was coming only for the free gift, not because we are friends. With most people here, I would think this only a nice gesture, or flattery, with this friend however, it was that, but genuine. Which is a beautiful thing. As with most aspects of a culture that are annoying or bad, there is a root to them that is wonderful. At this moment, I was seeing the root. Honor in relationships is supposed to important here, often though, it is only used as a front to deceive, the root has been greatly distorted. He wanted me to know that we are friends, because we are friends, not only because it is of mutual benefit, which is normally the case. Looking for mutual benefit, flattery, using relationships in business, are all a part of this culture, and at times a very dangerous part, very much for appearances only, filled with deception and lies, but with this friend, I get a rare glimpse into the heart of this culture, not seeing only the twisted outcome. This is a wonderful and beautiful thing.
As the dust settles I get to see through the haze and past the tarnished front that often hides the heart of God already resting in this place. God is not trying to get into this culture, I am not trying to find a hole to slide him into. He is already at the heart of it, a heart that has been torn, broken, trampled, suppressed, desecrated and rejected, but still beats.

Two Wagging Tales

The evening ended as the day had began, with two very excited dogs, my dog Joan and the Pratt’s dog Valor, each wagging their tails at near the speed of sound. As they disposed of scraps of meat and hid their bones safely around the garden, I cleaned up.
I started the day with a quick trip to the butchers, for ten pounds of choice goat. Dropping it off back at the house, the dogs were my immediate best friends, their noses glued to the side of the plastic bag, dreaming that they could have just a taste of this delicious treat. They would have to wait. I went off to work, leaving them with their dreams of muscle and bone.
I arrived back at the house after a short workday and doing some shopping around town about four hours before the vultures, Guest I mean, arrived. So, I set to work. Trimming and cutting the meat out of its recognizable animal shape, to get it ready for a short marinade then the grill. Joan sat perfectly still for sometimes ten, fifteen minutes at a time waiting for one little scrap, then would swallow it before it ever touched her teeth. I have never seen her so well behaved.
After the meat was prepared I set to work on the other Fixin’s, as we would say down south. The locals have one love when it comes to food, meat and lots of it. There were six of them set to arrive that evening and all of them had forgone lunch, already salivating over dinner, they have had my cooking before. The menu was BBQ and chili a.k.a. meat and meat soup, with a side of tandoori flat bread. Almost everything here is made from scratch so I began the process of cleaning vegetables, chopping garlic, onions and peppers, browning the meat, making Spicy Honey BBQ sauce, pulling out dishes, taking everything that could possibly be needed, outside to the garden. These hungry guys could be dangerous inside. Joan followed me around constantly during this time, hoping for one more scrap. After a short time the chili was on to simmer, the table was set, salt was out, the only really important spice for these guys, and it was time to start the grill. Sixteen pounds of charcoal fits about perfectly in the grill I had made from an old barrel, just big enough to cook half a goat. About this time the first of my friends arrived.
One thing the men here are always ready and willing to give is advice. In this relational, tribal culture it is their duty to give any and all possible advice. I have learned, it is similar to having a radio on in the background while trying to work. So, while I continued to prepare, they were prepared to offer advice.
As more of them began to arrive and the food neared the point of being done the excitement was building for this “American Kabob” and chili. However, there was one hitch, these guys are terrified and disgusted of meat with even a tinge of red, unbeknownst to them BBQ sauce will turn the meat a little red, so almost all of them with out fail, returned their meat to the grill to “finish” cooking. It was painful to watch them crisp perfectly well done meat, but they ate up and raved on the flavor. I pulled my carefully prepared tenderloin from the grill and enjoyed a delicious, honey BBQ, goat tenderloin and decided most anything can be a tasty treat with the right treatment.
When they settled down to eat, I knew it was a success, it was absolute silence… everyone was stuffing their face with bread and meat, forgoing the “comfort” of chairs for the preferred asian squat. Sitting on a bench, my dog at my feet, surrounded by friends, good food and bathed in the flickering light of lanterns, I noticed once again that beauty is a moment, and this was one of those moments. This is why I am here. Sometimes His hands and feet use grills and pots.

Sunset and Rhabob

As the sun set the thumping and tapping of tablahs began to reverberate through the outdoor restaurant accompanying the quick arpeggios of harmonium and Rhabob, filling the gaps left by the passionate singer. With the start of the music came an applause of approval from all present, the music was classical, the heart beat of this land. At one time music in public like this would never have been possible, but here, now it was perfect. All around men were greeting each other with hugs and kisses to the cheek, greetings are given to all that you know, seats are always offered with the invitation of joining the group. The strong sweet smells of fruit flavored tobacco drifts by, mixed with the rich savory smell that you can almost taste of khabobs, lamb, chicken, all passing on skewers of delicious meat. The air is warm, but the resturant is perched on a hillside and the cool mountain breeze passes through leaving a comfortable setting for relaxed evening. I get curious stares from all around, but I am always greeted as a friend. The revelation of my homeland is always a shock, not only am I the only foreigner in the place, but for many the first civilian American they have seen in public. I listen as my friend Tawab explains once again, who I am and what I am doing in this city. Then of course the usual questions of, What do you think of this city, are you married, how many girlfriends do I have, (not if, but how many), How old I am, and then shock at the fact that I am nearly 25 and not married, shock mixed with a bit of jealousy in some. I love nights as these. Here there is only one day for the weekend, Friday. The entire week is spent looking forward to this day of rest. The city is buzzing with activity, there are wedding caravans with horns honking and lights flashing, men on horses racing through the streets, every park is full of families, restaurants are packed with patrons, and it seems that at this moment, the worries of life are not paramount, but can be moved slightly behind the fore ground of thought.

