Hope

Kids in Ghana are so much fun to be around. Little kids particularly, are quite intrigued by white people. I was wandering around the markets in the North and in between the scary carcasses for sale, intense spices, fabric, fish and kitchen sinks, little kids would come up to me and say hello. When I would wave and say hi, they would giggle and say hello and many would want to give me five. I was walking down one street and said hey to a few kids and they came up and gave me high fives and before you know it, there was a stream of children coming up to me to give me high fives and I just had to laugh.

My last project was working with students to measure how reliable our surveys are. We visited several schools two days in a row to have students take the same survey on consecutive days. If there was much variance in their answers, that would mean we need to change the survey. One of the Catholic schools we visited asked us to lead chapel for them the next day. The person who coordinated everything for us is a youth pastor and he prepared to give the students a message. The next day we went by to drop him off and go to another school while he lead chapel. In the car that morning I was talking to God about feeling distant from Him and asking for revelation and nearness. I suppose His response was quite ironic because as we are getting ready to leave my friend Richard, the principal approaches us and says, "The students are expecting the white man to speak." I should have known better and had something ready. I could have said no, but I had a few minutes and decided that it would be cool. I watched Yes Man on a flight and I was inspired by it to be more adventuresome and that barring something against my spiritual guidelines, I should say yes to my opportunities.

I had five minutes and the Book of Hope to pull together a 30 minute talk for about 200 Ghanaian high schoolers. It was kinda exciting and freakishly terrifying all at once. I flipped through the Book of Hope and thankfully it's full of scripture and I settled on the story of the woman at the well. I went in and sat at a desk after jotting down a few notes on the back of a survey and sending up a few prayers. Two things connect me to African youth, and global youth for that matter; Barack Obama and soccer. Thankfully I can talk about the Black Stars, Michael Essien and Drogba and they were getting excited about the soccer questions I was asking and impressed with my knowledge. I spoke to them about Obama visiting Cape Coast, Ghana and running on a campaign of hope. They were so excited that I had a chance to shake his hand. I shared how people look for hope, they want hope, but it is meaningless unless it is built on something. I spoke for most of the time on the woman at the well and her encounter with Jesus. I smiled to myself as I shared with them that Jesus and this woman had no business talking apart from the kingdom of God and that apart from God I would not have the privilege to share in worship and praise with them, my brothers and sisters. I love kids, in a lot of ways, I feel the church has failed youth and I take all my opportunities to exhort them and let them know that we need them and they are important. When I finished talking I sat down and listened to them finish up their worship time. Several boys beat on their drums loudly and a cluster of girls led the dancing and singing from up front. It was loud and blew me away, but I loved it.

I facilitated several focus groups, a few of them were during the morning worship session with the drums banging away in the next room over. Nothing like trying to get seven shy middleschoolers to speak in their third language while loud percussive noises ruminate from the next room over. The final school we visited was very impressive. Most schools have bold signs painted on the cinder block walls "SPEAK ENGLISH" plastered all around the school buildings or signs scrawled in pencil in dimly lit classrooms announcing to the children that, "English is the language of expression in this classroom." The final school we visited had the most talkative and helpful students. They didn't want to stop talking and were so honored that their voices would affect millions of youth around the world. Usually when I visit a I really enjoyed their conversation and they were so pleasant. They all asked for my business card afterwards and a few of them requested to touch my hair. I had a blast with them.

In 2010 the World will be One

My life has witnessed several drastic shifts in how I view God, politics, and the world. Among my conversions is one that takes on quite the global application. I do confess there were numerous days in my ignorant youth that I castigated soccer fans for their insipid excuse for a sport. Much like fine wine and coffee, what I once saw as dreary and monotonous, I know find incredibly sublime and masterfully creative. Thankfully God has lavished his grace on me in this department as mercifully as in the other areas of my heart requiring transformation. All joking aside, I love that I now love football. It truly is the sport of the world. A group of solemn Africans eying me suspiciously joyfully come to life when I mention that Wayne Rooney is a traitor or that Didier Drogba gives Africans a poor name. The English Premier League is truly a global language. As in all sports, money seems to be ruining the game, but there is still a remnant of the genuine love of sport that brings me joy. Ghana is one such place.

I knew nothing about Ghanaian football the first time I came here. It was not until several months afterwards that John reminded me that Ghana beat the U.S. in the World Cup in 2006, in a game that he lamentably attended. I then remembered watching the match with Tyree at the Dark House in Philly during Mission Year. Not exactly the type of relationship building they encourage, sneaking an underaged kid into an English pub, but Tyree could pass for Greg Oden’s brother. Since my first visit to Ghana last year I have educated myself on global football, Ghanaian football and the English Premiere League. Along with being able to eat spicy/dodgy food, knowledge of football ought to be a requirement for my job. It has opened so many doors and built so many friends for me. A group of solemn Africans eying me suspiciously joyfully come to life when I mention that Wayne Rooney is a traitor or that Didier Drogba gives Africans a poor name. Ghana’s son is Michael Essien and he plays alongside Drogba at Chelsea. There are several other West African’s on the team and so they are the obvious choice for any Ghanaian to root for. Manchester United, the New York Yankees of the world, unfortunately have a relatively large following too.

In every part of Africa I have traveled to, you will invariably see black A-frame chalk board signs along the roadside and in the middle of the streets, advertising the week’s football matches. Hotel, TV repair shop, restaurant, pub, hole in the wall, gas station, you name it, they probably will show the games. You’ll often see them watching the games at the roadside customs checkpoints in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to experience a Chelsea match with Ghanaians and so my friend Adams took us to watch at a popular downtown Tamale local. I’ve watched Liverpool games before in little restaurants, but nothing like this. We paid one cedi (65 cents) to enter and the game had already started and there were probably 150 people packed under a makeshift carport in the hotel atrium. There were two mediumsized flatscreen TVs perched atop Coke cartons. One screen was showing the Chelsea match and the other was showing United. There was a side room with a projector and biggerscreen also showing the Chelsea match. The room was overcrowded and quite stuffy, so I stayed outside to watch both matches. Watching two games at the same time was a bit distracting, but it seemed completely normal. I had been hoping one of the channels would be showing Liverpool, but I had to wait every 20 minutes for score updates. The first Liverpool score was 1-1 and with their schedule toughening, they needed to win. As the tiny score scrolled across the bottom of the screen reading 2-1 Liverpool, I clapped my hands and pumped my fist. My enthusiastic reaction was nearly identically mirrored by a man sitting a few rows in front of me. He turned around and I could see his Liverpool scarf and I had my jersey on and we stood up and high fived each other. Football creates a beautiful family and I am proud to be a Kopite, truly you will never walk alone. Later when Liverpool had finished slaughtering my boy Jozy Altidore’s relegation bound Hull City we celebrated with a Coke watching the conclusion of the two matches. Chelsea had no business losing to Wigan, but after Drogba’s poke equalized, Chelsea’s keeper was whistled for a dodgy red card and Wigan pulled ahead for good. The red devil fans were mocking Chelsea fans, singing songs and having a good time at their expense. When they gave up a third goal as full time was approaching, the door to the VIP lounge opened and a mass exodus ensued, Chelsea fans surrendering and fleeing the jaunts of the United fans. Everyone left the courtyard and headed to the driveway which contained an amalgamation of bikes, motos, taxis, trutru busses to make their ways home.

