Rita

Today took a detour at about quarter to five.

A girl that translates for us asked if we would go pray over her friend who is sick. Rita has cancer, but doesn’t know it. Everybody around her knows but nobody is telling her. “The doctor’s can’t explain it.” This is what she knows. She doesn’t know she is going to die, that is unless God heals her.

She’s young, in her twenties, and she’s optimistic. “God is going to heal me.” But she is one of the few saying this. It doesn’t look like she’s got much time.

I don’t pretend to know how God works in this world. There are times when I question, doubt and wonder what He is doing here. There are times when ‘why?’ is the only word on my tongue. Doubt and questioning are, I believe, a part of faith. When we are willing to do those things with our faith, then we are actually taking it seriously. Like the man who asked Christ to heal his son we should cry “I believe, Lord, help my unbelief.”

Thomas Kelley wrote something along the lines of this: “We want so badly to understand God, but a lot of the time all He wants of us is to trust Him.” What is certain in my mind and my heart and what I do trust is that God is good, all the time. Rita echoed this, several times, during our brief time together.

Everyday, she told us, she sees God’s glory. Every day she praises Him for what He has done in her life. She is suffering, cancer is eating away at her and her life here is ending. Praise still flowed.

God is good.

Bebo Norman, amazingly, has a song about a girl, who happens to be named Rita, who passed away. It might as well have been written about the Rita I just met. Here are the lyrics.

Rita’s song

Lay down softly, in our sorrow. Lay down, sister, to die. And cover over, my sweet Father, cover over her eyes.

Your broken body, it can not weather the years your youth longs to spend. So go down graceful. Sleep with the angels. And wake up whole again.

It was not your time. That’s a useless lie. A fallen world took your life.
But the God who sometimes can’t be found will wrap Himself around you. So lay down, sister, lay down.

Slower passing are the hours. To tell this tale, it takes its time. But the finest moment, no man can measure, is to look your Savior in the eyes.

So take her tender, to your table. And take her from this killing floor, to taste the water that is forever. Let her be thirsty no more.

Cause it was not her time. That’s a useless lie. A fallen world, it took her life.
But the God that sometimes can’t be found will wrap Himself around you. So lay down, sister, lay down.
But the God who sometimes can’t be found will wrap himself around you. So lay down, Rita, lay down.

On the cross, Christ faced death. In the resurrection, he conquered it. And we are allowed to join in that, to meet it in a perfect confluence. The sting of death is gone and Rita can face it, and for that matter, is facing it with the hope of the future glory God holds for her in heaven.

March Rationality

Yes indeed, March has, sadly, lost its madness. The college basketball tournament is missed as were the super bowl, national championship and every moment of olympic curling.
Insert moment of silence here.

Thank you.

Today Dorel and I had a riveting conversation with a guy about some heating/cooling units for the transitional living house.

Jealous?

Well, in about a week we should get the estimate. Sounds good, right?
Let me translate some Moldovan for you. One week = Two to three weeks.
I’ve got my fingers crossed. The guy who helped us seemed pretty professional though.

Tomorrow I’ll start the day working with the guys. We’ll eat lunch at the worm cantina. After lunch I’ll ride a marshuka back across town to, hopefully, shower and meet Dorel to go talk to a guy about a gate and fencing. After that meeting, I’ll try to go back across town to meet back up with the guys to go with them to English class. Then I’ll sit for a couple of hours, try not to fall asleep and help the guys with pronunciation.

As for now, I got some cards to play. Dane, Matthew, Jamie and I have developed an intense gambling habit. For those of you who have supported my coming here I want to say thank you. I would also like to ask for more money. You see, I’m dead broke. But, I’ve got a hot streak coming. I can feel it.

Jen if you’re reading this, I owe you an apology. I kind of lost the house in a bet over a stray dog fight. I could have sworn this dog was a winner. He was ferocious and so much bigger then the other dog. I know, I know. It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, blah, blah, blah.

I’ll win it back. I promise. And my shoes too.

(Author's note: I don't really have a gambling problem. I mean it. I've got it perfectly under control. Who do you think you are? Always judging, always watching. Enough! I don't need your help. I don't need anybody's help.)

