Season Maker

I love being trapped on trains or planes, especially without the internet or television. It forces me to stop, to breathe and to focus without giving me another noisy option to distract me from pursuing my greater purpose. I actually lament the announcement informing us of the approaching descent or the arrival of my metro or train stop. This is especially true of this trip where I have been engrossed in the Brothers Karamazov, cherishing every spare moment I have to spend time with the crazy Russians who have so much to reveal to me about my heart, my purpose and my unbelief. Some of my most enjoyable moments of this trip has been just sitting at cafes inhaling the fresh Parisian springtime while I inhale Dostoyevsky’s masterpiece. In these moments, everything slows down and I find solitude and communion with God despite the hustle and bustle about me.

It’s funny; Papa will go to great length to get my attention. I’m prone to complain about all the things that I would change about my life, my health, my heart’s desires that have yet to be fulfilled and the list goes on, but in moments of clarity, I recognize that I don’t want some weak substitute of God’s perfect plan for me. I don’t want to be Saul and have the crown thrust upon me only to melt under the weight of such power and stature. David was forced to endure 13 years of trial and suffering after Samuel declared his inheritance before God permitted to ascend to the throne. Those years formed and shaped him and equipped him to handle the favor which God desired to place upon him. The three Karamazov boys appear to be diametrically opposed to each other in a way that requires Non-Euclidean geometry, but in this milieu I recognize great strengths and weaknesses in each brother that is very present in me, both good and bad. Suffering is a huge part of the story, but the reader is invited to witness the difference between arrogant vane suffering and a purging suffering connected to Christ and calling forth Hosanna and our earthly Resurrections.

Oh for moments of solitude, but they are so heavy upon us that we avoid them at great length even though deep down we recognize the power and purpose in enduring them. Ivan beautifully portrays this flight from freedom that Christians flock two because it is frighteningly overwhelming. He echoes Paul’s words to the Galatians calling them to abandon their regression to live under the law b/c it is comfortable and doesn’t overwhelm them the way that living by the Spirit forces them to surrender, to lay down their self, their choice in order to fully live. What a glorious paradox. I’ve had a good number of conversations with others and internally regarding the nature of spiritual spring versus winter. The Parisian springtime blossoms, buds and breezes beckon me to spring, and the sunlight of this shift brought me joy that I have not experienced for some time. In the midst of this joy though, I realized that seasons don’t matter, because I know the season-maker and I trust his goodness!

Who could ever predict a massive volcano eruption bringing all of Europe to a halt? Again, I’m presented a mandatory respite requiring me to change my own plans and to listen to my divine season maker. Last night I was planning not to sleep b/c I have a lot of work to do, wanted to finish my book, didn’t feel like spending 20 bucks on a dependable alarm clock to wake me up for the early morning train, and I didn’t trust the hotel staff to walk all the way up the six flights of rickety spiraling wooden staircases since my phone wasn’t working. Well I was watching the Wire as it has been compared to a modernized urban Brother’s Karamazov and next thing you know I’m waking up in a panic at the light outside. I must have dozed off around 3:30 and I have the capacity to sleep for 13 hours or more given the opportunity and so I panicked assuming I certainly slept beyond my necessary wake-up time. I couldn’t believe it when I looked at my computer to see that I essentially woke up at the perfect time to reasonably collect my things, grab a croissant and espresso strolling through the streets one last time before embarking upon the next legs of my adventures.

I grabbed a seat near the middle and we were shortly off. (Pointless aside: The first thing that struck me was the series of seven illustrations detailing the emergency window smashing procedures. I laughed, it was terribly complicated and required you to perforate the glass then by puncture with the hammer and repeat both steps three times and then voila, you are free! We are screwed if anything happens)

You’d have thought that I’d have learned from Milan that I should always double check the destination of trains in Europe, but I didn’t. I was relieved to get to Strasbourg, our first stop and hear the announcements for Zurich on my current track. Well, unbeknownst to me and not adequately addressed in the announcements was that the first half of the train would continue on to Zurich while the rear remained there. Of course I find this out quite late and the train is long gone. Unreal, I can’t believe something like that happened again and I can feel the stress rising up in me and the fury. Well a friendly chap from the UK did the same thing and upon inquiring about our course of action, we were told that the next train to Zurich was in two hours and we would be fine to wait for that train. Bearable. Well I grabbed another coffee and walked outside toting my two massive suitcases, backpack and camera bag. I would just sit in the plaza in front of the monastery turned transportation hub.