New Testament Projects

I went to visit the four projects in the Volta Region who dedicated their New Testaments this spring and getting to the villages tended to be quite treacherous. One village in particular felt as though we were pioneering a new road as we cut through overgrown bush clipping branch and bush as we made our way down roads that were two tire tracks with over grown grass in between and the bush closing in on the sides. Each of the NT’s costs probably 30-40 dollars to print, but they sell them for about 2 dollars. The national office has many financial problems and has not received some funding they anticipated. You could tell that they were frustrated that work hasn’t been progressing on the Old Testament and Sylvester encouraged them to take more ownership of the project and that they need to work with the churches and community to raise support. Some projects have developed guest houses, sell honey, grow yams, and other things to be somewhat self-sufficient. It is important for the communities to be empowered and I think they can do much more for themselves than they realize. The numbers however, particularly to run and sustain a translation project, literacy programs and printing operations is heavily stacked against the community. Start-up capital and national infrastructure are the main private and public problems hindering Africa from growth.

Sylvester accompanied me, and he has worked a lot in the U.S. to share with donors about translation projects in Ghana and to give them first hand interaction. He and his wife helped to translate the entire Bible in a community in Northwest Ghana. As a Ghanaian who has worked as a community member, volunteer, in the field, in the national office as management and overseas in development, his words carry a lot of weight with the translation teams and community volunteers that tirelessly review the translations to make sure they are appropriate for use.

Volta Region of Ghana

Most of my preconceptions of Africa came from the Lion King, the Air up There and National Geographic features surrounding famine stricken savanah animals desperately searching for water in a crusty pergatory. Last year in preparation for my first voyage to the motherland, I listened to Paul Simon’s Graceland, Nikose Sikele Africa, Israel Houghton’s Alive in South Africa and Toto’s Africa ad nauseum. I confess that while writing or reading on my porch listening to the rain pound on the corrugated aluminum overhead I wished that I had Toto’s Africa on my ipod or computer so that I could sing along and sing out, “God bless the rains down in Africa.” When I awoke from my early morning flight and walked down the stairs from the planed and passed the doors into Kotoko airport and saw the Akwaaba welcome signs and reminders that Ghana is the gateway to Africa, I had practically forgotten I was in Africa. As I write this I am on a six hour busride from Tamale to Kumasi and passing endless green, trees of all sorts, giant ten foot ant mounds, and clustered villages of circular earthen huts as we made the journey crossing the many flooded tributaries of the Volta River, which is the lifeblood of Ghana. One of my continued prayers is that I might always look with wonder at the works of my Creator. Africa is absolutely beautiful. Last week Michael accompanied me to Wli falls in the middle of the mountains of the Volta Region, bordering Togo. Driving on rough red dirt roads navigating potholes, the waterfalls catch you by surprise. High in the hills, one would not be expecting to see such powerful falls. I paid my six cedis (4 bucks) and Michael led me across a variety of decrepit bridges, about a 35 minute expedition crossing back and forth over the same meandering stream until we reached the falls, the largest in West Africa. Due to the recent rainfall, the falls were overflowing and the rope bridge that allows you to walk behind them was directly in the path of the raging water. Several hundred bats adorned the damp rock faces adjacent to the falls. The pool at the base eschewed a misty cloud that dominated the area, as if it needed an additional reminder that the falls ought to demand everyone’s attention. I sat with Michael and we spoke about how anyone could experience such splendor and deny a creator’s presence and necesity. I thought of the images of water from Psalms and the idea of deep crying to deep in the roar of waterfalls and as I meditated on this passage that brings me so much comfort, I thought about the Sekpele and Selee communities whom I visited the previous day having dedicated the New Testament in their language five months ago. They don’t have the privilege of picturing the writings of the Psalmists because they don’t have the funding to translate the Old Testament into their mother tongue. They desperately want to begin, again convincing themselves that I would be able to assist in convincing the Seed Company to approve the funding. I was joined at the falls by staggered clusters of white people coming to enjoy the beauty. I suspected that few Ghanaians ever visited the falls and he said that there are many waterfalls around and they don’t see it as terribly out of normal and that they don’t have the time or the resources to make the journey. This isn’t terribly surprising, but it’s rather sad. The scattered rain provided a nice contrast to the dusty smothering heat of Tema and Accra. I stayed in the simple guesthouse across the way from Michael’s house with his wife and infant son. She cooked for us, and she sure can cook. Ghanaian food is so much better than Kenyan or other types of African food. Unfortunately I don’t really enjoy fish, and so when I ate by myself I would stomach a few bites, shovel some around and possibly throw some out to the goats.

The electricy was out almost half the time and around 4 or 5 things begin to simmer down. Young adults and kids play football on the dirt fields until night falls. If they have power, they might watch or listen to the news on the one channel that comes in if you are lucky to have a satellite. (The picture doesn’t come through half the time). Every few days, they take a moto into town to check email and do errands. The three mile taxi ride costs 30 cents. Walking down the lane to get to the GILBBT office you pass many dwelling places. There are kids and moms selling different food items. Little kids walk around in tiny Chelsea Michael Essien jerseys, even up here away from much of civilization. Most kids are excited to see me and smile and wave. Hohoe sits in the shade of large mountains and has some beautiful views at sunset and early morning. Without all the distractions of television, internet and phones, I go to bed around 9 and wake up around 5 to read and prepare for the day. I finished my Liverpool book and started to read the Kite Runner. I couldn’t put it down and finished it on the trutru ride back to Accra. I sat in the front seat winding with my backpack on my lap, book in hand and headphones connected to my ipod as we made our way down the mountains through the gorgeous views and across the flood plains and the beautiful suspension bridge across the Volta River. I was laughing to myself as I fought tears at the end of the Kite Runner to keep it together so the Ghanaians didn’t think the crazy American was crying for nothing. The lack of deodorant helped bring me back to Ghana whenever the book was pulling me away to Afghanistan.

Reclaiming the Hood

The president of Mission Year sent out his newsletter and as I read through it, it was a good reminder to me why I moved to West Philly and why when I settle down whereever and whenever that may be, my heart is in the hood. I miss Philly

08/26/09 | Reclaiming the Hood

Dear Friends,

I live in the hood, and it is the place where I want to live by choice. I have not been forced to live where I live, nor are my choices limited. I think it is a great place to live. In fact, I believe it is one of the better places to live. It certainly has it challenges that drive me crazy but it is home, and there is no place like home in the hood.

I am often asked why I have chosen to live in a neighborhood like the one in which I live, and I am often criticized for inviting others to live here as well. It’s as if I have asked them to commit a crime of some sort! I have heard every reason why I should leave from "how can you raise your kids there?" to "you grew up there, why would you want to stay?" I have had people from all races declare the place where I live as a terrible place. My choice of home has been referred to as a zoo, a hell hole and an insane asylum. And these are the things that are said to me directly! I can’t imagine what is said when I am not there.

The hood has been a place where people who live there are constantly told they should be looking to get out. In fact, those who were able to "escape" have done so joyfully. I understand the challenges, but this escape mentality is flawed because it leaves millions of people left to think they are nothing because they don’t have what it takes to get out. I just can’t see how that works. I can’t see how it is ok to label that many people as inadequate.

The hood has taken on this negative connotation because the only things talked about are the challenges, but there is incredible beauty in my neighborhood as well. Let's start with the fact that I do indeed know my neighbors and most people in my hood know their neighbors. The people who live on your block are people you get to know. I am not best friends with all my neighbors, but I do know when they work and their schedule. I can tell if something is not right around their house or if there is a strange face around. Another cool thing about my neighborhood is that there are neighbors here who have lived here for 40, 50, and 60 years. They represent history and their lives and stories always encourage me and give me examples of stability to point my children towards. My hood also knows how to celebrate, and on any given holiday you will see family and friends gathered together to spend time with each other. This is because we have elderly neighbors whose homes are where the family gathers together on special occasions. It's really good to see traditions continued around here. There are also the neighborhood stores that people can walk to. These stores are not always in the best shape, but they are vital to people who don’t have cars to get to larger markets.

