this morning i recieved a call regarding a boy in moldova. this was a boy i had hoped to work with very closely during my time there. over the course of my first three months, i tried to track him down to no avail. i would call and leave message after message but to no avail. i was never able to get in touch with him and after a few months i quit.
the call informed me that he has passed away. i don't know the exact details yet. i just know that it happened.
a small part of me wonders if things would have been different had i made a stronger effort to track him down, to get in touch with him, to love him better and anything else. i wonder if i messed up. i mean, i was there. i could have done more to get in touch, why didn't i try harder? those are questions i suppose i must ask myself. i know there are many people who would stop me there and comfort me, tell me it was out of my control, that i was busy enough and so on and so forth. but those words would probably not do much to ease my mind.
a while back, a guy at church i knew had an illness that required him to move south, to a warmer climate. he had poored himself into a group of my friends, something he had expressed a little anxiety or nervousness about doing. i remember telling him that i would stay in contact with him. that we would try to get down to see him. i did neither.
a few years passed and i was told that the illness that had moved him away from his home had now taken his life. the promises i hadn't kept hit me in the gut. i hadn't kept my word, i hadn't made the effort and i hated myself for it.
as i've prayed for the people in their lives, today i haven't been able to get either of these people off my mind. i have had to look at myself and wonder if i'm doing enough in my life. i have to wonder if i really care about those around me. i have to ask myself if i'd be willing to go after that kid that i want to give up on. and there are countless other questions and thoughts wrestling around, fighting each other and making my head a hostile place to be.
my heart is heavy today. the cold, damp weather has been the proper setting for that heaviness. it has sent me seeking warmth and comfort. it has made me remember just why i want to live a life free of regret. it has helped me to remember that there are people out there that just need somebody to care and that we all will be one of those people at some point.
this next week i'm going to pearlington mississippi in order to help build a home for a family which lost theirs by way of katrina. i'm sure these thoughts will stay with me as the spirit God placed in me fights to draw me closer to him as i try to draw closer to him.
but today, i'll hurt and i'll remember these two people. i'll pray that these regrets will change me, sanctify me and help me to walk the way of the cross. they'll forever stay a part of me, their faces serving as a reminder of God's call on my life, on our lives, to love each other as Christ loved us.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
green spatula
at this point, i'm sure most of the people who read this thing have moved on to greener pastures. i believe my parents have quit reading. in fact, mom or dad or any family member for that matter, if you are reading this, call me and say "green spatula" and nothing else- not hello and not goodbye, simply "green spatula."
this will be long. accounting makes me reflect and also makes me wordy.
tonight i began to do my final accounting for my time in moldova. it was a strange thing to do this time. every receipt reminded me of life there, of conversations, of good times of my guys. it was like getting a whiff of a smell that takes you back to a place in time you had thought you'd forgot or never could.
as i got to the last month, i couldn't help but think of the last week or two i was there on my own. it was hard. it was emotional. a large part of that was because of dima.
we spent a lot of time together those last couple weeks. we had been trying to get him to become serious about seeking a good job. several times he had been very dishonest with me and the other people trying to help him. we caught him in many of his lies and were suspicious about a few other things. it was a constant struggle to get him to be honest.
after one particularly hard day with dima, i finally made him call numbers from the want ads looking for a job. it took all day, me buying the paper, supplying the phone and sitting next to him as he made call after call, but he got a job. it's not great but it is a foot in the door and a step in the right direction.
after he started at the job we were still meeting together quite regularly. he was constantly fighting against becoming independent of our organization. as an organization, we knew he had to be. he knew he needed to be. but he kept finding excuses not to. for weeks, dima would offer up an excuse and we would get rid of it. he needed an i-d, we got it. he needed help to buy groceries, i took him to the market. everything he offered up as an excuse was removed until there was nothing left.
that was where we were when we had a long conversation about life. he had no excuses and no answers for his life. he looked at me and asked me this: 'why is my life so bad?'
i have no idea.
now, there were obvious answers that could be offered. dima, you've lied a lot to people trying to help you. dima, you've stolen from people, including 1500 dollars (in us dollars) from his aunt. dima, your work habits were awful and you didn't work at improving them even after we warned you time and time again. those were there, we talked about those.
but in the end....
i have no idea.