After I calmed about, read some of Dmitri’s trial and took in some sunshine. I decided that I would explore a bit and within a five minute walk I found myself at the meandering banks of the Rhine assaulted on all sides by an advancing spring. I chuckled as I recognized what a fortuitous blessing to be so foolishly detained at this station. I sat down in the fresh air at a quaint riverside café, enjoyed a sucre glass of vin blanc (reminded me of the delightfully sweet wine we shared in Napa!) with delicious croquettes aux tres formages and the company of Dostoyevsky’s ghosts. It couldn’t have planned it this well, but I just don’t have the foresight to trust completely in the one orchestrating my life and enjoy without fear the incredibly intimate and perfect journey he desires me to travel in spite of my own intentions to go off-track. After a relaxing and nourishing lunch, both in mind and body, I strolled back to the station and sat for ten minutes reflecting on God’s perfection and my immaturity.

I pray that I have the strength to step aside from myself and marvel at the divine season maker and his delightfully perfect plan for me, volcanic ash, confusing trains, riverside glasses of wine and heartbreak included. In sorrow there is joy, in joy there is sorrow. May they equip me to handle his favor and honor him fully in the plans he has for me.

Je t'aime, Mon Afrique

Sunday's are set aside as a day of rest, but oftentimes they can be quite stressful or unnerving to me when I'm in a foreign land. This is particularly true if they are part of the 70% of the world or whatever it is that doesn't speak English or Spanish :) Africans know how to worship, I know that and yet the prospect of a four hour church service all in French wasn't the most appealing to me. At least the church at my guesthouse would be airconditioned. I always joke that Americans just need three things to be happy; coffee, internet and airconditioning. Well in Africa, you can usually get some variety of two or three of those things, but never quite to the extent that you desire. I suppose we can never have too many lessons in patience and contentment. Timothy had been trying for days to get in touch with his Togolese friends to direct us to his denomination in Cote d'Ivoire. I'm always for new things, and four hour french church certainly was not a new thing i wanted, i eagerly sacrificed guaranteed airconditioning for an adventure.

I slightly regretted that decision almost immediately when we made our way through the back alley by the soccer and basketball courts to the road to catch a taxi. When I finally stood in the early morning brutal sunshine, I immediately realized and lamented terribly not putting on my deodorant, that really could have killed my day as it could have been painful to me and unpleasant to others (although it doesn't stop like 90% of africans or so as i estimate that don't use it). I usually try to hide while Timothy negotiates a car rate b/c my whiteness is like a giant dollar, shilling, pound or franc fill in the african currency here. Additionally, Timothy handed the driver the phone to talk to someone in Togo about the location of this church in Cote d'Ivoire. We set off and I'm in the back seat, reading my Brothers Karamazov like the absorbed nerd that I am, I can just inhale that book, but I also am trying to savor my first read through it, so i will read back over impacting or mind-bottling passages.

Driving into Abidjan is beautiful as the city unfolds about several lagoons (most of which are tragically polluted) that are nonetheless inspiring and breathtaking. We had been driving quite a ways and things became much more and more rural and before you knew it the roads had disappeared along with the telephone and electrical wires. There were no street signs whatsoever and we quickly became lost and spent lots of time wandering as the driver would pull up next to someone and ask for directions and would invariably point us back in the direction we came to recalibrate and try again. After much driving and phone calls, we were eventually greeted by a bicycle messenger who had been sent from the receiving church. He pointed us in the direction and gave us instructions as we took off with hope anew. About twenty minutes later, he caught up to us, drenched in sweat and we picked him up, jamming his bike into the trunk of the taxi as we were defeated and forced to be ushered personally to the church.

As we are driving through long nothingness of palmtrees and thicket, the lagoon sweeps up alongside you without much warning and deposited us finally at the church in a secluded area right on the sure of expansive blue and solitude. The land faces a large island that is nothing but a giant mass of palmtrees and sand. The church is hardly a building but more of a tent of palm leaves thatched into a roof and lined with palm fronds to create as cool an interior as is possible for the typical 115 degree heat index. We invited the taxi driver into church and he declined, but we realized we would not be able to find another cab for miles and miles so we paid him to wait for us. Upon ducking into the tiny beach floored shelter, I was amazed at how pleasant it felt inside. We briefly sat on a bench at the back just in front of the nursury (open sand area with kids laying down and mothers sitting/playing with them) before they beckoned us to their pulpit. I always found it funny when guests sit at the places of honor and so i felt a bit silly trudging through the sand to the plastic beach chair behind the wooden bench and pulpit just off to the side and slightly to the front. As I carefully followed Timothy's every lead, I sat down and nearly fell over as my chair sunk several inches into the sand. I was slightly off guard and out of my element.