In a hood where you usually hear about low-income levels, crime, and bad schools, there exists some great beauty to admire. Our team members get an opportunity to see this firsthand as we build relationships. You have supported us financially in making this happen. You can also experience this by taking time to look past the hype of the day and see the incredible people that are there. When is the last time you looked for beauty in the middle of your city? I recommend a visit with new eyes - eyes that see people as part of God’s wonderful creation. I think we all could use a little of the hope that rests in the middle of the hood.

With Love and Thanks,

Leroy Barber, President
Mission Year

Be Still

There is something about the beach at night, darkness, stars, silhouettes, the gentle breeze and the tranquil sound of the waves reaching the shore. Andrew and I walked along the beach tonight, sat and talked for quite a while, mostly about our frustrations, questions and doubts. I spent some time being silent. One of my favorite verses is the simple idea that we are called to, "Be still and knowl that I am God." I have a lot of questions for God, have been questioning Him a lot lately, but sitting there and starring out at the stars and the expansive ocean made me feel ok about trusting God despite my uncertainty. I pray that I have the strength and obedience to walk it out, I'm not sure at all what it will look like

The Problem of Pain

Love can forbear, and Love can forgive...but Love can never be reconciled to an unlovely object...He can never therefore be reconciled to your sin, because sin itself is incapable of being altered; but He may be reconciled to your person, because that may be restored."

~Traherne

C.S. Lewis' problem of pain is kicking my butt. I have known pain too well in multiple forms. Unfortunately for me, as tonight yet again demonstrated, i am quick to mask my pain through anger, frustration and withdrawl. This is the perfect book to follow up the Shack b/c it complements the limitations of that story, by building a logical argument for the necesity of pain and its role in freedom and love, among other attributes of God. In the simplest form, according to Lewis, the problem of pain follows: "If God were good, He would wish to make His creatures perfectly happy, and if God were almighty, He would be able to do what He wished. But the creatures are not happy. Therefore God lacks either goodness, or power, or both." He begins by suggesting that our definitions of terms such as happy, good and almighty must be equivocal or else the preceding argument is unanswerable. After reading The Shack, there was still a part of me that felt like it was bogus and that Mack didn't need to go through all that and that Misty was robbed and that you can spin a pretty story, but the bottom line is still the bottom line. Reflecting on Lewis' writings on pain really points out to me how much I judge God, just as Mack did.

I have returned the favor of God creating me in His image, and I have made Him in mine. Lewis proposes that pain is the necessary byproduct of choice which is imperative to freedom. Eliminating choice would eliminate pain, but it would also eliminate our capacity to love. One of the things that sets us apart as Christians is the fact that, "we learn from the doctrine of the Blessed Trinity that something analogous to "society" exists within the Divine Being from all eternity- that God is Love, not merely in the sense of being the Platonic form of Love, but because, within Him, the concrete reciprocities of love exist before all worlds and are thence derived to the creatures." It's amazing to realize that God is both further from us and nearer to us than any other being.

Kindness is primarily concerned with preventing its object from escaping suffering rather than desiring that it be good or bad. God, being love, is more than this.

He really wants readers to recognize that pain is a beautiful dimension of His love for us, that "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains." We were created for His pleasure and created to love Him, but above all we were created that God may love us. Because of His character, "His love must, in the nature of things, be impeded and rebelled by certain stains in our present character, and because he already loves us He must labour to make us lovable. We cannot even wish, in our better moments, that He could reconcile Himself to our present impurities." Pain tends to be the necessary byproduct of this removal process of our stains and infirmities. He goes on to say that, "Love may forgive all infirmities and love still in spite of them: but Love cannot cease to will their removal. Love is more sensitive than hatred itself to every blemish in the beloved...Of all powers he forgives most, but he condones least, he is pleased with little, but demands all."

I know little of love, but lots on pain...sigh

i'm learning

Glow Sticks in Church

As spiritual and amazing as church was, it was also extremely bizarre. This week is the pastors birthday and the church had a celebration for him during the service. The only song we sang in English all morning/afternoon was a drawn out lounge version of "Haaapppy Birrrtthhdaaayyy." The pastor's family was escorted to a couch which had been dragged on stage and sat watching the festivities unfold before them. A trumpeter with about as much skill as my sister after her weeklong venture into the instrument died along with the elephant shrills she produced in our basement. There were banners and dancers coming down the aisle and many signs throughout the congregation that were lifted high and waving. My favorite were the Obama style "Change You Can Believe In" with a picture of their pastor preaching. Someone even had a blown up picture of his head on a tongue depressor. Several people had colorful umbrellas that they were twirling to create a hypnotic element. Four men carried a rick shaw styled flat that had a cake on it and delivered flowers and gifts to the pastor and his wife, who were shown on the projector as if they were olympic figure skaters waiting for their scores. I felt like I was watching a Korean Soap opera because I had no idea what was going on. However, all of this paled in comparison to my favorite part, before I knew it the lights were dimmed and people had glowsticks and were waving them around. There was a team from New Zealand and another from California and they were just cracking up. I finally got my glow stick and waved it around. When things calmed down the congregation (about 250) went up to the pastor to thank him and his family for their work and heart for the church. It was a bit odd and overwhelming, needless to say. Not quite the same pastor and "First Lady" style worship I'm used to in black churches, but it was interesting, quite culturally different than anything I've ever experienced in church before.

Yesu

I almost skipped church this morning. I know that church in other countries is usually a full day commitment and I needed sleep and might want to do some more exploring. Before I went to bed, I had decided that I wouldn't make an effort for church and so shortly after hitting the pillow at 1:54 a.m., my phone rings at 7:48. I know that picking up the phone would be tantamount to an agreement to attend church, and so I had an instantaneous internal discussion before groggily agreeing to meet Jarun for church in five minutes. ugh... i hate mornings.

We get to church and I realize I don't need to be there for another hour and a half and I try to hide my extreme frustration and fatigue. Well, I needed to be there today and I needed to be there then. I've been asking God to reveal things to me and he met me this morning. God is about community, He teaches us through our covenant family and calls us to bring others along with us as we seek to do community and die to others that they might live. My favorite picture of community was during communion. I was a bit confused because the A/V was malfunctioning and there was no English translation, so that after the pastor prayed over the cup, I was caught off guard when members traded cups and then again and passed them around several times before finally consuming the represenation of Christ's blood. How cool, I've never seen a way to make communion such a personal yet communal acknowledgement of God's reign over all. I think we should start to do that.

Before church stared, J and I sat in the dining area talking to pass the time while we waited for the service. I asked him about his background and listening to his story was the perfect capstone to my first trip to Asia. A shade under 95% of Thai's are buddhist, the national emblem is a Hindu/Buddhist symbol and so it follows that J grew up in a buddhist family. His father passed away when he was an infant and he grew up being very devout in disciplined in his devotion to his buddhist faith. He said it was very peaceful, but that he was alone and unhappy. He met Ajun (Pastor) A from Bangkok Liberty Church, and the pastor shared the story of Jesus with him. J told me how he learned that God could be his father, his joy, his community and looked at me and told me, "Pete, Jesus is my everything." I felt his heart and see it with his life, his hospitality, it was very emotional I choked up a bit as I stammered, "Me too J, me too." Is Jesus my everything? I am easily distracted and focus on other things all too often. J challenged me and convicted me in his simple testimony.

We finally moved into the sanctuary for the service and began singing shortly as things started. They posted the English translations for songs beneath the Thai characters, which I still marvel at the detail and complexity of all the letters, diacritical marks and such. The only words I could identify were "Hallelujah" and "Yesu" At the core of worship, those are the only two words we really need to praise and so God needs to strip things down to simple terms for me sometimes because I'm so dense.