your circumstances suck dima. the context of your life is something i can't understand and i won't pretend that 8 months of living with you in that context has given me total enlightenment on what it must be like to be in your shoes. but in the end our circumstances don't matter.
sometime life is hard, sometimes it isn't. you were born into an impoverished nation and i was born into one with money-o-plenty. in either context, we must encounter the grace of Christ if we want life.
we have both been confronted with Christ. He has pursued as, as God does, and we both have to be true to that confrontation. we both have to look at God and answer Him honestly because we can't fake it with Him. we can try to ignore Him but it will burn within us and will eat at us and pester us and make us miserable until we recognize that we have to make up our minds: follow Him or don't follow Him.
that is why your life is bad. because you won't give Him a straight answer. you haven't given anybody a straight answer. i don't know if that is because you've been hurt in your life, or because you're scared God might reject you or leave you or die, or because you've not had anybody in your life be honest with you, or because you were dealt a lowsy hand. i have no idea why. but dima, if there is anything i'm certain of, it is that you cannot be dishonest with God and expect everything to be fine. God doesn't play that game. God demands truth.
know that dima. please. know that God wants you to be real with Him. know that God won't leave you or forsake you and that He has defeated death. know that God will allow you to be content in all circumstances. know that God heals your wounds. but please know that you will not know any of that until you man up and face God from the depth of your heart, from the gut. i'm learning that too. it isn't easy. it works against our very nature. but God makes us into new creations through Christ and his cross. He knows what you've done. it doesn't matter. He wants to love you.
i have no idea why your life is so bad. all i know is that it doesn't have to be.
and with the end of that conversation, there was little else to say. i was exhausted from 8 months of the struggle. i'd said all i could over that time. i had no words. he had none either.
the last time we spent time together was on his birthday a couple weeks later. i had told him that i would buy him some shoes for it (right after that i spent about 30 dollars getting him some stuff he needed. this lessend the amount i was able to spend on shoes). when we went to the market, i told him how much i could spend. it was an amount that could easily buy a decent pair of shoes.
he continually picked out shoes that were twice as much as the amount i had told him. he would show me a pair that were too expensive. i would show him a pair within the price range. he would pick out another, more expensive, shoe. basically he wanted nike's which were priced higher than the other shoes. after a while, he decided that no shoes would be better than free shoes. instead of walking away with a pair of shoes, he walked away with 3 lei for the marshrutka ride home.
it was saddening. it was hard not to look at that instance as a microcosm of my time with dima. after all that we had tried to do for dima, he was content to have nothing. it's like that lewis quote about being able to enjoy the beautiful beach in paradise but being content to play in the mud.
sometimes, that is ministry. you will poor yourself into somebody or something and you will feel like you haven't made a dent. it will drain you, burden you and consume you and in the end you won't see any return on the time and energy you invested. there is probably something there you don't see, a reason for it all. but you may never see it or know it. the burden may never alleviate. i can look back in my life of serving God and see total failures: Bible studies that faded away, friends that didn't come to know Christ regardless of how much i pleaded with God that they would or how much i talked to them about it, ministries that lost their way and so on and so forth. some of those still hurt. they will stick with you as the thorn in your side until you're done with this life.
other times, ministry is clean and clearly effective. the fruit is blatant and the return is fantastic. i've experienced that too and i praise God for that, for His gracious hand.
it is just not always that way. it wasn't even with Jesus in his ministry. the rich young man walked away, one of his 12 turned him in to be crucified, peter denied him after years together.
but we have to be willing to experience that. we have to be willing to have our hearts torn apart for the sake of a longshot that falls short. it requires faith to be a part of that. it teaches us that it is indeed God's grace, not ours, that the world needs. it is humbling. it is beautiful. it makes us people of depth and substance, something this world needs so very desperately.
there were definite and tangible successes in my time serving in moldova. those were beautiful too. i cling to those and am pleased by the joy in those from time to time. but today i was reminded that sometimes ministry is pouring everything into something that just falls apart, that just doesn't go how you thought it would.
i believe if you're serving and seeking God, you will "fail" at some point or many. if you don't, you are either very blessed or are only doing what is safe, not growing in faith, in the knowledge of Christ. let's not be afraid to fail, to fall short. i believe that Godly failure is full of more worth than any amount of success apart from Him. in the end it isn't failure at all, just through our worldly eyes. 'failing' is sometimes the only success. i have to believe that with dima. the question is there: will dima grab a hold of God's truth, Christ Jesus?