They brought us water that I'm sure was not bottled and so Timothy leaned over and whispered that i should either fake drink it or spit it out, but to look appreciative and make some kind of gesture. I withheld a giggle and opted to sip a little bit, but the essentially full glass on the bench sat there indicting me the entire service. We sang several songs which enabled me to loosen up, i love singing songs in languages i don't know very well b/c I have the spirit of praise, i am surrounded by my brothers and sisters and i can pick out the important words, heart, love, Savior, Lord, Jesus, etc. Even though there were only 20 people in this small town, they worshipped and man it ministered to my soul and I praised God and felt rest. Timothy, my pastor and my friend preached in English just for me and the pastor translated to French for the congregation. I later found out that many people in the church were Ghanaian and so several could speak some English at least and came up to me afterwards to welcome me and practice their English. He spoke from Matthew 26 about Jesus in Gethsemane and how he fully and finally laid down his will for the will of his Father, and how this is the gate to our glory and to our destiny; not my will, but yours. I have been sharing with Timothy what has been on my heart lately and beyond the fact that he was preaching in his second tongue, purely for my sake, I sensed that he crafted that message specifically for me and was speaking directly to me. I suppose this is the mark of a good pastor to make his people feel that way, but I was honored.

I would have the opportunity to return the favor as following his message, they asked me for an encore message. I smiled knowing that it was likely to come and so I preached out of the Psalms of Ascension and Ephesians regarding the relationship between communion with God and fellowship with one another and the joy that comes from worshipping God together in community. I even gave my first paragraph about God, love and community in French (or at least I believe that I did lol) By this time, I know that if I look around and I'm the only white person in the room, especially if it's somewhere remote, i better be prepared to give a message! How joyful it is to talk about community, to worship with my brethren and to rejoice in the kindred spirits we share through our pursuit of God and death to our will's that His might be born completely in us. My spirit was so encouraged by church and meeting with people afterwards, but the day only got better as we headed back to civilization to meet with the denomination leaders over Coca-Cola and cookies (Coke was meant to be drank in a glass bottle).

Unfortunately the road to the bishop's house is also the road to beach where anyone and everyone was headed and so two lanes of traffic were a standstill for miles while the other side of the road sat practically dormant. I thought to myself that they should have variable direction lanes and before I knew it, drivers began to cross the muddy sandy divide and take matters into their own hands driving on both sides of the divided "highway"I sat there as Timothy shared his vision for the church, his heart for West Africa and how this project could be a great resource to the church. He got many head nods and affirmative gestures from the mostly older elders. I had a chance to share a bit and they were encouraging to me, but my job is to equip and empower people not be the Moses or Aaron. Interestingly the head bishop of the denomination really opened up once we began to mention the football match we were going to attend in the afternoon. He studied English in the UK and was a big Liverpool fan and he started asking me all sorts of questions about Rafa, our current midfield configuration and testing my knowledge about the great sides of the 70's and 80's. I loved it, I love how football connects people. We headed across the biggest lagoon back towards the major district of Abidjan for the National Stadium to watch the local National team play Les Elephants square off against the Sparrow Hawks from Timothy's homeland of Togo.

African's are so passionate about their teams, that they must separate the fans very carefully so that violence doesn't break out. Sadly this mirrors the political situation which is also fighting amongst the same people. Timothy remarked at how many people were speaking his mother tongue language from Togo all throughout the city. Both countries boast vibrant colorful flags and proudly wore, waved and touted their particular variety. The visiting Togolese even toted a working orchestra of drummers and buglers to support their troops, though paling in comparison to the orange and green symphony of musicians and official supporters given the most prestigious place of cheer outside of dignitaries. The Ivorians even sported an adorable army of children who danced whenever their heroes broke through notching goals that sent the crowd into a frenzied state. They had much reason for dancing for although the game was a fairly conservative 0-0 draw after the first half, the mighty orange broke through and exploded for four goals in the second half. In doing so, they just missed out on Timothy's grim, but realistic 5-0 defeat which he predicted of his compatriots before the match began.

Each goal was noted on what appeared to simply be a large piece of poster board labeled "CI (Cote d'Ivoire) and TOGO and volunteers or staff scribbled numbers on placards to place on the makeshift "jumbotron" (I tried to explain the new Cowboy stadium sign to them and they couldn't imagine it, I still can't for that matter)The Ivorians cheered and cheered, but cheered more for the artistic and beautiful plays that usually failed to materialize into any substantial tactical move. They just loved to see the beautiful game played and celebrated the artistic. Poor Togo, as soon as they went down a goal, they gave up and the flood gates opened.