The first song spoke about the name of God being proclaimed from the mountains to the valleys and the spirit of God filling the air for the people to breathe in. Having experienced a few of the gorgeous mountains and valleys in Thailand, I thought about the 65 million people that live here. The indigenous hill people are pretty receptive to the gospel, as 12% of the 4 million tribal people are Christians, and the majority of mission energy and resources are geared to them, even though they are such a small percentage. I say that to emphasize that if the entire nation is .4-.5% Christian and a decent percentage of the hill people are Christians, the number of urban and mainstream Thai's that are Christian are infintesimally small. Fifteen people or so, including J's cousin went forward after the service to receive Christ, most of them wearing the red VIP name tag that I embarrassingly removed almost as soon as I received it.

I read along to the worship songs and meditated upon the simple words that spoke to me. I love worshipping with my brothers and sisters around the world to see how they praise God. Repeatedly I am struck by God's voice to me in foreign lands to recognize his magnitude, his greatness and how he calls me far beyond myself and my issues to focus on Him, praise Him, give myself to Him and love others. I get so wrapped up in my little world and quickly make God about me and Him and then just me. This morning God said to me, Pete, you just need me, let go of those things that you are holding onto and fear and give yourself completely to me, worship me, follow me and you will walk in true freedom. Most of the songs this morning spoke about freedom. My favorite one said that we have a song of freedom in our hearts, a song of joy in our souls and that we are called to liberty through worship and devotion to Jesus. Simple things, yet I am stubborn.

Hello Moto

Riding through Bangkok on the back of a moto was as much fun as riding an elephant in the mountains. I loved it. I feel free and who i am supposed to be when i'm in the city. I connect to God there. I love being in the open. Cars are so stiffling and disconnected from the environment, but motos can weave in and out of traffic and bypass the stagnancy and really make the most of the cityscape. We passed many shrines, temples, colors buildings, children smiling, tired faces, lots of food vendors and others selling their wares. Passed malls, schools and parks. The ride from the city to my hotel is a bit far, so we took the moto to the train station, rode the train and then i walked the streets a bit before finding a taxi and speaking a few words of Thai and gripping my hotel direction card tightly. Culture is amazing. Talking Liverpool and Manchester City football in stunted English while Thai radio dj's talked rapidly and the only words I could understand were "Neyo" and "Green Day" in the midst of the tonal hodgepodge. I giggled.

Save the Elephants?

The thought of going to the lush mountains in Northern Thailand to ride elephants was so enchanting and exciting to me. We got there and the elephant camp rises above a winding stream meandering through trees and bamboo plots. I saw several elephants bathing in the water, but shortly thereafter noticed the chains around their feet and neck's. We walked up to them and they reached up to the bridge to put straw hats on our heads to welcome us, shaking our hands with their dextrous trunks. They voluntarily acclimated us to their imposing, yet gentile presence with which we would interact throughout the day. It was amazing, they are so massive, yet graceful and weak. The first thing I noticed were there eyes, and I focused on them the rest of the day. They looked so tired and sad to me. Maybe all elephant eyes do, I don't know. I suppose I spent the day trying to judge the camp and whether or not they cared for elephants or exploited them. Maybe there is a very fine line between the two and I certainly am no expert to do this, but questions need to be asked to ensure their protection, right? I looked at their website after the fact and got a completely different feel for the gentle giants looking at the website than the atmosphere at the park. The two didn't match up to me, you know? I truly believe they desire to conserve and protect elephants, but it felt too much like a prison and was too contrived to me. People are often the same way, the website version of our lives would be flashy and so inspiring, but yet in reality and in our hearts, the actual version fails to capture the spirit we long for. Its important to recognize that we are human and fall short of who we want to be and that in surrendering to our expectations we can be made whole and complete in Jesus. I see that as I wander around beautiful yet Buddhismally lost Thailand. Maybe I think too much, but I think God's given me a cool mind and speaks to me always about his love for me and my need to rest in it. I love that and i need it, thanks Papa. I will write about the elephants later, i was able to appreciate them and enjoyed the mountains of Thailand, but the chains they wore and the sad look in their eyes made me wonder if this was such a good idea. I did love getting hugged by three elephants and it tickled almost as much as the Thai foot massage! I proudly sported my yellow football jersey which has several elephants on it and I think they were partial to me ;c)

Ticklish Feet

Chiang Mai night markets were fun. I love markets, they are one of my favorite parts of visiting countries because they reveal so much about culture. It's funny because i hate most U.S. markets (which we don't really have any more thanks to WalMart, Target and big box stores). The Thai night markets have way more stuff than you could buy at any supercenter. Spices, fruits, handcrafts, games, music, movies, massages, chopsticks, lamps, clothing, and so much more. Lots of colors, smells and lights. Such a wonderful place.

Our second night we stopped and got foot massages. I should have known that it wasn't the best idea because my feet are by far the most ticklish part of my body, but after the initial squirming and giggles, my body relaxed and I really enjoyed it and was able to relax greatly for an hour, all for $3.50. I picked up some wonderful spices, paper lamps, tapestry wall hangings, chopsticks, football jerseys, and more. Ajun (Pastor) Weena is so much fun to be with and her son's name is Pete also, so I was in good graces. She loves to shop and bargain and saved me lots and lots of money. I had such a good time and ended the day with fresh fruit shakes and mango sticky rice. Thailand is definitely a country of elephants, mangoes, great people, amazing food and so much more!

Mango Trees

I decided against the 12 hour Harry Potter Movie Marathon and did some reading on the plane today. I love people, especially little kids and older people. The kids dancing around on my flights brought me great joy and amusement. Dostoevsky said that, "The soul is healed by being with children and I agree." I finally read the Shack and it was a great complement to Jack Johnson's, "The Mango Tree" album. I usually don't like to read and listen to music, but there was a toddler in front of me that was crying most of the flight and kept putting his fingers in his ears b/c they must have been really hurting him. I felt bad, I've been there, thankfully my Friday routine of laying on my office floor putting ear drops in my pained ears paid off and I was pain free for all my flights, praise God. I love the idea of recognizing the different aspects of the trinity and how our relationship looks different with each person. I love how the book portrays the unity in joy and pain of the Godhead. It calls me to be like a child and get rid of the religious norms that I hold onto that prevent me from truly knowing God. I want to write more about the book b/c I feel that I can identify with some of the frustrations and pain that Mack has and how it limits his relationship with God. At times it was harmonious how the lyrics from The Mango Tree went with portions of the book, God's pretty cool like that. I'm just a kid and I'm still learning. Who knew Jack Johnson was so spiritul?

Sometimes it’s hard to ease my mind to realize,
you’re always with me waiting, willing
to hear my, thoughts my hopes,
my dreams, my every need

I pray for wisdom and overstanding

What’s meant to be will always be though I controll my destiny,
Free will you gave me even though you made me.
Be careful of the things you do it eventually comes back to you,
universal law, Babylon shall fall.

I pray for peace in times of war

So Come

Work has really been overwhelming lately and I've grown weary of dealing with the headaches that I've had to deal with in recent years. I read Psalms and the words of Christ and there is a beautiful relationship between pain/suffering and healing/wholeness because it forces us to lay down the things we cling to and trust in. Paul wrote that Christ's strength is perfected in our weakness. Our sensitivity to God's grace is heightened when we are undeniably weak in our flesh. I believe this with all of my heart, but that doesn't make it easy. There is a tendency to romanticize weakness or poverty because of the special place that it holds in God's heart. It is beautiful to see that this is built into his heart of love and is an extension of his demand for justice, but that doesn't make a place of weakness and poverty an easy place to be. It is tiring, messy and difficult to dwell there. It is death to our personal desires and interests, and I don't want to be there. It is hard, but it is joyful when we can give in to it, because it is necessary for our healing and wholeness. Christ spoke this in convicting fashion when he stated, "For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?" All too often, I make minor concessions and cheapen God's grace by chosing to dwell in my selfishness, self-preservation and laziness which stands in direct defiance of the desire Christ has for my life. As difficult as that is, the alternative is death and the absence of God, there's no middle ground and I don't take things serious enough sometimes. It requires a whole lot, but it is so simple. He just requires that we come, that we search for Him and lay down our lives on behalf of others. Sometimes I'm so wrapped up in excel sheets that I lose sight of that, I miss my chess club kids and gardening in West Philly...I choose life, but it is a daily choice and a hard one, especially when you are tired and stressed out about work. I know God is teaching me that I must rely on Him, but sometimes I feel so distant and removed from His heart. His heart is always for the hurting and he loves for us to pursue him and seek him out. I love Israel's song, So Come, he channels the spirit of Isaiah and and the Psalms in reminding us that God's heart is for those who are marginalized and hurting. Thanks for simple and daily reminders of your beauty, sovereignty and grace.