i have no idea.
all i know is that i've done all i can and the rest is between them. to me, that is any kind of ministry's heart. i am so grateful for my time in moldova, every aspect of it has shown me, in part, the delight of serving the Father.
this will be long. accounting makes me reflect and also makes me wordy.
tonight i began to do my final accounting for my time in moldova. it was a strange thing to do this time. every receipt reminded me of life there, of conversations, of good times of my guys. it was like getting a whiff of a smell that takes you back to a place in time you had thought you'd forgot or never could.
as i got to the last month, i couldn't help but think of the last week or two i was there on my own. it was hard. it was emotional. a large part of that was because of dima.
we spent a lot of time together those last couple weeks. we had been trying to get him to become serious about seeking a good job. several times he had been very dishonest with me and the other people trying to help him. we caught him in many of his lies and were suspicious about a few other things. it was a constant struggle to get him to be honest.
after one particularly hard day with dima, i finally made him call numbers from the want ads looking for a job. it took all day, me buying the paper, supplying the phone and sitting next to him as he made call after call, but he got a job. it's not great but it is a foot in the door and a step in the right direction.
after he started at the job we were still meeting together quite regularly. he was constantly fighting against becoming independent of our organization. as an organization, we knew he had to be. he knew he needed to be. but he kept finding excuses not to. for weeks, dima would offer up an excuse and we would get rid of it. he needed an i-d, we got it. he needed help to buy groceries, i took him to the market. everything he offered up as an excuse was removed until there was nothing left.
that was where we were when we had a long conversation about life. he had no excuses and no answers for his life. he looked at me and asked me this: 'why is my life so bad?'
i have no idea.
now, there were obvious answers that could be offered. dima, you've lied a lot to people trying to help you. dima, you've stolen from people, including 1500 dollars (in us dollars) from his aunt. dima, your work habits were awful and you didn't work at improving them even after we warned you time and time again. those were there, we talked about those.
but in the end....
i have no idea.
your circumstances suck dima. the context of your life is something i can't understand and i won't pretend that 8 months of living with you in that context has given me total enlightenment on what it must be like to be in your shoes. but in the end our circumstances don't matter.
sometime life is hard, sometimes it isn't. you were born into an impoverished nation and i was born into one with money-o-plenty. in either context, we must encounter the grace of Christ if we want life.
we have both been confronted with Christ. He has pursued as, as God does, and we both have to be true to that confrontation. we both have to look at God and answer Him honestly because we can't fake it with Him. we can try to ignore Him but it will burn within us and will eat at us and pester us and make us miserable until we recognize that we have to make up our minds: follow Him or don't follow Him.
that is why your life is bad. because you won't give Him a straight answer. you haven't given anybody a straight answer. i don't know if that is because you've been hurt in your life, or because you're scared God might reject you or leave you or die, or because you've not had anybody in your life be honest with you, or because you were dealt a lowsy hand. i have no idea why. but dima, if there is anything i'm certain of, it is that you cannot be dishonest with God and expect everything to be fine. God doesn't play that game. God demands truth.
know that dima. please. know that God wants you to be real with Him. know that God won't leave you or forsake you and that He has defeated death. know that God will allow you to be content in all circumstances. know that God heals your wounds. but please know that you will not know any of that until you man up and face God from the depth of your heart, from the gut. i'm learning that too. it isn't easy. it works against our very nature. but God makes us into new creations through Christ and his cross. He knows what you've done. it doesn't matter. He wants to love you.
i have no idea why your life is so bad. all i know is that it doesn't have to be.
and with the end of that conversation, there was little else to say. i was exhausted from 8 months of the struggle. i'd said all i could over that time. i had no words. he had none either.
the last time we spent time together was on his birthday a couple weeks later. i had told him that i would buy him some shoes for it (right after that i spent about 30 dollars getting him some stuff he needed. this lessend the amount i was able to spend on shoes). when we went to the market, i told him how much i could spend. it was an amount that could easily buy a decent pair of shoes.
he continually picked out shoes that were twice as much as the amount i had told him. he would show me a pair that were too expensive. i would show him a pair within the price range. he would pick out another, more expensive, shoe. basically he wanted nike's which were priced higher than the other shoes. after a while, he decided that no shoes would be better than free shoes. instead of walking away with a pair of shoes, he walked away with 3 lei for the marshrutka ride home.