The Adventure

The Beginning-
I believed I was crossing the river Styx, out of hell into the world of holiday and peace. Instead I found myself sitting squarely in the jaws of Hades.
After it taking three days in Ktown to get visas to Tajikistan, visiting the consulate each day and waiting in line for 3 hours at least, the trip continued. The morning drive from the capitol of Astan to the border of Tajikistan was absolutely stunning; sunrise that morning in the Hindu Kush was breath taking. We followed a river continually higher and deeper into the mountains, the road was embraced on either side with dark greens, and then just above the riverbanks, houses were built into the valley sides as if building blocks stacked by a child. Rising high above them were the shear sides of magnificent mountains, still capped with the last remnants of winters snow. Our driver was confident and only slightly risky, which made for a wonderful and comfortable drive. After having left the capitol at 5 am, we arrived at the border at eleven-thirty, excellent time, considering the country we were traveling through. After leaving passport control, on the Astan side, we looked forward to using the new bridge, my country had just given to cross, unfortunately it is only for motorist, we would take the boat. They managed to extort ten dollars a person for a five-minute ride in a rust bucket of a boat, in site of a beautiful bridge. Once we crossed, about noon, things took a downhill turn. On the tajik side we were greeted by a single soldier, guarding a shack, and nothing else, so we waited twenty minutes for the “immigration officer” to come so he could write down our names in his little book. We then waited another thirty minutes for a rickety old bus to come and take us, for another dollar, the half-mile to the actual customs and passport control station. There, we waited in another line for an hour while the TEN people in front of us went. Passport control wrote our names down again in a little book before sending us into the customs room, where we waited another fifteen minutes to be seen, here is were the real trouble started. I had brought a knife along for the camping and fishing I was hoping to do in Kyrgyzstan, the customs officer decided I shouldn’t have it and wanted to take it, then proceeded to unpack my entire bag, including having me take my sleeping bag out of its compression sack. I, in Dari, asked the agent if he did not like Americans, it worked, he then stopped making any trouble about the knife and finished up the search quickly. At this point in the story is where my life became incredibly torturous, and one of the worst possible days for Lee. He had brought an old dueling style pistol from Aland as a gift, he had no problem taking it out of the country, had the receipt and all. However, the authorities on this side of the river decided to take the next ten hours of our time doing paper work and arguing with Lee about trying to bring it into their country and failing to declare such an item (an Aland copy of a pistol, not functioning, bought for fifty bucks). We finally arrived in Dushanbe at eleven thirty at night, lee having had to leave his passport and the pistol at the customs office half way from the border to Dushanbe and the problem continuing the next day. Lee was finally able to work it out, albeit without continuing with the gift for his father. The one “positive” is customs gave us a “free ride” to Dushanbe.
The next day we needed to buy our tickets to Bishkek, this proved to be an arduous task as well. We could only find one ticket to our next destination. We asked at every possible office. Only one ticket. I told Lee to take the ticket, meet his family there, who with Aussie passports had been able to go through the country to the west of Aland and make the entire trip in a day, and I would fly to Istanbul for vacation instead, we then asked the right question, was a “more expensive” one available. This being an Asian and formerly soviet country we had the second ticket in thirty minutes. Then, buying by my return tickets I got my dates mixed up, fortunately I realized it in time, but then needed to change one of them. I once again ran into difficulty, on the dates I needed to fly there were no seats available. I once again asked the right question and for a small fee I was able to buy the needed ticket. After waiting a couple days for our flight we headed to Kyrgyzstan.

The Conference-

The time spent on the shores of lake Isyk-kul where days of teaching, worship, fellowship, and relaxing. I went to the conference knowing very few of the people that worked in Aland, now I count several of them among my friends. I was also able to meet people from all over the world, and of course run into people that I never expected to, it’s a small world and Y makes it smaller. It was a full moon that week and I spent almost every night walking the beach and grounds of the resort, it was time well spent.

The Adventure-

Day 1- The Day began with the end of the conference. After saying goodbyes and trading emails with about a hundred people I set off on my adventure. I had only the name of a friend’s family member, a few phone numbers, the name of a town and beach, a taxi coming to get me, and an itch for a little adventure. I made it to the beach, and waited for about an hour knowing that the family member was at work and could be a little while before arriving, but my friend, Alexei, a guy, decided he could use a visit to his family and met me at the beach and accompanied me for the adventure. Upon arriving at the house we were immediately taken to a different beach near an old soviet shipyard for a quick swim. The lake is the second largest mountain lake in the world and is large and deep enough that at one time the soviets used it submarine for training, as well as other large ships, some of which were built at these ship yards, now they are only used for occasional repairs to barges on the lake. We then went back to the house for dinner, a bit latter we picked up some smoked fish for an evening snack, during this time it was decided that we should go to small pond to hunt for crawfish, being a good ole southern boy I was champion of the evening, they were in hip boots and I in my Teva sandals wadding around the pond, my years of playing in creeks played off, I caught the majority of them myself and immediately gained credibility with the guys. We arrived back at the house about 2:30 am, and were up again the next morning at eight for the next adventure.

Day 2- This day was full of traveling around the east and south side of the lake. It began with a drive far up in the mountains for a few good photo opportunities. Along the way I saw double humped camels for the first time. My guide for the week was an older Russian man who works as a mechanic, in his fifties, named Demetrie. He is full of knowledge and history about the places we passed. We stopped at one place that looked like nothing more than a few mud mounds, they were however the only remains of an old smelting site along the silk road were travelers would stop for important metal tools or to trade ore. He continually pointed out what once was and what is now. I was amazed through out my time in Tajikistan and Kyrgzstan the fondness in which soviet times were referred too. People were happy during that time, provided for, the infrastructure of the country was good and many other positives, there was less freedom of press, but there was little press, there was little choice of vocation, but even today people simply follow in their families footsteps or have the job with the greatest pay, it is not a matter of choosing a job because you love it. I at times felt myself embarrassed at the propaganda about the Soviet Union that I have simply believed the soviets did do terrible things in other countries, but those are not the only things. The nomads here are still nomads, mostly untouched in their way of life for the last thousand years. Demetrie is Proud to be a Russian as well as Kyrgyz and I heard all the stories. One story he shared was the legend as well as the history of the formation of the lake. The local myth is a story of three brothers fighting for the love a woman. There are three winds that blow across the lake, from the north, south and east. Each one is said to be a brother, one stronger than the other two. They fought until they had killed each other and then became the spirits of the wind. The one from the south will at times carry radiated wind into the town from mountains full of uranium and cause slight cases of radiation sickness. The woman in her despair wept enough to fill a lake with tears, and then cast herself down from a mountaintop creating the great chasm that is now the lake. The water is slightly salty, said to be her tears. The history is that at one time many people lived in the area that is now the lake, a great earthquake caused a valley to form. At first the people built dams to hold back the water, but a second earthquake years later created the great depths that is now lake Isyk-kul. Even to this day, with diving equipment, you can enter the water to see the ancient homes, still complete with dishes and the belongings of people that were trapped in their homes. The lake who’s name means “hot lake,” was filled with water from the river that once ran through the plains that were there and the many hot springs that surround it. Due to the size and depth of the lake it creates a very moderate climate, cool summers, it was in the sixties and seventies most of the time I was there, and cold a night, as well as warmer winters, the town I was in rarely gets snow, even while the mountains may have several feet of it.
The last half of the day was spent at a “dead” lake. The water was so thick with salt and minerals that swimming was not necessary, I could sit in the water with my hands and feet out of the water; it was truly a unique experience. Once we arrived at home they heated the sauna for us and we were able to bathe in it as well. It was the perfect end to a long day.