Midway through the second frame, they brought in a tall dreadlocked midfielder matching the frame, appearance and number of Togo's hero and 2009's African footballer of the year. Every time he touched the ball, the Ivorians cheered and yelled out Adebayor's name. It became clear why he was merely a look alike and not on the real national squad as he had little pace for the game and trouble finding his spacing. His culminating act was taking a pass in stride late in the match and proceeding to step on the ball tumbling to the ground as the whole stadium erupted into joyous laughter. When the final whistle sounded, the fans congratulated each others and the players, even the defeated sparrow hawks, approached the stands of their adoring fans to salute and honor their supporters. It was really neat to be a part of this. (I still hate those vuvuzela horns that Africans blow incessantly and obnoxiously during FIFA tournaments)

We celebrated with the fans and enjoyed a chocolate covered banana popsicle outside the stadium before heading back to our part of the city for an incredible meal of beef grilled over an open flame served with onions, spicy pepper sauce, and seasoning accompanied by the local treat, casava couscous accompanied by nothing other than a refreshing Coke, straight from the bottle of course. Perfect ending to a marvelous day...je t'aime, mon Afrique.

Brothers Karamazov

some of my favorite quotes from BK so far, my words aren't necessary...

The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the devil are fighting there and the battleground is the heart of man. But a man always talks of his own ache. Listen now, let’s come to facts…

Alyosha “pierced his heart” by “living with him, seeing everything and blaming nothing.” Moreover, Alyosha brought with him something his father had never known before: a complete absence of contempt for him and a consistent kindness, a perfectly natural, unaffected devotion to the old man who deserved it so little. All this was a complete surprise to the old wretch who had dropped all family ties.

In his [Alyosha] fervent prayer he did not beseech God to lighten his darkness. He only thirsted for the joyous emotion, which always visited his soul after the praise and adoration, of which his evening prayer usually consisted.

“Why, why, had he (Alyosha) gone forth? Why had Father Zossima sent him into the world? Here in the hermitage was peace. Here was holiness. But out in the world there was confusion, there was darkness in which one lost one’s way…”

And in the very depths of that degradation I [Dmitri] begin a hymn of praise. Let me be accursed. Let me be vile and base, only let me kiss the hem of the veil in which my God is shrouded. Though I may be following the devil, I am thy son, O Lord, and I love thee. And I feel joy without which the world cannot stand.

What chance was there of peace? Were there not, on the contrary new grounds for hatred and hostility? And with whom was Alyosha to sympathize? And what was he to wish for each of them? He loved them both, but their desires were conflicting. He might go astray in this maze, and his heart could not endure uncertainty because his love was always of an active kind. He was incapable of passive love. If he loved anyone, he wanted at once to help him. And to do so he must know what he was aiming at. It was natural for him to help both Ivan and Dmitri. But instead of a definite aim, he found nothing but uncertainty on all sides. “It was lacerating,” as was just said. But what could he understand even in this laceration? He did not understand the first word in this perplexing maze.

Last week I [Katarina] learned that he [Dmitri] still needed money. My only object in all this was that he should know to whom to turn, and who was his true friend. No, he wouldn’t recognize that I am his truest friend; he regards me merely as a woman. I’ve been tormented all week, trying to think how to prevent him from being ashamed to face me because he spent that three thousand [Roubles]. Let him feel ashamed of himself, let him be ashamed of other people’s knowing, but not of my knowing. He can tell God everything without shame. Why is it he still does not understand how much I am ready to bear for his sake? Why, why doesn’t he know me? How can he not know me after all that has happened? I want to save him. Let him forget me as his fiancée…

Your life, Katerina, will be spent in painful brooding over your own suffering. But in the end that suffering will be softened and will pass into contemplation of the fulfillment of a bold and proud design. Yes proud it certainly is, and desperate in any case, but a triumph for you. And the consciousness of it will at last be a source of complete satisfaction and will make you resigned to everything else.

Your brother is in there with her now, not that dreadful brother [Dmitri] who was so shocking yesterday, but the other, Ivan. He is sitting with her talking. They are having a serious conversation. If you could only imagine what’s passing between them now- it’s awful. I [Katerina] tell you it’s lacerating; it’s like some incredible tale of horror. They are ruining their lives for no reason anyone can see. They both recognize it and revel in it. I’ve been watching for you! I’ve been thirsting for you! It’s too much for me.

But they have only analyzed the parts and overlooked the whole, and indeed their blindness is marvelous. Yet the whole still stands steadfast before their eyes, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it. Has it not lasted nineteen years? Is it not still a living, a moving power in the individual soul and in the masses of people? It is still strong and living in the souls of atheists, who have destroyed everything! For even those who have renounced Christianity and attack it still follow the Christian ideal. And neither their subtlety nor the ardor of their hearts has been able to create a higher ideal of man and of virtue than the ideal given by Christ of old.