it was saddening. it was hard not to look at that instance as a microcosm of my time with dima. after all that we had tried to do for dima, he was content to have nothing. it's like that lewis quote about being able to enjoy the beautiful beach in paradise but being content to play in the mud.
sometimes, that is ministry. you will poor yourself into somebody or something and you will feel like you haven't made a dent. it will drain you, burden you and consume you and in the end you won't see any return on the time and energy you invested. there is probably something there you don't see, a reason for it all. but you may never see it or know it. the burden may never alleviate. i can look back in my life of serving God and see total failures: Bible studies that faded away, friends that didn't come to know Christ regardless of how much i pleaded with God that they would or how much i talked to them about it, ministries that lost their way and so on and so forth. some of those still hurt. they will stick with you as the thorn in your side until you're done with this life.
other times, ministry is clean and clearly effective. the fruit is blatant and the return is fantastic. i've experienced that too and i praise God for that, for His gracious hand.
it is just not always that way. it wasn't even with Jesus in his ministry. the rich young man walked away, one of his 12 turned him in to be crucified, peter denied him after years together.
but we have to be willing to experience that. we have to be willing to have our hearts torn apart for the sake of a longshot that falls short. it requires faith to be a part of that. it teaches us that it is indeed God's grace, not ours, that the world needs. it is humbling. it is beautiful. it makes us people of depth and substance, something this world needs so very desperately.
there were definite and tangible successes in my time serving in moldova. those were beautiful too. i cling to those and am pleased by the joy in those from time to time. but today i was reminded that sometimes ministry is pouring everything into something that just falls apart, that just doesn't go how you thought it would.
i believe if you're serving and seeking God, you will "fail" at some point or many. if you don't, you are either very blessed or are only doing what is safe, not growing in faith, in the knowledge of Christ. let's not be afraid to fail, to fall short. i believe that Godly failure is full of more worth than any amount of success apart from Him. in the end it isn't failure at all, just through our worldly eyes. 'failing' is sometimes the only success. i have to believe that with dima. the question is there: will dima grab a hold of God's truth, Christ Jesus?
i have no idea.
all i know is that i've done all i can and the rest is between them. to me, that is any kind of ministry's heart. i am so grateful for my time in moldova, every aspect of it has shown me, in part, the delight of serving the Father.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
watching dogs
insert obligatory apology for not updating regularly here: ________
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I can get to something mindless and rambling in nature. In a handfull of days, I shall have been home for a solid month. The wistful old man in me desires to say something along the lines of "where does the time go?" but I shall refrain in the spirit of youthful rebellion.
When I first returned home, I took a week or two to rest and reacclimate to American living. It is certainly different living here. So many things are so very easy to accomplish. But we love to find ways to make things difficult, mostly on those around us. For the most part things are so good and comfortable around us. It is on the inside that our lives are in shambles or are completely uncomfortable. Sometimes that can manifest itself in our interactions with other people. We want company in our hurt or our discontent and try to pull people into it. If only more people would do that with their joy and their satisfaction.
In Moldova, I would talk to the boys about living above their circumstances. I would always stress that I did not mean financially. They lived in an impoverished country, but they did not have to feel impoverished. God has the capacity to make poor men richer than Bill Gates. We live in a wealthy country but so many of us are poor in spirit. Paul saying "I have learned to be content in all circumstances" is lost in both cultures. We look at Christ's message, that he has come so we would have life and life to the fullest, not knowing how to claim it. Poor and wealthy seem to have trouble with this.
My thoughts are becoming much clearer. That doesn't mean that I'll be able to express them any better than before. But I'm sure nobody was expecting that. It has been a good month. I've been back working for a few weeks now. It has been nice to get a paycheck again. It's been a while. I've seen a lot of my friends. I've got a lot more to catch up with though. If I haven't contacted you, I'm sorry. I do suck.
Oh yes, the title refers to the fact that I've been watching my brother's dogs while he and his wife are in California. They enjoy making me clean up their bodily functions as opposed to ridding themselves of them outside when we go for our walks. They are good listeners though, I'll give them that.