Where do worms come from?

I'm wondering these days if I have some guests dwelling in me. About a week ago somebody started talking about worms and ways you can get them. Quickly in the conversation it became quite obvious that I am at risk for these party goers to crash my house, so to speak.

My diet is as follows:

cereal

pasta

frozen pizza

yogurt

chips

juices from various fruits

pizza which is not of the frozen variety

soup

eggs

bread

lapte

These things do not worry me. You see, during the week the guys and I will eat at this little cantina close to the orphanage. I once fed 9 people there for 100 lei (13 lei to a dollar). They serve really good soup, these little potato pie things and then some "meat?" or chicken or cutlet with some potatoes or some'thing' else. The soup and pie things I feel good about. It is the main course that worries me. I don't know where worms come from, to be honest. But this would be as sure of a bet as anywhere.

I've been told they help you lose weight. This isn't too bad, I guess. Perhaps I can get back down to my scientifically determined ideal weight which I haven't seen since 9th grade.

This week is going to be a tough one and not just because of the worms. There are going to be some challenging things and stressing times in the next few days. God is good.

(note: i've had a request for a top 5 saved by the bell episodes post from my good friend dean judson abernathy, III. this is my public testimony that i shall, indeed, fulfill this request.)

some pictures

This is the place we stayed at while in Romania. It was really swell.

These are the stairs leading up to "dracula's" castle. Isn't it terrifying? Actually, it was quite nice and the first castle I would consider living in.







This is me at the top of the mountain. Notice the clear skies which made for completely safe adventures.

This is the gnome who nursed me back to health. His name was Pappy Redbelly.

I'm setting up a flickr account to get more pictures for you guys. Here are the few and proud that actually loaded. Technology, hooray!

back to work

I’d like to recommend a book to you. It is Watchman Nee’s The Normal Christian Life. A few years ago I read this book and was blown away by Nee’s ability to unfold complicated, eternal messages and present them in perfect clarity and beauty.



Recently I began to reread this book, a study on the first 8 chapters of Romans. It has really been eye opening reading this along with its subject. Today I read a passage from this book on faith:

“Faith is always meeting a mountain, a mountain of evidence that seems to contradict God’s Word, a mountain of apparent contradiction of tangible fact- of failures in deed, as well as in the realm of feeling and suggestions- and either faith or the mountain has to go. They cannot both stand.”

This hit home today and brought to mind the New Testament’s definition of faith in Hebrews 11.1- Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the proving of things not seen. Faith is when we substantiate our hopes. It is when we make the future things present, a matter of fact, something which happened already.

Today was my first day back working with the guys after the trip. We took some time out of our morning to write out our goals for the next month. I need to get them translated but I thought I’d share some of the things they wrote for their life goals some time back.

Ivan-
I want to help orphan kids and sick people who will need my help.
I want to be a carpenter, have my own business and have people working for me.
I always want to have a good job.
I want my family to always be near me.
I want God to bless my family.

Dima-
I want to have a good job, always.
I want to be a good leader.
I want to have a good family.
I want to be a good example for everyone.
I want my family to have a place to live.

Artur-
I want to help other kids and do good things.
I want to build markets, houses, and other things.
I want to work with and help other orphans.
I want everyone to be proud of me and the things I do.
I want to become a better person than I am now.

We are at the mountain. If they want these things, really want them, then this mountain will have to move.

ouch

I’m back from my exit of this country. The trip to Romania was fantastic. I’ll try to post some pictures later. We spent a week among the mountains and gigantic trees of a city called Braşov. As I’ve said before, I love trees. They towered, reaching high towards the sky.

The trees also became a fun hazard to avoid as I attempted to ski. The last time I went skiing was when I was in fourth grade for a day or two in North Carolina. The skiing in Braşov was a little more intense then the hills back there.

The first day we took it pretty easy and went at it for about 3 or 4 hours. The next day my back was quite upset with me. I took it off and spent some time reading and watching it snow. It was a much needed time of reflection and relaxation.