You have taken the precious from the worthless
And given us beauty for ashes, love for hate
You have chosen the weak things of the world
To shame that which is strong
And the foolish things to shame the wise
You are help to the helpless
Strength to the stranger
And a father to the child thats left alone
You invited the thirsty to come to the water
And those who have no money come and buy

So come

Swallowed In the Sea

"Swallowed In The Sea"

You cut me down a tree
And brought it back to me
And that's what made me see
Where I was going wrong
You put me on a shelf
And kept me for yourself
I can only blame myself
You can only blame me

And I could write a song
A hundred miles long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me

And I could write it down
Or spread it all around
Get lost and then get found
Or swallowed in the sea

You put me on a line
And hung me out to dry
And darling that's when I
Decided to go to sea

You cut me down to size
And opened up my eyes
Made me realize
What I could not see

And I could write a book
The one they'll say that shook
The world, and then it took
It took it back from me

And I could write it down
Or spread it all around
Get lost and then get found
And you'll come back to me
Not swallowed in the sea

Ooh...

And I could write a song
A hundred miles long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me

The streets you're walking on
A thousand houses long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me

Oh what good is it to live
With nothing left to give
Forget but not forgive
Not loving all you see

Oh the streets you're walking on
A thousand houses long
Well that's where I belong
And you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea

You belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea
Yeah, you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea

I love this game

Tonight's the MLB All-Star game. I love baseball, and although the game is tainted because of steroids, to me it is still such a pure game. Part of my love for the game is because of my

childhood. Playing baseball, going to baseball games, collecting cards and watching on tv. My dad would order the special summer package, which also included the disney channel so that we could watch Orioles games in the summer. No a/c, but i'd rather have baseball. I've always struggled to feel close to my dad, but he speaks the language of baseball and I know he loved me the way that he would practice in the back yard, shag flies in Mr. Dustins fields, go to the little league fields or wherever. He loves baseball. His parents didn't let him play a whole lot as a kid, and I think he wanted to give us that chance. I was never the best, had some decent strengths, but I loved the game, and I loved to play it the way it was made to be played.

The all-star game was always one of the highlights of the summer for me. I remember being 11 and going to the all-star fan fest in Baltimore. To this day, it is one of my highlights from being a

kid. I think I liked it better than disney world. The all-star game was the only other day besides New Years that my brother and sister and I could stay up past midnight. Watching the all star game was a big to-do. My mom made special snacks and we were allowed to pick out our favorite

foods at the grocery store. The three of us kids would camp out in the family room and have our own sibling sleepover. Tonight as I watch the game, away from my brother and sister, cheering for a different team than I grew up following I'm still the same kid that loves the game that is so simple, pure and elusive. In four days my sister will be married and us kids won't be the same as we were. I remember tearing up my first visit to africa just after Heidi was engaged seeing an "Africa Tree" for the first time after growing up with our "Africa Tree" in our back yard. Things change and change can be good, but there is just something sweet and simple about the way things used to be. Go Phillies and NL!

La Feria!

Sadly, there are many orphans in this world, both physically and spiritually. Many time, physical orphans embody the shining characteristics of confident sons of the Father. As a son, i have a heart for sons that are fatherless. What beautiful and intelligent children wander the streets of Guatemala. Without much family beyond the fraternity of children in similar circumstance, they are forced to do life together in a way in which God never intended them to live. The city center in Antigua is marked by the young boys with their lunch pales that head off to work seeking out tourists and residents to shine their shoes for a small fee. We had been talking about the kids throughout the day, small boys, older boys and some men all wandering around trying to make some kind of living by shining shoes. What happens to them after they shine the shoes, where do they sleep at night, where will they be in five years? These questions ran through my head as I strolled through the tranquil pastel colonial mecca. We were talking through some hard conversation and were praying at the park when several of the kids scurried up and dove for my shoes interrupting our prayertime. We began talking to the kids about things, their names, family, and soccer. I love how universal soccer is, i love to talk about it with people from all over the world.

As much as I love Guatemala, their soccer team is really dirty. I can't stand Carlos Ruiz, their best player and so I tried to convert them, to no avail to my perspective. At least we could agree on Barca. In the midst of our discussion we started talking about la feria, which was in town. The rides cost only a few quetzales, less than a dollar and I imagine that they don't have many chances to celebrate and to just be kids. Over the past few years, celebrating has become something important, especially to those that have so much stress, so many burdens, pain and not enough resources to just stop and celebrate life and enjoy. Before you knew it, we were off to the fair. Three kids joined us, but by the time we had gotten there, we were eight in number. The kids were so eager and so excited hugging us and grabbing our hands and talking about which rides they wanted to go on. I definitely have Yes Man tendencies and so there wasn't a thought in my mind as we got there and the rides looked to be a bit shady and non-Osha approved. One of the little boys was afraid to ride the ride and so he held our bags and screamed to us as we went past him forwards and backwards around and around. The simplicity of our stripped down spanish conversation as we whirled around at high speeds, our stomachs dropping out and a bit fearful for our safety but feeling so alive and knowing that the kids felt it too. You can't get better than that.

We went to the bumper cars next, which didn't have petals as they just jerry-rigged the wires when you paid your five quetzales. All the signs were in French, and i wondered where this recycled ride had come from and how safe it was. These thoughts were gone as soon as the ride started and the kids eyed us up and started coming for us. Driving is something that always makes kids feel like grown-ups and feel in control and the kids had a blast and I laughed from my gut, that good kind of laugh when life makes sense despite so much uncertainty. We enjoyed a few more rides and returned to the unsafe rueda locura and enjoyed the lights and perspective on the city. To me that view is just as spectacular as the view from the hill of the cross high above the city. We enjoyed some tacos and treats, mine tasted like tacos al jabon, pero todo esta bien. What a great time. We walked back and bought some grapes. I snuck a math question in as I asked Carlos how much change we should receive from the uvas. Two of the kids were fake fighting on the ground and just having a blast. We had a great time with the kids, i love kids, i love the things they teach me about myself, about the parts of myself i need to let die, the parts i need to cultivate and when to just shut up and enjoy things for what they are, where i am. I went back to the U.S. and I can only imagine where those kids are tonight, but they will stay with me. Groggily standing in the elevator heading up to work, I look at my shoes and I smile at the lessons and great times we shared together. Kids shouldn't have to live alone, have to work or hustle to get by, but it was beautiful for me to see the community, the fellowship and the closeness that they share. Someday I'd love to work with the street kids of Guatemala so they don't have to live by themselves. They may be orphans in this world, but they sure know a lot about fellowship and community and have lots to teach people like me.

Love languages

In all my travelings, one country has managed to maintain a stronghold on my heart. There is something that draws me back to Guatemala time and time again. For me it is a place of refuge, freedom and rejuvenation. The scenery is varied and breathtaking, amongst the most beautiful places I have ever been to, but it is so much more than that which speaks to me. Blellca often says to me that I have a corazon tierna, but it is la gente, the pueblo that have the tender hearts that brings me healing and wholeness. Friends that will entertain my crazy plans, receive me on short notice, listen with gentle ears and concerned spirits, drive extended distance just to see me for a few minutes and pour into my heart, teaching me to live, to love and to trust in God alone.