Goodbye Billy Volek.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I can get to something mindless and rambling in nature. In a handfull of days, I shall have been home for a solid month. The wistful old man in me desires to say something along the lines of "where does the time go?" but I shall refrain in the spirit of youthful rebellion.
When I first returned home, I took a week or two to rest and reacclimate to American living. It is certainly different living here. So many things are so very easy to accomplish. But we love to find ways to make things difficult, mostly on those around us. For the most part things are so good and comfortable around us. It is on the inside that our lives are in shambles or are completely uncomfortable. Sometimes that can manifest itself in our interactions with other people. We want company in our hurt or our discontent and try to pull people into it. If only more people would do that with their joy and their satisfaction.
In Moldova, I would talk to the boys about living above their circumstances. I would always stress that I did not mean financially. They lived in an impoverished country, but they did not have to feel impoverished. God has the capacity to make poor men richer than Bill Gates. We live in a wealthy country but so many of us are poor in spirit. Paul saying "I have learned to be content in all circumstances" is lost in both cultures. We look at Christ's message, that he has come so we would have life and life to the fullest, not knowing how to claim it. Poor and wealthy seem to have trouble with this.
My thoughts are becoming much clearer. That doesn't mean that I'll be able to express them any better than before. But I'm sure nobody was expecting that. It has been a good month. I've been back working for a few weeks now. It has been nice to get a paycheck again. It's been a while. I've seen a lot of my friends. I've got a lot more to catch up with though. If I haven't contacted you, I'm sorry. I do suck.
Oh yes, the title refers to the fact that I've been watching my brother's dogs while he and his wife are in California. They enjoy making me clean up their bodily functions as opposed to ridding themselves of them outside when we go for our walks. They are good listeners though, I'll give them that.
Goodbye Billy Volek.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
A Shabby Metaphor Containing Chalupas
I am back in America now, and have been for a couple days under a week. The sleep schedule has been pretty normal, I'm not having trouble with the time change. Flushing toilet paper is absolutely fantastic.
My stomach has been very confused by everything. It is happy that it is seeing old friends, it is just a bit overwhelming for it. Truthfully, that is probably the easiest way to explain what it has been like coming back to the states. It is very much like how adjusting to food is.
You love the food, it is what you've grown up on, it is what you've eaten all your life. But you've spent a significant hunk of time nowhere near it. There was some American food over there but it was different, not quite the same, and you didn't eat it all that much. You become accustomed to a certain pallet of tastes and certain meals. You go through a sort of physiological change to accommodate the differences. Then you take yourself out of it and are immersed into the unfamiliar world of familiar food.
It is a strange thing. As good as everything is, you have to be careful because you aren't really ready to fully engage in the partaking of such things. You make acceptions, like for chalupas, but you really have to be a little guarded.
Time is important for me. I need time to reintroduce myself to these old habits, to let my body get used to them again. That is where I am right now.
I'm a little bit of time away from enjoying the food I used to without having the weird feelings afterwards.
I've enjoyed seeing people. But I haven't consumed many of them, figuratively of course. I don't intend to sound cannibalistic about my relationships. Relationships should not be about you devouring another person. They should be about mutual snacking at first. You share a little of yourself and they do likewise. Then you digest the things they've fed you. As relationships grow, you find yourself wanting more and sometimes less. There are some relationships I could have at every meal (pizza, cereal). Some relationships, I enjoy only occasionally (sea food). Some people you have to develop a taste for (coffee) but that you become addicted to after frequent consumption. Some foods I'd like to never taste again (Baby). Some foods I rarely get to enjoy because they aren't always available (the glorious McRib) and get very excited when I can consume them. And so on and so forth.
I feel like the Bible backs me up a bit on this a bit, at least in our relationship with God. Psalms certainly does, I think in 119 something (that is a really long chapter [i think it is somewhere around 100, if not 103]) and 34.8 too. Peter does in 1Peter 2. Ezekiel ate the scroll and it tasted like honey. I'm assuming this was a new type of food for him. Jesus calls himself the bread of life in John. All I'm saying is that it is a valid metaphor, regardless of what I've titled this entry.
Wow, this has gotten away from me. My mind doesn't like to stay on board with me. It does what it wants.
What I'm saying is this: I'm still adjusting to life back in the states and I'm not really at a point where I can enjoy the company of people around me. There is just too much going on in in my head to be present. I hate not being present with people. They deserve it and I don't like when I can't stay in it.
