Our Future Hope

Time to get back to basics, i need to refocus on the fundamentals and return to my first love. It is frustrating that in times of joy and times of pain that idolatry develops so naturally as a byproduct of the many beautiful gifts from the Father. Idolatry in any form will inherently lead to a lack of intimacy and emptiness which whether we recognize it or not, manifests itself through pain. This pain is redemptive and loving as it calls us to our brokenness and the fallen nature of our world that cannot be overcome by anything but Christ. I have read a lot about pain and suffering in the past few years, struggling with my health. Pain is something that is sexy and eloquent to write about, but to actually work through it, in reality is messy, exhausting and emptying. However, there is beauty in suffering for the Christian because it is a tangible reminder that the world is not the way it should be, an alarm clock to grieve that we are fallen and things are not the way they ought to be. Tulian was preaching through Job and said something to the effect of, "Pain involves a distant memory of what once was before sin, death and disease entered the world and a cry for the future glory of what one day will be a universal reality." That is the hope we must cling to or our lives, my life means nothing and is pointless. The two most painful encounters in history was the physical and spiritual anguish Christ endured on the cross for our sins and the pain of the Father to give up His son for that purpose. We are called to trust in God not in his explanations, and I love how this passage in Colossians points back to Christ and puts things in perspective.

1 Colossians

¹⁵He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. ¹⁶For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. ¹⁷He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. ¹⁸And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. ¹⁹For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him,²⁰and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.

²¹Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds because of your evil behavior. ²²But now he has reconciled you by Christ's physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation— ²³if you continue in your faith, established and firm, not moved from the hope held out in the gospel. This is the gospel that you heard and that has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven, and of which I, Paul, have become a servant.

My Home

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."
— C.S. Lewis (Mere Christianity)

T.I.A. (This is Africa)

I feel like whining un poquito lol, shocking I never do that. But no seriously, I feel entitled to whine grrrrr. I woke up w/ a bunch of mosquito bites, they were biting me last night outside and then there was one mosquito in my room and I couldn’t kill him and I woke up and have like 50 bites, including like 15-20 on my face lol. I get a free “breakfast” with my room, so I woke up and grumbled my way down the stairs to the coffee shop for breakfast. Well, it’s this sketchy beans in like watered down ketchup, two sketch hotdogs, a stale piece of bread and cornflakes with hot milk. I almost gagged when I ate the flakes b/c I forget that Africans love hot milk, grosssss. I had to interview three people today and select one person to be the coordinator for the project. I don’t like having to tell people they didn’t get the job. I still have to call a pastor and let him know that he’s a great person and strong candidate, but that we can’t hire him. My first interview was really cool, she’s the person that I’m going to hire.

After the interview she took me downtown to try and retrieve my lost bag w/ my all clothes. Driving downtown was cool, I like talking to random people and so I was talking to the cab driver about politics, football and America. It’s crazy, so many of the government buildings have signs reading, “Built with U.S.A. taxpayers money.” God bless our jacked up country and our crazy politics. We get to the airline place to find my bag and they open the closet and there’s my Maryland Terrapin Luggage tag on my giant red suitcase. I was so excited, and then they’re like, open it and take a look. I open it and my bag looks a little empty and I realize, my camera bag is not there and I’m kinda freakin out and they’re like, write down what’s missing and they will replace things that aren’t electronics or cameras, ughh so I’m out my fancy camera, I shouldn’t have packed it in my checked luggage I guess. They also took my sweet green laced Africa World Cup shoes, sucks, but such is life. Lesson learned. I got to go to lunch at a restaurant downtown in the capital and have my first real Liberian meal.

They had two giant wooden giraffes at the restaurant with a Liberian flag in their mouth. I took a picture w/ my cell phone camera, sadly that’s all that I can take pictures with. It’s ok tho, I’m really not that upset about my camera. Fotos don’t really do justice to Africa anyhow, you have to smell Africa, feel the air and the dust at your feet. After my final interview, I went walking around for a few hours. I wore my Guatemala man purse bag and my Liverpool jersey lol, I always try to appear not American, doesn’t work too well tho ha. It’s fun tho, Liverpool’s themesong is actually a hymn called, “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and all day lots of people, would look up and cheer, “You’ll Never Walk Alone!” It made me cheer up a bit. I walked through town, through markets and shops and I got to one street where I could look down and saw the ocean, so I started walking. I walked through probably four soccer games in the streets with kids playing through piles of trash and potholes and beat up streets with crappy balls. I passed a fancy home that had the iron letters, “Villa Patricia” welded on top of their fence. There was even some guy randomly walking in the street with a shirt that said, “Todos somos Americanos” lol, I love random things. Most kids were really nice to me and many looked up at me and said with a grin, “Liiiverpoooool” English is the official language, but most people talk a language I can’t understand at all. Little girls giggling gathered around the water pumps, while boys played games. Everything is a toy and they are so creative. Kids playing in the back of army cargo trucks, pushing each other in makeshift wheelbarrows even tho the tire doesn’t spin, rolling tire rims down the street with sticks, laughing and having a great time.