The prodigal son has been my story this year, for many years actually, but I have connected to it in marvelous ways unlike ever before, exploring the idea of sonship versus the vagrant wandering of an orphan who constantly must prove to himself and others that he has worth and belongs. The reckless son who wishes death upon his father, forsaking the security and identity he has at home for the futility and pain of distant lands. For me, many times I have had to wander to distant lands to be drawn back home to my identity in my Abba Father. I relive Adam's original rebellion in the Garden of Eden everytime I run off to seek my validation and my strength anywhere but in the arms of Christ as a beloved Son of my Heavenly Father. Hurt I return to Jesus, confused and spurned by the world, yet subconsciously resolute to pursue the same course of action later on when I think I will be more successful. Jesus, allow me to stop, to rest and recognize that on me, your favor rests.

Tragically, Guatemala is a land of many fatherless children, orphans in the flesh. Civil war, domestic abuse and other crimes have ravaged such a beautiful place, and yet in the ashes, there is a quiet resilience. I sensed it playing soccer in the rain overlooking the high country, where smiles were all I could do to communicate with the children who only spoke quechua. Stepping into what seemed like the pages of a National Geographic tempered by the calls of Isaiah and James to true religion in the form of care for widows and orphans, my heart was permanently changed my first visit to this land.

Publish Post

Peace in Lebanon

Hey family,

Tomorrow, which is actually already today here in Lebanon, they are holding elections. Visiting this place has been amazing, it's truly beautiful in so many ways. The food is among the best I've had anywhere (cheese, bread, olives, lamb, a little bit of wine, it's amazing). The landscape is accentuated by beautiful snow-capped mountains, roman ruins,  breathtaking sunsets over the sea, Parisian-esque cafes and pedestrian streets, stunning architecture, rolling hills and valleys and...lots and lots of political signs and campaigning for tomorrow's elections. Because of the national and global security issues at stake, there is a very real, but surreal [to me at least], threat of violence. Even this afternoon it didn't seem entirely real that as i was drinking coffee at a cafe on the street, there were several hundred soldiers in the plaza scattered among multiple tanks and jeeps, monitoring people driving through with flags and honking their horn for their particular party (apparently each party has a distinct sequence of honks for their candidates which is entirely indistinguishable to me). It feels a bit like Y2K.

Today I facilitated some focus group with teens that attend Youth For Christ programs. We were discussing politics, religion, spirituality and identity and there is so much apprehension about the political instability and religious bickering that has encumbered Lebanon for the past 40 years. Many nations have poured money into the elections fighting for a stake in this country and it somewhat leaves the Lebanese left to try and figure out their own identity in the midst of all the voices seeking their attention. Most of the youth love their country, but don't see a future here b/c it is not safe and they are tired of always living scared. 

Religion has been so closely tied to politics that most students are entirely turned off to organized religion, although they are quite open to spirituality and really are searching for meaning and purpose. The Christians are divided politically and will likely determine whether a pro-western/democracy gains power or a syrian and Iran backed hezballah party gain control. Israel ironically supports Hezballah and so do a decent percentage of Christians. It's not a straight forward topic, but it has shown me how little i know and understand about middle east politics and how much i need to learn to truly love people and be a responsible citizen of the Kingdom of God as well as the American government, particularly considering how much the U.S. gets involved in so many countries here. (i.e. U.S. funding a bridge reconstruction project near the Roman ruins I visited that were blown up by Israeli missiles that are also mostly U.S. funded, that's a head scratcher). Regardless of the outcomes, Christians will likely be responsible for pushing the balance of power one way or another and there could be some internal fighting among the christians and against the Christians in general, particularly if the Hezbollah coalition are successful as the polls are indicating.

Pray for peace and stability in this beautiful country and particularly that the Christians would be unified in trusting God alone and not man or any party. Pray for, "God to preserve and build his Church in Lebanon, sanctifying her for her own sake, for Lebanon's sake, and for the glory of God; may faithfulness, humility, spiritual authority and blessed unity in the gospel of Jesus Christ be forged in this furnace of trial."

I aint skerred, God's protected me wherever i've been and I trust Him and there are 50,000 troops deployed to curtail any possible violence. I honestly feel quite blessed and privileged to be here during this important hour. I'm in a very safe place a bit above the city center at the Arab Baptist Theological Seminary a few minutes walk from the Book of Hope Director's family's house. I have a beautiful view down into the city from my window.  If there are civilian casualties particularly in the Christian areas, the U.S. cracks down on Israel, Syria & Lebanon, so that keeps me a bit safer b/c no one wants to bite the hand that feeds them ;c) I love you all and covet your prayers. Don't worry mom, i'm fine!

one love,
pete

These are two articles with a bit more clarity than my ramblings, i can't exactly vouch for the bias in either of them, but they are interesting reading if you're bored :c) 

• this explains about the Christians viewpoints in both parties, i stole the bottom part of the prayer from it: http://www.assistnews.net/Stories/2009/s09060011.htm
  
• this article talks about Lebanon/Israel conflict and why they are supporting Hezballah's coalition: http://yalibnan.com/site/archives/2009/06/lebanon_electio_2.php

Last night we went downtown and walked around and had dinner. I can absolutely see why it's called the Paris of the Middle East, I thought I was in Europe. Beautiful mosques, churches and other buildings, lots of green, the bay is beautiful and the food is amazing. Learning about the history of Lebanon is amazing, I can't believe how much of the history in the past five years I had no idea about or didn't remember. Today doing focus groups at school was really sad to see how bogged down kids are by politics and religion. We were at an evangelical school, which is still attended by a lot of muslim kids, but none of them really saw religion as separate from politics and as anything that offered them guidance or direction in life. They were very talkative and really fascinating. They pretty much all said that they live in constant fear of war and they all said they don't want to live here when they grow up b/c it is too stressful. 

i didn't land in lebanon until about 3:30 a.m. b/c our plane was delayed an hour b/c someone forgot to pick up their duty free bag and they had to call in the bomb squad. Getting through lebanese customs and passport was just as easy as london or canada, i was shocked, maybe b/c it was so early in the morning. I was worried that there wouldn't be a taxi driver waiting, but he was there. He asked me if i was hungry and i said not really, so he proceeded to take me out to dinner. He kept asking me if i wanted girls, alcohol or drugs and i told him i wasn't into those things. He was apparently a christian too and so we talked a bit while he treated me to dinner with a bunch of lebanese guys at 4 in the morning listening to classic rock in the middle of the street at this restaurant on the backstreets of Beirut. We drove up a mountain side and he told me that it wasn't like the U.S. and that you have to throw your trash out the window and i told him i didn't want to and didn't believe in it and he told me i was lebanese now and had to so he stopped the car and i shamefully threw the bag out the window. The view was amazing driving up the mountain-side which looked over a bay that was lit up fairly well for nighttime, the picture doesn't even do justice to it. Half way up he told me to get out and take a look and then we went all the way up to the christian retreat center where i stayed. The sun was coming up by this time and I watched the sun rise on the bay, it was amazing. We got there and he wouldn't even let me pay for the taxi or anything, he was such a cool and crazy guy.There is a giant statue of Mary overlooking the bay that was a few hundred feet from my room and on the other side, i have a view of St. Paul's Basilica which is really old and has amazing gold leafed domed ceilings with incredible mosaics and ornate decorations. The Catholic church still leaves me scratching my head plenty. This weekend was Pentecost and so there were lots of pilgrims that came to the giant statue and even motorcycles passing by at all hours of the night. I checked out the gift shop, but decided to pass on the Virgin Mary bottles of win, cedar ash trays and what not. You can check out the statue and the amazing view from the top of the hill where i was staying http://www.harissa.info/flash.htm

Coldplay!