Day 3- “Fish Soup”
This day I began fishing in grand style. We enlisted a young family friend to help us out with knowing where to go; he was however not considered entirely trust worthy so Demetrie came along with Alexei and me. As it turned out he is not so much untrustworthy, but very scatter brained, and although he works as a guide in the summer season, starting in a couple weeks, we took the wrong road about three times before arriving at the river. We began fishing by taking off down a ravine that normal people with out fishing gear would probably take rappelling equipment for, but not us. It was about a 250-meter drop down to the river. From the bottom we worked our way up river fishing in the small holes for whatever we could catch. I was told that we would be making fish soup out of whatever we caught so size didn’t matter. I was fishing very traditionally with a hook, line, sinker and a worm. At times I was pulling fish out at the rate of two or three a minute. Many of them very small, but hey, fish soup. Hiking up river was an adventure in itself, it was definitely a steep creek, and at times it was waterfall after waterfall, with pools of fish at the bottom of each. The sides were covered in thick brush and lined by sheer cliffs, the sun only hit the bottom of the valley for about two hours it was so steep, deep and narrow. Here the water and air was clean enough that we drank straight from the river. The fish had great eyes and would always see us coming if we weren’t careful; it was like fish stalking rather than just fishing. At the end of the day after about 5 Kilometers of climbing/fishing/hiking, we arrived at the end of the valley to a waiting picnic and hot tea, just as it was starting to rain a cold drizzle. After the picnic I cleaned my fifty fish and enjoyed the warm car ride back. That night I received a lesson in Russian history from Demetrie and was asked why Americans don’t learn Russian history, but there they learn American history. Luckily, I love history and remembered enough Russian history from studying European history to ease his mind.

Day 4- Walking out to the van this morning I noticed fresh snow on the mountains, a surprising site for mid-June, but perfect, in Aland it has been over a hundred consistently for the last month already, and I have a hot summer to look forward to. Having to pack and dress warm was wonderful. We took off to the far side of the lake a couple of hours away to one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, and on the border with China. We started this days adventures with a quick hike up to a group of three waterfalls. Each one was between forty and sixty feet high. The hike was almost straight up at times and after having hiked so much steep terrain the day before it was a welcome challenge to stretch out my sore legs. We hiked up and down in about two hours, at times hiking shirtless due to the heat and other times in a fleece jacket, freezing in the rain and sleet, I love mountain weather. After the hike we hopped in the van and drove to the Chinese border, so I could see it, then found a nice place for a picnic. After lunch they dropped me off next to one of the most picturesque rivers I have ever seen. I only caught a couple fish hiking the couple miles down to where they were waiting for me, however it was one of my favorite days of the trip. That evening we decided to head to the very end of the lake and then further into the mountains to where Demetrie’s cousin works as a forest ranger/game warden for the government in the national forest. We stayed in a very basic cabin (no running water, but a satellite dish) and were once again treated to an evening in the sauna. After the sauna I walked out side to a sky filled stars that I had not seen in many years. They air was so clear and the light so dim that the gases of the milky way seemed to be clouds of deep purple and pink floating between the stars. I felt that if I were to climb a tree my head would be in the stars. Jupiter was slowly making its way across the southern sky and turning away for just a few moments you could notice his grandiose movements. It was difficult to pick out constellations the stars were so thick. Every few minutes I could watch the bright streak of a falling star across the sky. It was as if the eternal creator had set a cosmic orchestra of silent beauty for the pleasure of who ever chose to raise their eyes to see it. At times such as these I understand why they are called the heavens.

Day 5- After about four and a half hours of sleep I set off before sunrise for my last day of fishing. The sun came up with a brilliance I have long missed. The valley I was in was a lush green with shades I had forgotten could exist. There was no brown anywhere in site. I walked along the creek through thickets of wild blueberries, spruce, fir, and aspen trees rising to filter the sunlight into beams of sparkling diamonds reflecting off the rushing water. I only spent a couple hours fishing due to the fact that the fishing wasn’t overly productive and I was incredibly sore and worn out from the previous few days of hiking and fishing. After a quick breakfast we hit the road for about six hours to finish the circuit around the lake stopping at museums and sites along the way. Including a museum, monument and grave of Russian Explorer Nikolai Przewalski, toted there as the worlds greatest scientist and explorer. In four expeditions through Asia he traveled almost 50,000 Km by horse, recording all that he saw. Discovering, for the west, animals such as the double humped camel and a small horse that now bears his name, for the first time, in total nearly a thousand new plant and animal species were included in his journals. Those were the days when traveling was a true adventure.
After 5 days, I had fished, hiked, climbed and relaxed all in an extreme style. It was a great adventure making friends and seeing some of the most striking places this small country has to offer. Demetrie has opened his life and home to me the next time I choose to come visit. I do hope to visit this most incredible country again.

The ending- I am now headed back home, another five days with a couple flights and days between them. I feel refreshed, but tired. When I get home I will have been gone for a month. I am ready to be back in the city that has become my home, to play with my Dog, and to enjoy the café. Adventure is the spice of my life and the last weeks have been curry to my soul.

Tonight, I felt small

Tonight I felt small, looking into the vast expanse of space. I, for the first time, realized just how far away the heavens truly are, I can see only the stars of our own galaxy and the pinpricks of those too far away for my mind to comprehend. The stars look as if portals into the floor of heaven itself, with myself separated by the clear, thin shelter of this planets atmosphere and then nothing, but nothingness. I sensed the huge awesome space of this existence I live in and the minuteness of my body in relation. It is so grand, I am as a grain of sand at the bottom of the sea looking up into the glittering sunshine of the surface, fathoms of distance away. The calmness of this night is pervading in its beauty. I cannot escape it, but with sleep and the arrival of day, the reflection of the sun in the sky shutting out the expanse for a day. At the exact moment I felt most alone, instantly I sensed my eternal creator standing at my shoulder, as I sat, his hand wresting on me, so tangible I was afraid to turn my head that I might catch a glimpse of his figure. This was created for me, to see my size, to understand my finite nature, to know that even in such majestic emptiness the creator of it all can stand at my side and whisper in my ear that I am his, that he is who he is. There is great holiness in such unreligious encounters as this. Although the heavens are untouchable, the one who lives in them is standing, gazing with me, enjoying, loving what is intrinsically real. Moments as these no faith is needed to believe, for time and space have been bent into the hands of their creator to reveal not only what is seen, but what exist.