I finally got down to the end of the road to the beach. There was an official game of soccer going on, of sorts, they were older and there was a referee there. They were playing on a beach/hill/trash dump right on the beach with the waves slowly invading their pitch. I sat and watched next to a guy sitting on a bucket. Behind the goal was a palm thatched roof abandoned bar where a bunch of kids were watching. The goal was right next to the “public bathroom” aka a giant open cement thing with dividers and no privacy lol. The sun was setting and the tide swirled around the field so that it was almost surrounded on three sides of the field by water. The waves were crashing and hardly anyone was enjoying the beach even tho it was gorgeous. I walked along the waves for a bit and spent some time thinking and reflecting and smiling about how crazy normal my unnormal life is. I love it.

On my walk home I decided I should find dinner at the least shady spot I could find. I saw a sign for a nice looking restaurant called Frenchies lol it had nice pictures of good looking food, I started following the signs and it took me down sketchy streets and it’s night, so I feel like I glow in the dark at night in Africa, but I finally get to the restaurant and get a nice meal at a table with fancy African chairs and classy fake plastic flowers lol. I got to watch one of those shady Nigerian movies that are sorta Christian but also a bit slutty, lol, I so don’t get them. I decided I deserved a beer, yeah yeah I know, but I ordered the African Guiness which I also forgot how disgusting it is, and I love beer, but this is gross. I didn’t even drink half of it, which is a crime and not part of my diet/eating lifestyle plan or whatever ha.

30 Hours

I was kinda freakin out about my flight since i hadn't heard anything from any of my people for a few days, but I get to the airport and the first thing i see is a sign advertising my hotel, so i smiled at that sign and then someone came up and asked me if i was pete and said ppl were waiting for me. I almost hugged her b/c it's like 60 km from town and at night taxis are sketch, especially for a white dude packing six G's in his pocket lol. Funny story, my bag didn't make it even tho i had a day headstart lol, i packed a little bit of extra clothes in my carryon b/c i was predicting that somehow. Lol i can deal with that. It's a nice breezy evening w/ a nice rain, but i'm not having a beer or cafe at my hotel, i'm good like that. Here's my long email/journal entry from my last 15 hours of flights lol. So glad to be off a plane and showered. I like to write lol, it's therapeutic for me, my pen is still stuck in my jacket and i assume that all the tiny dots i passed flying over the giant lake in Ghana were hippos lol, doesn't count...

Aug. 25 Brussels, Belgium to Accra, Ghana Flight Boredom= Write long email/journal about the deep nothingnesses of my life:)

So I’m flying over the Sahara desert right now lol, my outlook reminder just popped up and informed me I’m supposed to be in chapel in 15 minutes. I don’t think I will be making that appointment J It is a giant red dusty blob as far as the eye can see. Can’t see any hippos or giraffes from up here, but it is quite cloudy. I flew sorta past Barcelona headed towards the Mediterranean Sea. We flew over the island of Mallorca which for some random reason is a place I really want to go. I’ve flown over the Mediterranean almost 10 times I think and I still have never gotten to actually see it. A cruise or backpacking around Greece, France and Spain on the sea would be high on my list of travel places I want to go to. I can’t remember where that St. John’s crazy last name place is, but hopefully it’s close to the Mediterranean.

What a ginormous and yet small world we live in. It overwhelms me. Flying brings out the kid in me, I’m glad that aerospace engineering didn’t suck that passion out of me. I’m always giddy when I fly, and yet despite being so excited, I still have the best naps on planes lol. I watched an African documentary about tracking animals in the wild using computers and technology in order to the culture and language of people in the bush. Not sure what I’m going to film a documentary on, lol, maybe this will just be my scouting trip, especially since my only video camera is my jank phone haha. The rest of the movies are awful, but that’s good b/c I have been reading and sleeping. I woke up from my most recent nap while they were showing Shrek.