pleasantly surprised by my lawn experience w/ coldplay, great show. The camera work was really impressive, unique angles, lenses and filtering created really stylized live camera work. The set was fairly simple, but they had some nice changes and some balloon drops, giant yellow balloons for Yellow, that sort of thing.  Chris Martin did a two or three song set half way up the pavilion seating, a few of the songs they changed up the tempo and style, i like that. You can always listen to the album at home. Great mix of old and new stuff. They talked a lot and personalized it to South Florida, which I always like and with the free cd's and downloads they were very appreciative towards the crowd. Obviously they couldn't be as personal as Amos Lee hanging out in the parking lot last week and staying for a two hour plus set, but they talked about how they couldn't do it without their fans and especially all the ones crowded in the grass at the back of the arena. Martin said that many people forget the lawn and they didn't and so they left the stage and walked through the pavilion to the lawn area and did four songs with two guitars, harmonicas and singing. As soon as they started heading to the back, I bolted and jumped chairs and stepped on quilts and got up like 20 feet from the band for the songs they played back there. I was incredibly impressed and couldn't believe that they would do that. The show was phenomenal, usually I hate when people sing along at concerts and the artists stop singing for the crowd to sing, but it worked at times. They gave out the free cd's at the end of it, and so we went to the gate to leave and get our cd and they informed us that they were giving them out at the other gate, all the way on the other side and so 5K people or whatever make a u-turn to head to the other gate, a bit unorganized, but people were singing Coldplay and ooohing and aaahing to Viva La Vida. I grabbed five of the free cd's. Awesome night! Food and sleep now!

Moment of Surrender

I tied myself with wire
To let the horses run free
Playing with the fire until the fire played with me
The stone was semi-precious
We were barely conscious
Two souls too smart to be in the realm of certainty
Even on our wedding day

We set ourselves on fire
Oh God, do not deny her
It's not if I believe in love
But if love believes in me
Oh, believe in me

At the moment of surrender
I folded to my knees
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

I've been in every black hole
At the altar of the dark star
My body's now a begging bowl
That's begging to get back, begging to get back
To my heart
To the rhythm of my soul
To the rhythm of my unconsciousness
To the rhythm that yearns
To be released form control

I was punching in the numbers at the ATM machine
I could see in the reflection
A face staring back at me
At the moment of surrender
Of vision over visibility
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

I was speeding on the subway
Through the stations of the cross
Every eye looking every other way
Counting down 'til the pain would stop

At the moment of surrender
Of vision over visibility
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me 

Wicked

I really wanted to go see a Liverpool football match during my two days in London, but by the time I got settled on Sunday, it would have been quite hectic to catch the train up to Anfield and then spend at least a hundred pounds for seats. I also didn't have my winter coat, and so the prospect of sitting outside in the wind for several hours wasn't the most thrilling prospect. Stevie G didn't play and the Kops were lucky to salvage a point. United is too good, this season's getting boring. Some day I will make it to a premier league match. In a move that many men would question, I decided to take my football money and go watch a show. I couldn't decide if I wanted to see Lion King or Wicked. Lion King was sold out and so I didn't have to make a decision. I had never been to a big show before and so it was quite an awesome experience. I wore my lime green shirt that Heidi gave me for Christmas to participate in the spirit of Oz, quite the contrast to wearing my football jersey with my LFC scarf. I'm proud that I appreciate both scenes. The set is beautiful and they change scenery quite frequently. Elphaba, the wicked witch, carried the show. Her singing voice was far and away the best in the show. I'm sure that it's intentional that her voice overshadows Glinda's, but I would have liked it a little bit better if Glinda had a stronger voice. The characters on the whole were very dynamic, and I love how the show offers a suggestion as to the alternative understanding and interpretation of who the characters are and how they became the way they are. I'm a sucker for good character development, so I really focused on that. 

Glinda has this desire to be popular and be loved, not to rock the boat, while Elphaba has this desire to be true to herself, her values and doesn't care that it will cost her her public image and that she will face scrutiny and opposition. The two are diametrically opposed from birth and originally loathe the other, but after they are forced to be roommates by a comic twist of fate, they grow on each other and influence each other. Ironically, there are a lot of comparisons between Glinda & Elphaba, the elder & younger son from the Return of the Prodigal Son, and Vicky & Christina from Vicky Christina Barcelona which I watched on the plane today. Maybe I'll write about that later. I loved Wicked, it would have been great to see the show with someone else, but between the colors, the costumes, the set changes and the music I was quite excited to be there. I could get used to London!   

• I walked across London Bridge, it did not fall down
  
• I went running through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, past the palace where princess Di lived and the beautiful memorial they created in her honor
  
• explored the tower of London
  
• walked along the Thames at twilight
  
• compared various Rembrandt portraits at the Portrait Museum
  
• walked around Trafalgar square and watched a magic show
  
• Read a bit of the Tempest outside the Globe Theatre
  
• Finished my Henri Nouwen book with a fabulous hand filtered Guatemalan cup of coffee in a quaint fair trade cafe in East London, best coffee in a long time
  
• learned a bit of Anglo Saxon history
• saw the internation headquarter's for the Sal
  
• browsed the markets in Notting Hill
• enjoyed some falafel at midnight 

Cotonou

Wednesday we went to visit two schools to practice doing the outcomes surveys at the school. I taught on Monday and Tuesday about quantitative research and then Wednesday was the demonstration to see how well they had been paying attention. Well, I was quite proud and I love visiting schools and children all around the world. We had a little bit of extra time and so we touched on qualititative research going over how focus groups can be very useful for all types of projects. Especially for training, i think that it's so helpful to see qualitative and quantitative research working hand in hand and the participants were quite excited to see the strengths and weaknesses of each. Both schools didn't have much spare room and had hundreds and hundreds of students. We wanted to do a bit more work on the product design for the digest sized version of the Book of Hope and so Timothy and his team from Togo conducted focus groups with children in the courtyards. It was such a joy to watch him interact with the children. The kids gathered in a circle, ten in all and they started talking about something silly before talking about the books. What they liked and what they didn't like. They took the smaller version and the larger version and compared them and closed their eyes and were asked to raise whichever version they prefered to use. Other kids wanted to join in and the kids included felt quite privileged, especially when they found out that their information would contribute to changes made in a book that will be given to millions and millions of children around the world. Research is a way to give children a voice and be heard. This is one of the things I love most about research. We found out that a major research project Book of Hope hired us to do for Togo a year and a half ago was never translated into french. I felt like crying when I hear this, how can you make people do all this work, tell them how important this is, and then not give it to them in their own language? Are you just doing this to say you do research? What message of value and worth does it send to the national staff? The whole goal of research in ministry is to collect the right information so that you can make better decisions that will impact more lives. If this doesn't happen, research is a waste, and something that we will be held accountable for in front of God. The classroom training was two days and I was a bit more focused on concepts rather than logistics. The participants were able to recite the 5 concepts clis (5 Key Concepts) from memory and I felt quite proud. Pastor Gideon said that he was just going to take the engagement survey and start using it now by himself and not wait for Togo to be funded for anything. I was so proud of him when he said that. I always like when people take things into their own hands and circumvent beaurocracy and apathy. Kimberly kept me from getting too rebellious in my suggestions, but I am just so amazed at the resilience and encouragement that I received from these pastors who have been frustrated and disappointed at times by people making decisions thousands of miles away without "clis" information.