After achieving enlightenment, I decided I was ready to again tackle the bunny slope (since everything else was for people who knew what they were doing and wanted to live). An hour passed and I was growing tired of zigging and, yes, zagging among the little people. Noticing my improvement, Jamie and Matthew convinced me that they knew a route that I could handle up at the top of the mountain. Like the idiot I am, I agreed that I was ready for the big time. I did have a solid 4 hours of skiing under my belt.

We got on the lift and ascended the glorious mountain. As our elevation increased I noticed that our visibility did the opposite. Where did all the trees go? Where was the ground? Where was the mountain? Why did I listen to them?

These questions raced through my mind as we exited the lift and went back out to the cold and as I faced certain and blind death.

We started down the mountain. I went down. This is truth. I went down frequently and painfully. You would have thought it was my second time on skis. You’d be right.

It turns out that Matthew and Jamie didn’t really know where they were going. The fog got us quite lost. It led us to the two hardest trails on the mountain. They were so hard, in fact, that nobody was going down them. That is, nobody but us was going down them.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

It still hurts….a lot.

When we reached the bottom, I decided that was enough for the day. It ended up being enough for the rest of the week. Like a senior citizen, I was having terrible pain in my hips from my constant falling. Luckily I found a gnome who comforted me. He was quite gentle, as far as gnomes go.

All in all it was a good trip. I saw a couple castles (including Dracula’s supposed home), fell down a mountain, ate at a KFC (perhaps the highlight of the trip), and watched Walker Texas Ranger a few times. Chuck Norris! Yeah!

I'm Getting Out of Here

Since I have to leave the country periodically because of my visa, I am getting out of here for a week. I'll be traveling to Romania with the family of one of the guys here. I think it will be a good and necessary break. It might also be a break from this blog. I will update it if I can. I'll be back on the 20th with pictures and stories of the trip.

To be honest, I need this break. The last few weeks have been really tough emotionally, spiritually and physically. By nature I am an optimist. Most of the time I'll try to leave out the hard things or the bad things or the struggles and present you with a little more serene of a picture. Let me say it simply.

This is hard.

It's hard for a number of reasons. Obviously, there is the language barrier, the different culture, less contact with family and friends, the lack of authentic Mexican food/slurpees and all of the other stresses that come with any kind of move. You deal with "home-sickness" quite a bit. (Home-sickness, I feel, is a stupid way to phrase that. It makes it sound as if home is what is making you sick. I am away-from-home-sick. )

It is also hard because of the constant testing I am going through. The guys are always trying to see what my limits are. They are trying to see where I'll bend, trying to see what they can get away with and trying to see if I'm for real. A lot of time is spent playing mental chess with them as opposed to actual chess with the back-to-back-to-back Moldovan junior chess champion (wink, wink). Some days are awesome. And some days are not so awesome (like the day I "tossed" a screwdriver at, I mean, to Artur).

It should be hard though. Why would it be easy?

The hardships, the solitude and all of the struggles are all a part of walking with God. I look at the Bible and lives were rarely easy. Paul, perhaps more than any man in the Bible, knew about hardships. He was beaten, shipwrecked, left for dead and put in jail constantly. But he learned to be content in all circumstances. There was joy in the midst of those things.

There is joy in the midst of the hardships here. Sometimes that joy is a little hard to find. Some days it surprises me. No matter what happens to me, what I go through or what I endure, it will never be able to remove my joy. My joy comes from the Lord. It does not come from my circumstances. Things are hard here, yes. But "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." Those are the words of Paul in Romans 8.

I would also consider that our present joys are not worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed in us. They are just an appetizer, a foretaste of what God has prepared in eternity for his adopted children. It is our future grace. It is a living hope, found in Christ alone, of that day when all the groanings of this world are comforted and transformed into praise.

Hope is a beautiful thing.

[I've been thinking of occasionally writing some papers or essays to put on this blog. They will be titled "On ______" with the underlined part being whatever the essay is on. Here is the short list of things I've been thinking about: double substitution, future and realized grace, prayer groaning, community, fallen illusions, and solitude. They are all theological in nature (I did study Religion in college). If you have any requests or suggestions, please feel free to give them to me twbedi@samford.edu. They don't have to be theological. I could write them about cereal if you like. Or you can just comment a question. If you are curious about something here, just let me know. I don't really enjoy this thing all that much. It is for you. So let me know how I can improve it.]