I’m listening to Jack Johnson, I was supposed to go to his concert tomorrow night in West Palm with my my second favorite half ecuatoriana, bummed that I am missing the show. You joke that I think all my music is deep, lol that’s not true. Jack Johnson sings songs about surfing, love, sharing & recycling (he recorded the soundtrack for Curious George, which is awesome). Some are deep, some silly and some are just chill. I respect him b/c he’s pretty confident in himself but in a very humble and self-sacrificing way. He sings like someone who knows who he is and he believes that love always wins even if it sucks for him at the time. He even says stuff like, “What is the purpose of my life if it doesn’t have to do with learning to let it go.” I’m not sure that he’s talking about Jesus, but I respect how he recognizes that we take life too serious, we cling to our own stuff too seriously and we are too selfish. This morning for my devotion I was reading this book that reminded me of Jack Johnson actually lol, but I decided that he has a good grasp on grace and that it CLEARLY frees him to live life freely and at peace with himself and others. The author of my book says, “As Christians our standard of living can never be “right or wrong,” but the Cross. The principle of the Cross is our principle of conduct. Praise God that he makes his sun to shine on the evil and the good. With him it is a question of his grace and not of right or wrong. But that is to be our standard also: “Forgiving each other even as God in Christ Jesus also forgave you.”

I think simple truths are often the best, so I really liked that and I like Jack Johnson for that reason too lol, not that I’m comparing him to Jesus at all. I love tho how God will use my circumstances, music, reading and his Scripture to converge to smack me over the head with a truth that I need to learn b/c I am very stubborn when it comes to trusting God and walking confidently in my identity as His beloved son. For me I can see how my mistakes and others has led me on a journey to understand grace and be free to accept all that comes my way, knowing that I have a merciful and gracious father who has a freakin amazing plan for my life and loves me too much not to let me experience it. I haven’t even gotten to Africa yet and God’s already been speaking to me lol, I love traveling. I’d much rather be delayed or lost with someone amazing and fun than experience amazing places by myself though. Music, writing and Papa God will have to suffice in the meantime. I love writing so instead of journaling today, I wrote to you J Hehe, if I could text faster you’d have even more books to read, I like writing b/c I can process while I’m doing it. Anyhow, I’m about to land in Ghana and then will have a two hour connection to Liberia. Not 100% positive someone’s going to be there and where exactly my hotel is lol, but that’s what makes it interesting and teaches me to trust that my Father in Heaven loves his son and has a perfect plan even when it’s way different than what I want when I treat him like Santa or something.

A Dios Le Pido

que ironica esta cancion. Me encanta tanto para descansar despues de la luna y las estrellas muy hermosa y claro en la cancha detras de la casa de mis padres. Pensaba mucho por los anos, sobre mis deseos, suenos, amor, mi salvador, mi familia, mi pena, mi esperanza. Claro que si, luna me significa mucho pero quien sabe que pasara. Dios tiene mi vida en sus manos y el me conoce mejor que yo, conoce mis deseos que algun dia esta cancion me significara mucho mas de una balada. Solo puedo prepararme de ser el hombre que Dios quiere y puede usar por sus propositos y planes. No importa que pasa, las luna siempre me importan mucho y son un parte de mi corazon muy divino y precioso. A Dios le pido...jeje ok juanes

Luna de todas las noches
Ilumíname esta noche
Dime si ella es la reina
Y la dueña de todo mi amor
Luna lunita lunera
Luna llena luna perla
Dime si ella es la reina
Y la dueña de todo mi amor
Y dime si ella es de mi voz la piel
Y dime si ella es mi razón de ser
Luna de tantos amores
Luna viva luna hermosa
Dime si ella es la reina
Y la dueña de todo mi amor
Luna de noches en grima
Luna de la nochecita
Dime si ella es la reina
Y la dueña de todo mi amor
Y dime si ella es de mi voz la piel
Y dime si ella es mi razón de ser
Yo te doy todo mi amor
Luna de mi corazón
Yo te doy todo mi amor
Si tú me lo cuentas todo
Luna yo todo te doy
Luna de mi corazón
Yo te doy todo mi amor
Si tú me lo cuentas todo
Luna luna lunita lunera
Cascabelera bendita seas
Vení alumbra este andaluz
Que viene cargando esta cruz
Y dime de una vez si es ella la que yo quiero
Luna luna lunita lunera
Dime todos tus secretos
Y dime si ella es de mi voz la piel
Y dime si ella es mi razón de ser
Yo te doy todo mi amor
Luna de mi corazón
Yo te doy todo mi amor
Si tú me lo cuentas todo
Luna yo todo te doy
Luna de mi corazón
Yo te doy todo mi amor
Si tu me lo cuentas todo

Dang Kiwis

i was about to say that the New Zealand-Slovakia game demonstrates why I don't do fantasy sports. i just don't have the emotional capital to invest in getting all worked up and exasperated over the Kiwis taking my clean sheet and win away from my starting keeper, but then Fanny calls me b/c my ecuadorian abuelita insisted she call me to tell me about the amazing finish to the game we were watching this morning and she knew i would be driving and wanted to make sure i knew about it, que linda, i feel a little better about losing my points...