Both schools we visited sat on a hill in Cotonou and looked down over a delta looking expansive body of water. We had the privilege of going to visit this place afterwards. It is a fifteen minute motor boat ride from shore to reach this village on stilts. I have no idea how long it would take to actually row, as nearly all of the residents are forced to do. You'll quickly realize that the overwhelming majority of those rowing this extensive distance are woman and children. The men fish, harvest and make things and the women row to the shore to sell it. Talk about progressive feminism and gender issues. I don't think i could make the round trip and it seemed like cake to them. The village is rather remarkable as tens of thousands of people live in these ricketty houses secluded way off the beaten path. Unfortunately tourism has made that path significantly traveled, but it still exudes an originality like few places I've ever been. Many kids and people were eager to wave, lots of children begged for money from boats and some people yelled things and screamed at the sight of our cameras. The boat ride was relaxing and it was so nice to enjoy the afternoon with Pastor Severin and his wife, Timothy and Kimberly. After the training was finished, Pastor Severin gave me a typical print outfit that men wear in Africa. It's red, grey and dark green with fish and various symbols. The shirt looks great, but I'm a touch nervous about wearing the pants. When in Ghana... (or francophone africa)

Cape Coast

I've known rivers:

I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow

of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.

I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went

down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn

all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

~Langston Hughes

My first trip time to Ghana was quite an experience, and I left with a few major desires. In traveling to the Volta region in the East, I hoped to return to witness the majestic waterfall just off the road that I travelled past to visit the Bible translation project where four languages would be dedicating their New Testament translations for the first time in just a few months. Their joy and pure passion over God coming to them and meeting them on their heart level in their own language was overwhelming to me. I fought back tears several times as I conducted their focus groups. I love hippos and my life will not be complete until I see hippos and rhinos in the wild, so I would love to visit the northern part of the Volta river to witness hippos in action in Ghana. My last desire from my first trip to Ghana was to visit Cape Coast. This I regretted most from my first trip. I know Francis or Pastor Elorm would have accommodated my request to visit this location, but I didn’t want to further inconvenience them with the day’s journey to this necessary landmark. Upon returning, I insisted that I make the pilgrimage this time.

Elmina castle was the largest of three slave castles in Ghana and was the epicenter of the African leg of the transatlantic slave trade. This is one of the most important places I’ve ever visited and as I walked the haunted walls of this former palace of wickedness, I carried the souls of many friends and heroes of mine who will never be so fortunate to make this journey. It sits on the white beach overlooking the tranquil Atlantic scattered with wispy sail boats framed by palm and coconut trees. Kids played football in the gentle surf amongst the verdant crags. Fishermen repaired their nets as they kept an eye out for potential customers. What a peaceful and majestic place it was, it’s so hard to imagine that one of the most evil places in the history of humanity kept watch over this beautiful place. Walking through the halls down into the keep of the castle you could small the rawness and savagery of wickedness. There is a monument at the bottom of the men’s dungeon and as we approached it, the echoes of the wailing overwhelmed us and demanded a realignment of emotion for those out to sight see. Our Ghanaian tour guide appeared practically numb to this woman’s release of pain, emotion, anger, validation and triumph over evil, dehumanization and invalidation. You know that it was the culmination of many journeys that never took place and that she walked in the shoes of others unable to make this journey from across the Atlantic. The altar sits at the heart of the sealed tunnel entrance that led down to “Door of No Return.” As soon as slavery was outlawed by the British, the tunnel was sealed by order of the queen. Far from a noble effort, it was an important step to ensure that this decision was irreversible.  Men, women and children were herded down this walkway and either stepped into the ocean to drown or entered the hulls of the death ships bound for the Caribbean and Americas. I was surprised by how casual and lacking in knowledge the Ghanaian nationals were in the presence of such historic maladies against their ancestors. There are blessings in being shielded from that, but I think that it would also give them tremendous perspective and insight into their identity.  We walked through the door of no return and I wept at the injustice and sin that humanity is capable of. They closed the door as we huddled into the prison cell for those who fought back and rebelled, there was no light and absolutely no ventilation. It was essentially a mass living grave. The tour continued upstairs in the castle to the quarters of royalty, armies and slave traders. Francis told me that I had seen all that I needed to see, and I agreed with him and touched that he understood my necessity to visit this place. I left the group and wandered the underground chambers for a bit alone, allowing some of the gravity to fall on me and to spend time in prayer for peace, for love and for justice.

The past six or seven years have largely revolved around my own African diasporatic journey. I’m not sure why God has called me to this particular perspective, but it has been quite overwhelming. Oftentimes I feel as though I was born with the soul of a weathered African American male. I am aware of the blasphemous precipice that I approach in such claims, but I only claim that my spirit echoes Langston Hughes notion that, “my soul has grown deep like rivers.” My journey culminated with my peregrination to Kenya in November where I experienced the historic African affirmation in the Western world with the election of Barack Hussein Obama as the president of the U.S. The son of a Kenyan prince became the most powerful man in the world. The pride and joy was palpable. It was overwhelming to experience the impromptu celebrations and dancing in the streets, the homemade signs and t-shirts, paintings and graffiti adorning the matatu buses, buttons, stickers, he dominated the papers and the news broadcasts. They conducted mock votes, dramatic plays complete with African John McCain counterparts and lively Obama songs that we listened to driving through the expansive savannahs on our way to the coast. I don’t know that I will have the opportunity to be part of something so historic ever again.   

This spirit was shared in the excitement I sensed repeatedly throughout various regions of Ghana when they expressed that God was no longer a foreigner to them. now that they have their language written down and subsequently the Bible translated in their heart language. I feel that same longing for identity and affirmation in French Africa who feel neglected by the gap created by the English language. God has drawn me to the African experience for some reason, but it is my hearts cry to see those who are marginalized, have been oppressed and whom this world has pushed to believe that they are inferior, be empowered and restored. The gospel is restorative and God is a god of justice. Love is an extension of justice, and I desire love in its fullest. That is why I am a peacemaker, I don’t believe in war as a means to love or justice. God called us to love our enemy and do good to those who persecute us. How do we expect evil, hatred and sin to attain justice and peace? Love, God’s love is the only thing capable of shaming evil and hatred of humanity because it can never truly be defeated . 

In January, amidst the chaos in Kingston, I hurried to finish my second focus group of the morning so that I could tune in with the rest of Jamaica to proudly watch their African brother being sworn in as president. I missed the first part of the inauguration, but I caught enough to draw tears to my eyes as I sat there with my brothers and sisters at the West Indies Bible Society. It was overwhelming to me and as they panned across the men, women and children, particularly African American’s. It was beautiful to see the full spectrum of people across all ages who felt hope. People are looking for hope; that is the God shaped vacuum that exists in all of us. (which cannot be filled by anyone but Christ) My heart leapt for joy. All of Jamaica stopped, as I’m sure most of the world did. I sat eating my curried goat grinning from ear to ear as I joined Jamaican brothers and sisters watching CNN bring story after story from the National Mall drawing the attention of all those who passed by or wandered in. Jamaicans claimed him in the same way that the children of Ghana were so proud of him. The Ghanaian presidential elections were drawing close in Ghana when I visited in November and the kids said they wanted to be president of Ghana some day, just like Obama. Having a black president does not eliminate racism and mean that everyone’s equal and there is no struggle. This man has Harvard degree’s and is hardly your average citizen, but there is no denying the remarkable bridge that was crossed that so few people could have imagined coming true at this point in history. It still brings a smile to me and I hope that Barack is blessed to be able to be president apart from this economic crisis which has consumed our nation, and the world.

Ironically it was this issue that largely brought him into the office and it could be the very thing to starve him and drive him out in four years. I don’t think I truly realized the extent of the economic crisis until a man in Ghana pleaded with me that their project for the Old Testament be funded. The Volta region in Eastern Ghana fears the economic crisis will cut off their financial support from abroad, “We need the Old testament in our mother tongue. I know that the hand that feeds us is hurting and I just pray that we can receive the rest of the Bible in our language, we want the full Bible.” I sat there thinking about how often my bible sits around gathering dust, how many different versions I have, and I take it for granted that God speaks to me on my level, my language, into my heart. Hearing so many people talk about the first time they heard the Word in their heart language, and I keep feeling like I want to experience that experience, but I’ve had that available to me for years.