Normal

Sitting eating dinner with a local friend of mine tonight, I realized normal is a word that has greatly changed in meaning for me over the last couple of years, in great and small ways. The restaurant I was eating in sits next door to the home of a former warlord who is now a minister in the national government, during dinner he left in convoy with a large armed escort of possibly twenty men, in my life today, completely normal. Seeing men with automatic weapons on a daily basis is completely normal. Not being able to remember the name of the food I am eating, normal. Mixing two or three languages into a single sentence, normal. What is usual, typical or expected in my life has completely changed. I struggle at times wondering how far to let my mind except these changes. I want my eyes to always see the extraordinary, but my mind copes with the pain entangled with truly seeing. I want always to have the ability to remain comfortable, even outside my comfort zone, but how do I remain comfortable in a world that is slowly tearing itself to pieces. I find myself wrestling with the world in which I live. I need, normality and comfort, but it cannot be at the expense of desensitizing myself to the world. True hope can only exist if I see the world as it is, along side what it could be. However, seeing the world as it is means accepting that the pain and suffering in it is an intimate emotion.
Normal for the majority of my life meant certain food, familiar scenery, access to advanced technology in almost every realm of life, sanitation as a standard, traveling without jet lag, long time friendships in close contact, comfort and safety. Now, nearing the ripe old age of a quarter century none of these are normal in my life. I ask myself the question how many of my mindsets should change? What constitutes compromise and what contentment? Wisdom is having experience, knowledge and good judgment, the quality of being wise. I desire for my entire to life to lead to wisdom, applying the experience and knowledge I have gained in a healthy way, but experience and knowledge can also lead cynicism if unbalanced. I want to be worldly wise with heavenly compassion. I want the usual, typical and expected to be the unnatural, to live supernaturally. Life is a contradiction, one whose facets I must strive to see resolved.
Just over a year ago I struggled with were to find hope, now I struggle with how to see it realized. I find that it is with this friction that the cutting pain of this world can be mellowed and the dullness of the tools we use to see it can be honed. Just as a rubber band is useless when slack, one tensioned holds the power to move great distances, or hold together great numbers, but if pulled to far will break, repairable, although scarred. It is the tension of the moon and earth that creates the beauty of crashing waves, the tension of light through prisms that creates rainbows, the tension of emotion that creates excitement. Living in the tension of normal and extreme I can feel the slightest movements in the things tensioned with me, but the balance of keeping them from breaking, is one of intricate trust in a hope that must be true.

Music

Afghan Proverb- In music, language has no concept.
Music is a universal language; it gives sound to and evokes our inmost emotions. Music is the art and beauty of sound.
Some people are passionate about music, others are passionate musicians, some enjoy a pleasant sound in the background and a few listen to it, but for no real reason. In a world where mp3’s are the standard, and vinyl is trendy. Music is not only an art or science, but a commodity, an object. It is something to be traded, imported, exported, bought, sold, pirated and produced. This however, strikes me as slightly curious. You cannot hold it, touch it, see it, it only exist in the vibrations of the tiniest particles around us. You can feel it, it can move you, at certain frequencies it can even destroy, but what is it about this simple sound that has made it so valuable? Music is the sound of hearts expressed in as many styles and traditions as there are types of people. Entire groups of people will listen to only one type of music because this is who they are… other people will listen to anything so long as someone else has said it is good music. Still others must only listen to a certain genre because it is the cultured, proper thing to do. I say, Music is music. It is a combination of art, science and soul. Some kinds of music favor one of these three, but music must always have each of these, without it ceases to be music. Music is the beauty of sound and just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, music is in the ear of the listener. Music speaks to the heart, and who is to say what one heart needs to hear or express, is better than another? Saying that one type of sound is or is not music, is “musicism”, just like racism, sexism and any other “ism” you would like to add. Even in the simplest things of life, like music, prejudice seeps in.
I have played music with bums on the streets of Denver, drummers in Africa, rockers in Europe, worshippers in American mega-churches, singers in Asia, and guitarist of Latin America. I can confidently say, Music has no common tongue, it is the language of the heart. This is why it is used in so many different forms of worship in almost every religion. Music is the heavenly tongue. Every single object in the entire universe is moving, when something moves it produces vibration, the basic element of music. The entire universe is making music. This is why music is so powerful, it is one of the basic elements of existence. Only with an entire lack of movement by every atom would there cease to be music. Eternal stillness, some would say hell. Perhaps if every person moved through life looking for the music in it, there would be less prejudice and more music appreciation. Imagine eternity not as an eternal reward, or utopia, or the next life, but stepping into an orchestra formed by the very existence of life. Every perfect sound exist in this place. If you have ever been to a symphony, and arrived early, you may have heard the orchestra tuning. It is a constant fluid sound. This I think will be similar to the experience of eternity, every eternal being tuned to an eternal creator. Existing in a perfect moment, for an eternal time.

The question of Trust...

In a recent conversation with a friend I was told that God had planted himself in me in a wonderful way. I know that he has and that I have come to place of trust with him that allows me to live the life I do, passionately and unreserved. However, in realizing this I also wonder what has led me to this place. What are the factors that have conspired to give me this trust?
The older I get the more I see the role my parents have played in laying the foundation for this trust. My parents have a trust in God that is incredible, to the point of cliché at times. I have watched them lose a child and raise four others. Move a family every few years, but keep a sense of home. Be incredibly hurt by those they have tried to serve. Push for what is best in the lives of those around them. Love my friends and me, even though they may not completely agree with certain life, style, or cultural decisions. Strive to be the best people and servants they possibly could. More and more I see the core if them being able to accomplish this is deep, real, honest relationship with an eternal creator, trusting that they were hearing God. This has set me on the same path, one that I have struggled with and often against, but have decided to make my own.
I cannot point to a single point where I decided to trust God. Looking back over my life I see instances in which he has been present, also, times when I thought him very distant. I have struggled with the reality of this planet and with what I hope is true. I have often had to say, “I don’t get it,” “I don’t understand,” “I thought…” and then follow it with, “but I will trust.” I have a relationship with an eternal being, I don’t know how it all works, I don’t know what eternity looks like, I don’t understand how this being can let so may bad things happen, but I know he is real and I know him. I can dialogue with him, struggle with life with him, be honest and real, no matter what. When bad things happen it makes me angry, when good things happen I am thankful, but sometimes wonder why good things happen to me while others are starving. I don’t think there is a good answer. If you try to give me one, I will think explicit thoughts. The world is messed up, if there is hope it rests in an Eternal being, not the good intentions of finite minds.
Without solid answers and understanding how can I possibly trust? I don’t know exactly. I think a possibility is I equate beauty with the existence of God. I can see beauty; this is how I see God. I don’t need a scientific explanation to trust that beauty exist, I can see it. Who cares that it is only light, reflecting and refracting through water vapor and the gases of earth’s atmosphere to create an incredible sunset, its beautiful. Music is a combination of certain vibrations moving from one tiny particle to the next through the air into my ear, contacting bones and nerves that convert them into signals that my brain recognizes, so what, its beautiful. I don’t need to understand how these things work for them to beautiful, they just are. I believe that God placed this desire for beauty in us so that when we doubt we can see where he is. Some people are more sensitive to seeing it. They are the same people that notice when it is absent. Just as beauty allows me to see God, pain and suffering gives rise to questions. Questions are what I base trust on. Not necessarily the answers I get, but the reality in the dialogue. I can trust an answer I don’t like, if I trust the person it comes from. If I am allowed to question, then perhaps truth isn’t hiding; I just haven’t seen it yet.
In the times I have felt God absent, that I felt I was in a desert far away from the soothing water of his presence, I have struggled. At times I have entered those times not knowing I would be with out the feeling of his presence. It is in those times I feel the seeds were sown for the trust planted in me now. Every time I have struggled with life I have then seen in the years after how it prepared me for the future. The terrible things that have happened in my life and those around me, God did not cause. However, when I ran to him with questions he held me and used those times and struggles to show me more of who he is. I have felt him weep with me, laugh with me, and walk with me. These are the instances that I believe have led to my deep trust, the realization that God has emotion, that pain and joy affect him. He himself said He weeps with those that weep and rejoices with those that rejoice. From incredible loss I have seen community, from deep pain I have seen hope, in great poverty I have seen generosity. These are the seeds planted in me. These are actions not possible with out the influence of an eternal creator. At times I forget to water these seeds and they whither a bit, but the seeds planted are those of cactus like resolve, plants that can survive, if needed, for years with out rain, living only on the sparse moister in the ground and around surrounding them.
This is me, to those of you reading… My life is one of extremes, not everyone is made to live in a desert. Some are created to survive only in the rainforest fed and watered daily, others in the marsh and delta, plants that must have their roots immersed in water at all times to survive. Many start needing the delta, but move to the desert, as I feel I have. We must understand, and continue to strive to understand where God is trying to plant us. I do not wish to live always in the desert, it is hot and dry, I wish the entire world and every person in it could live with roots planted deep in the seas of God’s Love. That is why I live the life I do, to be a bucket that God can use to pull water from his deep wells placed in every corner of his creation. One of my favorite proverbs is, A mans heart holds deep waters, but a man of understanding draws them out. This is my life goal, to draw others out. To trust, so that others may trust the words I speak and write.