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

Me Viniste a Rescatar

Hace mucho tiempo desde he escrito y ahorita me siento como expresarme por espanol. Mi lengua espanol parece como nino pero me aconseja mucho. Seguramente es muy imperativo porque soy muy terco y duro y Jesus nos dijo que necesitamos llegar a ser como ninos para heredar el reino de Dios. Tantas veces creo que tengo todo control de mi vida. En estos momentos de mi orgullo, Dios me guia hacia su voluntad y proposito usualmente por medio de angustia y mis circunstancias lastimas. Esta cancion me acuerdo que no vale la pena si Dios no controla mi vida, tengo que poner mi vida en tus manos. A mi no me importa que pasa conmigo solamente que lo aprendo, que Dios es mi roca y refugio, que el no permitira nada pasar afuera de su perfecto plan. El me conoce, me conoce, me conoces, Senor. Mis deseos para casar, mis temores, mis suenos, mis pasiones por lo urbano y internacional, la pena de pobreza que pesa mucho en mi corazon, el gozo que me da comunidad, el conoce todo. Si creo en el, tengo que confiar en su provision y no en mi capaz. Me libra cuando reposo en esto, solo necesito clamar y me vendra para rescatarme, para sostenirme que paz cuando realmente lo comprendo. Mi mente sabe pero mi corazon no conoce en serio esto y esto me causa problemas y lastima. No se como es posible porque Dios me ha mostrado por todo el mundo su poder, amor y gracia y todavia estoy arrogante y terco pero me prometio que si buscaria con todo mi alma, el le hallare asi que te digo Senor, estoy aqui con mis manos vacios, entrego mis deseos y te confio que tus planes son lo mejor, estoy clamando, rescateme mi precioso salvador, te amo. Dejalas a las letras a esta cancion perduran en mi corazon...

Me Viniste A Rescatar

Vengo ante ti postrado,
con todo mi ser te quiero ver,
tuyo soy, Señor.

Mi vida pongo en tus manos,
Dios de gracia, vengo en humildad,
En tu presencia quiero estar.

Clamé, me oíste, me viniste a rescatar,
Contigo quiero estar.

Con mi fe te exaltaré,
Con mi amor te exaltaré,
Con mi ser te exaltaré.

Perspective

Tony, Cris and I had an amazing time of fellowship, fun and sightseeing on our trip to San Fran, Napa Valley, REDDING, and Lake Tahoe. The trip was refreshing and brought a lot of levity to work and life stress, but as we reflected on some things, the trip really brought me some perspective on who I am and who I want to be. Tony and Cris have really helped me tremendously work through issues that I need to work and have often been too lazy to pursue and that is one of many reasons that I love them, but back to perspective... Lake Tahoe is expansive, breathtaking and majestic. Pictures rarely do it justice and yet I pursue shots that might capture a glint of the majesty. As the sun was getting ready to set I was jumping all over the place, climbing and falling in the snow trying to get good pictures. It was bright and so I had borrowed Tony's chic sunglasses to minimize the glare in my eyes. As I lined up a picture in the view-finder and snapped the picture, I was inevitably utterly disappointed whenever I'd look at the LCD and see the miniature version of my picture, washed out, not terribly crisp and completely uninspiring. After several frustrating minutes of this, I decided to try some trickery and placed Tone's sunglasses in front of the camera lens b/c I was desperate to see on film what my eyes saw through those shades. These two pictures were my favorite to see the contrast between the two (yes, some of it has to do w/ my lack of understanding of white balance thank you :P ) Regardless, it is astounding to witness the power a thin piece of plastic has in completely transforming a landscape and changing your entire outlook. Millimeters of tinted glass changing the refraction gradient completely transforms the expansive lake in majestic and breathtaking fashion. One infinitesimally small lens in relationship to the hundreds of square miles of lake surroundings has the power to completely change everything. So i often I keep my lens cap on or I've got my gospel sunglasses on my head while I'm squinting and struggling to contextualize the spiritual landscape that God has perfectly and personally equipped me for. Thank goodness for moments of clarity, conviction and reflection to step back admire God's work in my life and in creation and worship Him.

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.