There is a remarkable picture by the painter Kramskoy, called "Contemplation." There is a forest in winter, and on a roadway through the forest, in absolute solitude, stands a peasant in a torn kaftan and bark shoes. He stands, as it were, lost in thought. Yet he is not thinking; he is "contemplating." If anyone touched him he would start and look at one as though awakening and bewildered. It's true he would come to himself immediately; but if he were asked what he had been thinking about, he would remember nothing. Yet probably he has, hidden within himself, the impression which had dominated him during the period of contemplation. Those impressions are dear to him and no doubt he hoards them imperceptibly, and even unconsciously. How and why, of course, he does not know either. He may suddenly, after hoarding impressions for many years, abandon everything and go off to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage for his soul's salvation, or perhaps he will suddenly set fire to his native village, and perhaps do both. There are a good many "contemplatives" among the peasantry.

Strengthen yourself in the Lord

stolen from bill johnson...can't wait to read the rest of the book

Watch over your heart with all diligence for from it flows the springs of life. Prov. 4:23

All of the issues of our lives flow forth like rivers from one central location- the heart- and what we do in stewarding that one place determines the outcome of our lives. We live in the crossroads daily that place b/w mystery and revelation. My job is to trust my heavenly father with the problems and the situations I don’t understand and focus on stewarding my will to what I know to be true. My success in watching over my heart determines the measure of kingdom breakthrough I will experience in life. In other words, my inner reality often defines the nature of my external reality: If I prosper in my heart, my life will prosper. Strengthening ourselves in the Lord is an essential part of stewarding our heart. The tools that I have learned to use to strengthen myself in the Lord have become calculated responses to the warning lights of my heart, but the fact is I can only respond correctly if I already recognize and understand the signals my heart sends. If the oil light comes on in my car and my response is to take it to the carwash, I clearly do not understand what the light means. Worse yet the real problem has not been dealt with yet and will soon manifest in a break down. When it comes to my heart I have found that the only way I can correctly use the tools I have received to strengthen myself is to establish foundational truths in my thinking- truths about the nature of reality, who God is, and who He has made me to be, these truths help me identify my heart signals.

Did you know that your thinking and your heart are intimately connected? The western mindset compartmentalizes human beings when it comes to feelings and thinking, the heart feels and the mind thinks, but scripture says for as he thinks in his heart, so he is (Proverbs 23:7) In fact the Hebrew definition of the word heart encompasses the entirety of your inner man. Your heart is the seat of your mind, imagination, will, desires, emotions, affections, memory and conscience it is also the center of your communication with the spirit of God and possesses the faculties that perceive spiritual realities. Scripture refers to this spiritual perception as the eyes of your heart thus your heart is what enables you to have faith, which is the evidence of things not seen (Heb 11:1) Your faith grows as your heart, led by the holy spirit, perceives and understands the invisible realm of spiritual reality. The unseen realm governs the visible realm and brings your mind and will into agreement with the reality of the kingdom. In essence what I have just described is the process of renewing your mind. Our internal focus on and agreement with spiritual reality- either the reality of God’s kingdom established on the truth or the destructive reality of the enemy’s kingdom established on lies, gives permission for that reality to flow into the issues of life. This power of agreement with spiritual reality through our focus adds another dimension to the principle that life flows from the heart; you become what you behold. As I said in the previous chapter, God has made clear what we are becoming- the potential we are all called to grow into throughout our lifetime. We are becoming kings and priests of the planet following the lead of our elder brother Jesus. This is why Hebrews tells us to fix our eyes on Jesus (Heb. 12:2)

Our goal is to sustain our focus on him, b/c we become like the one we behold. The degree to which we understand our identity and purpose, who we are becoming, is always determined by the degree of our revelation of Jesus. He is the exact representation of the Father in whose image we were created.

Beholding Jesus cannot be reduced to reading about Him in scripture. He died that the same spirit that was in him and on him giving him constant access to what the father was saying and doing could be sent to live in us. The truth is that every believer has constant access to the manifest presence of God. WE ARE AN OPEN HEAVEN. But we have to take advantage of that access and we do that by turning our focus on him. Only in that place of communion with him do we come to know him and consequently gain the revelation of our identity and purpose and as we agree with the revelation of who he is, the reality of who he is, starts to flow into our lives and transform us into his likeness. All fruitfulness in our lives flows from this place of intimacy with the Lord. All fruitfulness.

1 Samuel 30:6