Why I Do...What I Do

There are two ways of pursuing life; one is to hold up ideals. The other is to practice disciplines. Ideals are objects of thought that seem amazing, but are never really believed to be possible. However, a discipline is an avenue of thought, a trained knowledge. I choose to live in discipline. Many of the disciplines I hold dear are seen by many as ideals. Hope, peace, beauty, faith and love are just a few examples. I have discovered that these are not ideals, but truths that must be fought and trained for. Having hope is a difficult thought to hold on to, peace is not a lack of fighting, but a pervading calm. Beauty is everywhere, but we must train our eyes and hearts to see it. Faith is trusting that something is real, even if it seems impossible, trust is worked for, not only given. Love is far more than an emotion felt by high school sweethearts, but a conscious decision to do what is best for those dear to us.
I cannot say I hold these words dear if I do nothing to see them realized. This is why I live the life I do. Christ said that the one true religion was taking care of widows and orphans. This is a beautiful ideal, but he meant it as a discipline. Jesus set an example for life, living in community with those he loved. Community is an ideal held dear to those that call themselves Christians, but it must be a discipline. Community does not appear out of two hours of meetings, twice a week, but instead in disciplining ourselves to invest in the lives of those around us and then being vulnerable enough to let them invest in us.
I am created with the mindset to survive and thrive in the most extreme of environments. I seek out extremes, in faith and life. I must test what of my faith is discipline and what is ideal. There are many things taught to me as a child that I am only now discovering are more than ideals. For instance, perfect love casts out fear. This is a discipline I must practice, a way of knowledge that must be cultivated. Also, it works in two ways. If I accept the love God has for me, then there is nothing I should be afraid of, and, this is the most beautiful thing, if I love someone perfectly, how could I possibly be afraid them. Think of the implications of this if everyone practiced it. No one would be afraid to talk to homeless, addicted, imprisoned, abused, dying, or hateful people. If I truly love people, then how could I possibly be afraid of an act of terror? By removing fear from life it allows a mind to develop wisdom, to see clearly, not clouded by fear.
Christ said the entire old law could be stated as two things Love God, Love people. These are not ideals. They are commands, which we must be disciplined in to follow. I am not called to convert people to a western religion, but to portray a life of lived disciplines in such a way that people are drawn to the perfect love that lives within me. This place is not the west and has plenty of religion. What it needs is not a replacement faith, but love, unconditional, untheological, reckless, ridiculous Love. Meeting and getting to know Christ is not a logical process down a roman road, culminating in four laws, followed by years of sermons and translated hymns. God does not promise safety and prosperity, but eternal life and peace that passes understanding. He wants the best for us, in this world and the next. So we must work with the power he offers and the love he gives to bring safety and prosperity, but we cannot preach these as results of faith. Instead, we must teach the cultivation of certain fruits, love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control. When these are cultivated, there will be safety and prosperity. None of this can be separated into systems, that is logic bred from Greek thinking, and Jesus was not a Greek, but a Jew, an Asian, an eastern thinker. In the east life is viewed as holistic, body and spirit integrated. Jesus was that exactly, God and Human integrated, you cannot separate his humanity from his spirituality, and we are called to be Christ-like, the very meaning of Christian. Just as actions are both physical and spiritual. Giving is not only a physical transaction, but showing someone they have value, a very spiritual need.
Here is the longing of my heart, to meet physical as well as spiritual needs. I hope to introduce those I love to my eternal Creator, but the agenda is Love, nothing more, nothing less.

Seriously?

I take humor and delight in being serious. I do all this writing, questioning and challenging foundational teachings. I look for holes in the systematic and historical teachings that have been fed to me for so many years, but… I do it with a twinkle in my eye and a dubious grin on my face. I love seeing the humor in what we often take seriously. For instance, how can it possibly be of eternal importance how much water is used in a ceremony to show our dedication to God. If it is, perhaps we should then use only fresh water, salt is impure and could affect our eternal destination. So when I question, it is to uncover the ridiculous thinking that has permeated much of our thought as well as to honestly seek truth. Often I will hear someone say a cliché statement, something that has been spoon fed to them, or a perspective being viewed through a fish-eye lens of culture, and my mind will crack a smile thinking, this is going to be fun. For me conversation over conflicting points is one of the greatest pastimes. It stretches the mind, lets you see into the heart of another person, and look for truth together. Convincing is never the goal, but understanding perspective. If someone has an opposing perspective and it is a solid, well thought out, perspective, then there is no need to change it. Perspective is simply an angle from which we look. However, if there is no thought behind it, if it doesn’t capture an accurate image, then let the fun begin. For those of you that know me, you know, that I like to push buttons, I like to find out what makes people tick, how their brain is working. One of the greatest tools to do this is to confront a concept or belief they hold dear. The way a person responds to this will give you a look into their heart. It will show insecurities, passions, and Love or it’s lack. It allows me to see the best way to communicate. If you know where a person’s heart is, you know how to speak to it. More to come on this topic later, but for now I got to jet…