You said it Tellis

I just noticed how long my last few posts are. I'll try to mix in some shorter posts here and there. This will be a shorter one.
I read the following quote this morning. It really captures the feelings I have being away from home.

"The worst thing about Europe is that you can't go out in the middle of the night and get a slurpee."

--Tellis Frank

As true today, as it was when it was written. Godspeed.

God, Pots and Violence

I'm an idiot. This morning I experienced some classic alarm clock mishaps. On Monday, things start an hour later due to the fact we go to the children's community center to do volunteer work. On friday we shoveled snow, at about a foot and a half deep, off of the community center roof for six hours as it continued to snow, which seemed a little counterproductive. It was not enjoyable. I feel this way about laundry as well. It too is counterproductive. Even as you are cleaning you are wearing clothes that are being made dirty, unless of course you choose not to wear clothing as you wash which makes me a bit uncomfortable. Laundry never ends. This is how shoveling the snow felt.
I digress.
Back to the clock. I had set my alarm for an hour later. I remembered this and set it back as I went to bed last night. Unfortunately, I did this in the dark and set both the alarm back and the time forward a couple of hours. I woke up at "7:30" as I was supposed to and felt absolutely awful. In reality it was 5:30. I wondered why it was still dark.
I decided I would be late. I would use it as a test to see if the guys knew enough to start working without me. They have done it before but it is always a risky move. As they began their test, I would stay warm and cozy in my bed as I tested my ability to snore and drool.
When I awoke, rested and refreshed, I went to fetch some juice from the fridge. As I began drinking from the carton, which I feel no remorse for doing, I noticed the clock on the microwave. It seemed to think that my alarm clock was wrong. I consulted an independant third party, my watch. It sided with the microwave. It turned out that I was right on schedule and that the alarm clock lied. For those of you who don't know me, I am very intolerant of lying electronics. I immediately chucked the petulant clock against the wall. It cries, no more.
Thus begins my adventure. I go to work, on time(side thought: shouldn't we say "off time" when we are late? "where's pete?" "oh, you know. he's off time again. he's always off time ever since he got that new girlfriend."). The guys show up, a tad off time, and they begin telling me they need to go to the office to pick up some money for the 8th of March. What? They begin explaining it to me.
Dima says, "happy birthday, girl."
Ivan, then joins the cause stating, "every girl, birthday, 8th of march."
Artur is asleep on his feet.
This confuses me more and I ask, "tomorrow, March 8th, is every girl's birthday."
Collectively they cheer, "yes!"
Eventually we call Dorel and he informs me that the 8th is a sort of Moldovan holiday for Mothers, women and the like.
I decide we must celebrate. We cannot work on the 8th of March-eve, it would be un-Moldov-A-merican. We also cannot work because we have no key. Raia, the key-master (hooray for back-to-back Ghostbuster's references), had to leave and wasn't going to be back for a while.
I didn't know what people typically did on the 8th of March-eve, so I figured we would eat. Pretty much every American holiday, and I mean real holiday, is anchored in gluttony. It seemed only right that we would eat. And eat we did.
Now what?
To the museum. Why not? I wanted to go to an art museum and the guys were all for it but wanted, instead, to go to the national history museum. Sounded good to me, so off we went.
We arrive at the museum and pay our entrance fees. It was 1 lei for each of the guys and 15 for me. Ivan told me that if I had kept my beard shaved, then I could have gotten in for 1 lei. This could have meant one or both of the following: a) I look older with my beard b) the people at the museum discriminate against people with facial hair.
As we go through the museum, I learned much about Moldova's history. Pretty much everything in the museum can be boiled down into one of three things: pottery, weapons, or religious icons/Bibles. Seriously, that is all there was. There was violence, there was religion and there was clay. Moldova History 101 is complete.
One other funny thing about the museum was that each room had a lady assigned to it. Basically, their jobs were to turn some, not all, of the lights on when people came in and to make sure people didn't touch things. Our guys touched everything they could get close to. "Hey, don't touch that. It's really old." This was my museum catch-phrase. Some time, I'll blog about some of my other catch phrases. Each one is special.
Well after the museum, we called it a day. It was, without comparison, the best 8th of March-eve I've ever had. Make sure to put it on your calender for next year. When it comes around you'll need to remember to do the following things so you can celebrate it to it's fullest.
1) mess up your alarm clock so that the whole day doesn't feel right.
2) eat something special. we had soup, bread, some sort of "meat" cutlet, what I think was potatoes and the best hot tea in the world.
3) go to a museum and learn about pottery, warfare, and of course God.