A Little Lady

I have had several people over the last couple of months ask if there is a girl in my life. So, I thought I would finally give an honest answer. The answer is yes, there is a girl in my life, we are actually living together, it’s a big step I know, but I think we are both ready for it. She is a few years younger than me, but very mature for her age. She is from a village just outside of town, but understands English. Occasionally there will be small misunderstandings due to her still learning the language, but mostly not. Also, me being an American, and her a local, she is very defensive of me, something greatly needed here. She is very strong willed and will not tolerate ill treatment when boys sometimes tease her about being with me. It is wonderful, she actually works at home, mostly, so it is great to come home at the end of the workday and have her at the door to meet me. Also, she is quite athletic and enjoys running everyday some how finding space to do it in the small garden that we have. She has precious, deep brown eyes and a dark complexion with a few lighter highlights. We are able to spend a good bit of time together, taking walks through the city at sunset, the occasional motorcycle ride, although she is not as big a fan of that as I. She loves to listen to me play guitar, and will sit for hours and listen to me play. We are still working out the responsibilities of cleaning up around the house, but slowly we are coming to an agreement, she is wonderful to let me cook anytime I want, it being something I enjoy greatly. I don’t know how she does it, she is able to eat and eat, licking a plate clean, and still stay fit. I am blessed that she likes my cooking. We share a couple of common taste that we can enjoy together, she likes pancakes, the occasional coffee, watermelon, and absolutely loves a good steak, my kind of girl. It is quite soothing to have someone around, to cuddle up next to me for a movie, or make sure I am up in time for work, as well as just bringing joy with her youthful frolicking. I have been blessed with her companionship, and I have been able to give her a life far removed from the fighting and ill treatment she would have received in the villages.
Well…. A satirical look into my life and that of the little lady in it.

Placebo

The mind can be a dainty device throwing the body into a state of hypochondriac fear. I often feel that people throw the phrase of “it will all work out for good” or “it’s God’s will” as a placebo to fix the sickness felt when confronted with the reality of how the messed up the events of this planet truly are. God can use all things for good and God does have a plan for each of us, but sometimes, often, God must allow the enemy to do his work of execrable worth. These cliché phrases are used to account for anything bad that happens. God is not in control. He has placed it in our hands. This is the terrifying reality that accompanies free will. If God is in control, why are people raped, murdered, starved, taken advantage of, and hopeless. No, God is watching these things happen. It breaks his heart to see what we have done with the power invested in us, the power to affect and infect those around us. It is also the beautiful dichotomy of our existence. We can allow God to be in control, but we must allow it. When he placed the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the garden with two children, he knew there was a risk. One worth taking, there is nothing more terrible than stealing whether it be the smallest possession or life. There is also nothing more beauty than giving, and the greatest is control. For God to be in control, we must place the authority of free will squarely in his hands. It is then that he can use all things for good and his will be done. However, if a person has kept his or her self outside that control, then there is no atrocity impossible to be committed. People like to use these ridiculous placebos of thought to cover fear. Fear that everything might not be ok. If God has complete control of everything that happens then there is no need for us to have a relationship with him. There was no need for Christ to die.
I have read the end of the book, we win, but we are in the middle of battle, everyday, that we could lose. We must not live in the end when the present is pressing. Because the end is written we have a great responsibility to work towards it, not wait, with stupid grins on our face for it to happen. I see so many people just sitting around wishing that Jesus would come back. That’s the candy-assed easy way out. We have to fight, we have to love, we have to work for it to happen. This is such a contrariety. I struggle to place into words how my mind stretches at these thoughts. Nowhere in the New Testament are the people of God referred to as an army, but we must fight. People think that the most loving thing to do is to tell the salvation story at any pause in conversation, and yet the Bible says no many has greater love than to lay down his life for his friends, work is not certain actions we accomplish, but in living life the we were created to, walking next to God. We have created all these placebos to fix the sickness we feel in not being near to God. We have to serve, we have to share, we have to… all we have to do is Love God, and Love People. If anything else in our line of sight then we are distracted. So many byproducts of these loves have placed instead as actions to accomplish to prove that we are actually Loving. Jesus’ first miracle wasn’t forgiving sins; it was bringing life…to a party.

How I am...

I do love this city. The days are hot, but as the sun fades from the sky and the heat recedes, people emerge from the shelter of their mud homes to enjoy the coolness of night. Sitting on a hillside I enjoy the ant like movement, to and fro, under the brilliant color of a desert canvas sky. Cruising with a friend with the wind sticking my hair up straight towards the sky I cannot help but smile at the perfection of this evening. It is moments such as this, that there is no doubt in my mind that at this time, in this place, with these people, my life is perfectly centered on the path my eternal creator has set before me. The steps I have taken to reach contentment have been grueling at times, but I can feel my spirit, mind and body toning for the future. I have an excitement for life that is rare to me. I can see, taste, smell, touch and hear the beauty of our broken world. I can sense the perfection that is under the corrosive rust of deception, an acid cloud settled into the hearts of men. Hope is a sweet taste that lingers on my tongue. It is balanced by the bitter, wholesome, coffee like taste of reality. To see the potential in the midst of chaos is a stunning site. There is a magnificent sculpture waiting to be carved out of the dead wood drifting through time and space called earth. It holds an allure of grandiose that only the creator can fully see, the place lost to all minds but those of Adam and Eve who once saw it, but left in shame. I can see the brilliant light filtered through cracks in the darkness, created by those that choose to love one another, to care for widows and orphans, to enter the gates of hell and pull out the dying.
Questions are like caffeine to my soul, opening my eyes, removing the dreary sleep imposed by the great deceiver, they allow me to see past the horrid pain that exists all around. I have a creator who will answer them, when my hope is slipping, my faith failing, and my strength wavering, I cry out, and from the vast expanse of the heavenly realm comes a voice of peace, soothing, reverberating through the problems of the day, rattling loose the grime that has lodged in my mind. Clearing my eyes to soak in the warm existence of something that is good, of the being from which our definition of it rises.
Last night my home was full of men, men that know this light only slightly, if at all. Looking around me love rose in me like rarely before. I want the scene of that dinner to be repeated in eternity. These are my brothers. These men are why I am living the life I am. My home is a refuge to me, one that I can bring others into. There is no greater comfort to me than community, lived in the light of Love and the one from whom it comes.
The café is beautiful. It has the blood, sweat and tears of months of expression and work built into its very walls. It is like no other place in the entire country. It speaks of art, community, and good food. People are beginning to find its tables and cushions a place of rest. Soon we will be in the stage of tuning rather than building and then… We will see if our hopes come true.

These streets

In an instant my joy ride could turn into a heap of mangled flesh and steel. There are no rules on these streets, other than those of physics, and my little 150cc kick-start street bike with an absolute top speed of 50mph likes to push even those. At such speeds there is little room for error on these narrow streets, I have but one rule, “Never to fast to stop.” There is a fluid disorder in driving here, as the wind, dust, smells, and people fly by my stress melts into a blissful focus. It is here on these streets that I can feel the freedom I need to survive. These streets are unpredictable, at any time a rickshaw may choose to zig when it should zag. I am convinced it is genetically impossible for people here to have a sense of balance and drive a bicycle in a straight line. It is also on these streets that guns, nooses, and bombs have taken their victims, but now they are safe… mostly. I love these streets. They are full of life. There is always a plethora of activity to catch your eye, or at top speed, avoid. Bicycles, horse and donkey carts, motor rickshaws, big trucks, small trucks, military trucks, buses, and oh the motorcycles. When locals tell me weekly I drive too fast, but I have yet to have even a fender bender, I know I am doing something right. The bane of driving here are the speed bumps. I had my first real NDE, with one. I was driving, at normal speed, when one snuck up on me, they are camouflaged you know, and popped my front tire, I didn’t realize it at first, but then, the flat tire started trying to buck me off the back of the bike, great times for sure.
There are certain moments in life where it seems everything is perfect as it should be, the temperature is perfect, the light and colors surrounding you are just the right set of tones and hues, shadows are long but not dark. There is a sense of urgency, but all the time in the world to accomplish what ever needs to be done. When being relaxed in the midst of chaos is common. When life is fluid. I find those times most often on these streets. The back of a motorcycle is my comfort zone, a place I know. The vibrations of the engine, the smell of exhaust, the sense of balance on two wheels, I can direct my machine with the slightest shift of weight. I am vulnerable; there is nothing between me and asphalt, other than a little space, and my skills. I can fly through the chaos. Perfect moments on these streets…

Who is Jesus... Really?

I am not ashamed, I have no guilt, I allow no fear. I am “in” Christ I am a new creation. I am not timid. I keep no record of wrongs. I have been restored to righteousness. My sins are forgiven. This is who I am.
Sitting in a meeting recently words like theology, sinners, solemn, saved and authority were repeatedly used or I thought them. I was having a difficulty being silent in the midst of a group of people I felt sure would take me for a young man with much yet to learn. They want to see people turn to truth and have knowledge of whom Christ is and yet I at times wonder if we are speaking of the same person. There is far more to my faith than the “knowledge” that he is the Son of God. Even Satan knows that, and his demons tremble at the mention of His name.
The Jesus I know would have walked with his arms around his disciples, likely, being in a Middle Eastern culture, would have held their hands. He would have told jokes, played pranks, laughed. He was fierce with those who claimed faith, but were only religious. He was, and is, enraged by injustice, and broken hearted over the poor and destitute. He spoke into the hearts of those whose eyes he met. He died, not simply to fulfill a legal obligation, but to restore a relationship. He endured the cross for the Joy set before him. Why is it that so often we remember Him with solemn ceremonies and with paintings of stern faces? Children were drawn to him. He cried when friends died.
People love Jesus and are drawn to him, why are they not more often drawn to Christians?
In the meeting I was at the question was posed, “How can we bring our loved ones to Christ?” Everything inside of me wanted to say, “WE CAN’T!” Inside of every person is a small connection to Him, for some it is a small smoldering ember that they are trying desperately to extinguish to remove the uncomfortable anguish it causes. Our job is to be a breath that ignites it into a flame that gives comforting warmth and removes the cold emptiness that was once there. We cannot “lead” people to Christ. He is already there, waiting to be seen, to be felt, to be heard. You may ask, ”Where is this in Scripture?” There are two parables in particular that Jesus spoke about this exactly. The first was the parable of the good shepherd. The Good Shepherd leaves the ninety-nine sheep that are with him and goes looking for the one that has wandered away. The second is the parable of the Prodigal Son. The son of a rich man takes his inheritance before the father has died so as to live his own life, away from the family. After a time he has spent all of his fortune and is living with pigs, eating what he can of their food. He then returns and the father welcomes him back, having seen him from far away, running out to meet him. In the first example it shows that God is seeking out those that do not know better then to be lost, those that cannot find their way to the flock. In the second he is waiting, on the road we used to travel away from him, for our return. Jesus also said, “Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened to you.” Jesus is not waiting in some compound in an obscure location, but instead there are millions sitting in small rooms with their eyes closed, accepting their surroundings as life. If they seek out the door, they will find it; if they knock it will be opened. Jesus is always sitting there, waiting, calling out the direction and encouragement to come to his voice.
Our job is to be Christ; we are his body here on earth, to enter the rooms and lead people to the doors. We have the same authority he had; we have the gift of the Holy Spirit. We can say, “Your sins are forgiven.” The moment he died every sin that has ever and will ever be committed was forgiven. It is up to us to portray that, to show what is available, if only it is accepted.
A teacher of mine engraved in my mind, “It is all about relationship.” The sins of this planet, from the smallest “white lie” to the holocaust have all been forgiven. With out relationship however, that forgiveness is useless, an unknown glory.
Jesus came to fulfill the old law, and restore a relationship. He tried to remove the idea of religion in relation to God. Why for the last two thousand years have we tried to understand law, restore an orderly, historically accurate religion and turn a relationship into a system? Relationships are messy, even with God. They are full of struggles, communication, and pain. They require time and vulnerability. In time they become the essence of life. Who we are depends solely on how we carry out our relationships. You cannot simplify relationship; it is the sharing of life with another and everything that entails. Love is seeing someone, as they are, not as whom they might be, while trying to pull out the best in them. Not trying to love the person they could be. That is not love, that is a project, a selfish desire to accomplish something in the name of God.
It makes me so angry…why can people not just love God and love people? Why must we add methods, theology, and traditional preferences to relationship? Why must we put God in a box? Why can we not embrace mystery? Why must we try and explain an infinite being with finite words and minds? Why are we not able to admit that we don’t understand completely who God is? Why can we not embrace a relationship that will take the rest of eternity to complete instead of one that is limited to 66 books? God is God, he is good, he loves me, and he loves those that curse him, even Satan. I do not understand how he does what does or many times why, but I will trust…

Chapter- Conversations, (excerpt from my work in progress)