Enjoy! And happy 8th of March to all you Mother's, women and such out there.

Who Ya Gonna Call?

Alright, I know in my last posting I promised to give you my best moment of February yesterday. For the faithful who were eagerly anticipating this encouraging entry, I can explain. You see, I kind of forgot to pay Moldtelecom for my internet services this month. Like I said, March kind of snuck up on me. So on the freshly snow-covered morning of March 1, I went to check my email before I left the apartment and I got nothing. Have no fears, I paid through May this afternoon.

Now, I am fully aware that I am doing mission work and that as a person doing this type of work my best moment of the month should probably be spiritual in nature. Perhaps a beautiful revelation of God's goodness and grace would be most appropriate for the best moment of a month for a person in my particular cirmumstances. My favorite February moment, unless I really stretch it, is not really one of those type of moments. I'm sure in some way it is. It is just not an overtly spiritual moment. Sorry?

It began like any typical day. I hit my snooze bar repeatedly until, by the grace of God, I somehow rose from the dead. After preparing myself to face the day, which involves plenty of tai chi, I began my pilgrimage to the orphanage. Upon arriving, I find that the guys are already working. Wait, it gets much better.

Amazed, I walk in the "office" to find the guys diligently attacking our mountain of pre-fabricated furniture. I am so schocked that it takes me several minutes to notice that there is music playing. One of the guys brought a radio and they were playing some of their "legally" downloaded music.

Comprised of mainly rap music, Celine Dion, Moldovan pop and random cinematic scores, these compilations were not always audibly pleasing. At times they were downright torturous. The most painful moment was when they played "My Heart Will Go On" three times in a row and then, for the encore, played the Romanian version another two times (note: the woman who sings the Romanian version sounds as if she is being hit with wiffle ball bats as she vocalizes). Needless to say, I was beginning to doubt if, in fact, my heart would continue to go on if this music did not cease.

Then redemption happened.

I hear the beginnings of a song I find familiar. Before I can decipher the song, one of the guys skipped past it. I knew it. But what was it? It was like "name that tune" and I only got one note.

Curiousity took over my body and I yelled, more like bellowed, at them to go back. I knew the song had something to do with the supernatural. I thought to myself "Is this thriller?" No, it wasn't.

Ladies and gentlement, it was the Ghostbusters' song and I was as happy as a schoolgirl at recess. I told them to crank it up, and crank it they did. For the next few minutes we were all singing along and none of us were afraid of no ghosts. Pure joy. But wait, it gets better.

For those of you who are familiar with this song, you know that there is a fantastic intstrumental interlude featuring a virtuosic guitar solo. When this section of the song arrives, so does the best moment of February.

The guitar solo starts and Ivan takes action. He jumps onto a four foot pile of boxes and begins air-guitaring the solo. He really gets into it. He is making the painful guitar playing faces. He is doing some sort of Neal Diamond-esque dancing. He is even strumming right along with the beat. Simply put, he is rocking and/or rolling.

It was one of the purest moments I have ever been a part of and I have Ray Parker Jr to thank for it. For the record, I love Ghostbusters. Remember when Bill Murray didn't just play sad people? I do.

Author's Note: Per my last blog, there are absolutely no Taco Bells in Moldova. The abscence of Taco Bell, not that a marshuka didn't go there, was what was disapressing. If you find youself at a Taco Bell, please eat a chalupa for me. I miss them more than I miss any of you. Also, if you find yourself at Las Palmas, please eat a chimichanga for me. I couldn't begin to tell you how much I miss them. Moldovan-Mexican just isn't the same.