I am a person that loves conversation. My closest friend, Austin, and I have shared many. We met in 2002 at Arkansas Tech University. Through mutual friends, my admiration of his truck and our common love of the outdoors we began a conversation. Through out the years we have shared many things; vehicles, jobs, homes, dreams, passions, secret fishin’ spots, laughs, tears, road trips, lives. More than once we have been sitting enjoying an evening and begun to talk of life. Sometimes one of us sharing where our life was moving led to the other coming along. I was once sharing plans to move to Colorado and he decided it was a good idea, so he did also, first. He once shared his life and what he was doing in Alabama after I had returned from South Africa and I decided to join him. Conversations can be very dangerous. At one point we decided it would be a good idea to live in tents for a couple months, so we did. Sitting around our fire pit we shared plans, perspectives and fears. Through our conversations we have grown to be more than just friends, but brothers. We have been vulnerable and honest each investing in the other. I was once told that God was separating us for a time to keep us out of trouble. Shortly after I moved to Afghanistan for a few months. While there I realized what was meant in the statement. We trust each other so much that we at times feel invincible. I am looking out for him and he for me so nothing can happen, in Afghanistan this could be dangerous. This trust is built through conversation. We at times would go for late night adventures through the rivers, mountains and forest of Arkansas, Alabama or Colorado looking for varmints to shoot, frogs to gig and grounds to camp. We would wade chest deep through water in which lurked snakes, snapping turtles, alligator gar and leeches, pull logs out of the road with chains only to be blocked by snow and spend hours in unknown territory looking for the perfect place to spend the night. Once, in the high country of Colorado, we awoke to a blizzard headed our way that we narrowly outran. Our lives have been a conversation, a process of questions, listening, trust and easy silence. The flow of our lives has created a path that is intertwined while spanning time and continents.
One of my favorite conversations I have had with Austin was sharing our concepts of home. We have both traveled a fair bit and we once discussed how easily we feel at home anywhere in our country or others. Through the conversation we decided that it was our relationship with God that led to this feeling. If we are continuously in conversation with God he is always with us, like a camper that we live in while traveling where ever he leads. No matter where he takes us we are always at home. In this way the conversation is continuous, centered in a place of familiarity while living in the most remote corners of the world. Through spending time, adventures and lives we discover that we are more than friends of God, but a part of His family. Because of a continuous conversation we become vulnerable, honest, and are invested in. Trust is built to the point that we no longer fear because we know that we are being looked after. Our lives enter into a flow with the Eternal Creator that is intertwined throughout eternity.
Another one of my friends whom I have had many conversations over the years is a Texan named Foster. He and I had bit of a different meeting and development of friendship. We had many mutual friends that kept telling us we would be friends; both of us however, were skeptical. He was a Texan, negative point number one, he drove a big 2-wheel drive truck that was loud, negative point number 2, and he was a Texan, negative point 3. His thoughts of me were much the same. I was from Arkansas, negative point, I drove a motorcycle so I was probably a jerk, negative point, I had a ponytail, negative point, and we both were up to three. However, after 3 months of sharing a room during a university course in Denver, we were close friends. Every night before going to sleep we would have “pillow Talk” yes guys can do it to. As it turned out he and I actually had much in common, we were both chasing girls, we both love to duck hunt, we both wished his truck was 4x4, (he since remedied it with a Toyota 4runner) and we both love motorcycles. Most importantly, we discovered we were very much in the same place in life learning and questioning what life is about and what our relationship with this planet should look like. We discovered all of this through conversation. Not only can conversation allow us to get past the apparent our initial idea of who people are, but also God.
There have been many times in my life that I have had a very difficult time trusting God. One was working in Central Asia. I was confronted for the first time with Muslim, Asian, and war torn culture. Each one of these on it’s own is enough to cause questions, but together, hope was slipping. I saw, commonly, people missing limbs blown off by landmines, women with disfigured faces abused by husbands or they had set themselves on fire to escape. Some would welcome me into their homes and businesses others wanted me gone and at times you could sense death was on their mind. Another instance was when four of my close friends where shot in a senseless act of violence and two of them died. In both situations my question was where was God? If he truly were who he said he was then he wouldn’t let such atrocities occur. I questioned repeatedly and through my conversations with Him, I once again trust. Only in conversation can I be vulnerable with God and then he is able to share aspects of himself that I did not know before. The greatest understanding I have gained is that I serve and trust a God that weeps over the broken, impoverished and starving. The God who is vulnerable with us, giving us the choice to love him and let ourselves be loved, no strings attached. I have made the choice to trust, to love and be loved. Many times I wonder if I am wise in doing so, but if I did not hopelessness would consume me. I must have this conversation with the eternal creator to keep belief that this world can turn out better than it is now. If there is no God, life is pointless. If there is no conversation there is no hope. If there is no hope then I wish to have never been born or that my life would end quickly so as to end the torture of this facade of purposeful existence, but… if there is hope, conversation, God, then life is worth the pain.

Again...

Once again the community I am a part of, this time on the other side of the planet, has been wounded by the unexpected ripping away of one of its members through death at the hands of deceived men. This time my community nor I are intimately connected, but connected closely none the less. This brings up many emotions from recent events in my own life and I am pained with the knowledge and understanding of what her friends and family are now going through. Again, a senseless act of killing has affected my life. Again, death is in my forethought. I do not fear for my own and am not worried about possibilities, but it brings home again the reality of the possibilities and capabilities of life and evil on a broken planet. In considering these thoughts I am challenged, can and do I still love the people capable of and responsible for these types of actions? I know God does. That is the hardest concept in the world for me to grasp. Abuse, death, suffering, poverty all of these enrage me and cause me to question the presence of God, but Him loving the people responsible for such horrific actions and then asking me to do the same seems almost ludicrous in mention. Yet still, in living on this planet having accepted grace and mercy that are completely undeserved I am too, asked to extend the same grace and mercy to all. All the greatest commandments can be summed up into these two, Love God, Love people. Neither is possible with out the other. I struggle with the question of am I even capable of such love? If I am created in God’s image then I must be, but I think it is a feat that will take choosing continually to love over years and years before it is an actual truth in my life. Today, at this moment it is a choice that I make.

New Home

Hello all, It has been a while since I posted last. I have for some reason been having a hard time signing in to be able to post things, hopefully that is over. Life is going well here in the ancient city. The weather is warm, most days and spring should be just around the corner. I am beginning to settle in to my new home city and I am excited to see what this next year brings. I have begun to look for a small house to call home, a place to have a Dog, and entertain friends. It has been a long time since I have had a place that truly felt as if it was my own, I am looking forward to creating a place I can be completely comfortable in. I will be posting some more soon, but until then, know I am safe and enjoying being back in this ancient place. 

Just a Minute?

The clock is ticking, or timer beeping I should say. I had just put a bowl of chili in the home radiation device to warm for a “light” afternoon snack, walked down stairs grabbed my fleece and a pair of socks out of the dresser, walked back up stairs sat down, put the socks on when it happened. The timer alerted me to the fact that my food was finished being irradiated and was ready for consumption. I started thinking that I had just accomplished quite a bit in a minute, with out even really trying to. Also, I wondered just how long is a minute? Time in itself is an intriguing dimension, but I wont get into that, its already been over done. Instead, this short realization during my snack this afternoon has led me to a question, do we take advantage of a single minute? There is quite a bit that be accomplished in a minute, good and bad. We can accomplish nothing, which I would say in most circumstances is bad, but we can also travel several miles in minute, say “I do’s”, become a parent, become heart broken, invest heart felt words in another, cook macaroni (or chili), lose friends, watch two commercials, experience the pinnacle of a sunset or sunrise, write a poem and endless other things. In just a minute. Prior to the American Revolution there were a group of men that called themselves the minutemen. Men ready to fight at a minutes notice. During the civil war men were trained to fire three bullets a minute from a muzzle loading gun, a nine step process for each round, today thousands of bullets can be fired from a singe gun in a minute.
With modern science minutes have been divided in to incredibly small increments, millions of measurable moments. The speed of today’s world has allowed us to do much in a minute, however at the same time, pardon the pun, it seems a minute is not enough time for much of anything. You can’t go on a trip, prepare a meal (just cook it), listen to a song, or have a coffee. So, what should our goal in capturing and using the moments contained in a minute be? The challenge I choose for my self is to savor each moment and second with in minutes so as to enjoy life and not miss a single taste.