This could have been a much shorter entry. Perhaps I should start having a plan of attack.
Actually, I am considering stopping this blog now that I am back. I've enjoyed writing it at times but have had trouble keeping at it. Many of you have come up to me and told me you have enjoyed it and I do appreciate it. I think your crazy, but I still appreciate it.
If I do continue, it will definitely take a turn. I'd probably flesh out more ideas and opinions I hold/am working through. It probably won't be focused on Moldova, although it will come up on occasion. I'll let you know what that looks like and you can keep reading if you would like to, though I wonder if it is a mentally healthy decision to do so. If I don't continue, I'll give a proper goodbye.
Either way, I'll be good for at least a couple more posts about Moldova, my time there and the decompression process. That is enough mindless dribble. Godspeed.
post script: American roads = glorious
My stomach has been very confused by everything. It is happy that it is seeing old friends, it is just a bit overwhelming for it. Truthfully, that is probably the easiest way to explain what it has been like coming back to the states. It is very much like how adjusting to food is.
You love the food, it is what you've grown up on, it is what you've eaten all your life. But you've spent a significant hunk of time nowhere near it. There was some American food over there but it was different, not quite the same, and you didn't eat it all that much. You become accustomed to a certain pallet of tastes and certain meals. You go through a sort of physiological change to accommodate the differences. Then you take yourself out of it and are immersed into the unfamiliar world of familiar food.
It is a strange thing. As good as everything is, you have to be careful because you aren't really ready to fully engage in the partaking of such things. You make acceptions, like for chalupas, but you really have to be a little guarded.
Time is important for me. I need time to reintroduce myself to these old habits, to let my body get used to them again. That is where I am right now.
I'm a little bit of time away from enjoying the food I used to without having the weird feelings afterwards.
I've enjoyed seeing people. But I haven't consumed many of them, figuratively of course. I don't intend to sound cannibalistic about my relationships. Relationships should not be about you devouring another person. They should be about mutual snacking at first. You share a little of yourself and they do likewise. Then you digest the things they've fed you. As relationships grow, you find yourself wanting more and sometimes less. There are some relationships I could have at every meal (pizza, cereal). Some relationships, I enjoy only occasionally (sea food). Some people you have to develop a taste for (coffee) but that you become addicted to after frequent consumption. Some foods I'd like to never taste again (Baby). Some foods I rarely get to enjoy because they aren't always available (the glorious McRib) and get very excited when I can consume them. And so on and so forth.
I feel like the Bible backs me up a bit on this a bit, at least in our relationship with God. Psalms certainly does, I think in 119 something (that is a really long chapter [i think it is somewhere around 100, if not 103]) and 34.8 too. Peter does in 1Peter 2. Ezekiel ate the scroll and it tasted like honey. I'm assuming this was a new type of food for him. Jesus calls himself the bread of life in John. All I'm saying is that it is a valid metaphor, regardless of what I've titled this entry.
Wow, this has gotten away from me. My mind doesn't like to stay on board with me. It does what it wants.
What I'm saying is this: I'm still adjusting to life back in the states and I'm not really at a point where I can enjoy the company of people around me. There is just too much going on in in my head to be present. I hate not being present with people. They deserve it and I don't like when I can't stay in it.
This could have been a much shorter entry. Perhaps I should start having a plan of attack.
Actually, I am considering stopping this blog now that I am back. I've enjoyed writing it at times but have had trouble keeping at it. Many of you have come up to me and told me you have enjoyed it and I do appreciate it. I think your crazy, but I still appreciate it.
If I do continue, it will definitely take a turn. I'd probably flesh out more ideas and opinions I hold/am working through. It probably won't be focused on Moldova, although it will come up on occasion. I'll let you know what that looks like and you can keep reading if you would like to, though I wonder if it is a mentally healthy decision to do so. If I don't continue, I'll give a proper goodbye.
Either way, I'll be good for at least a couple more posts about Moldova, my time there and the decompression process. That is enough mindless dribble. Godspeed.
post script: American roads = glorious
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Dance!
Last night we finished just about everything I wanted to accomplish at the orphanage with the construction team we have in town. It was such a relief to have all of that finished. The team worked really hard and we got a lot accomplished in the three and a half days we worked. The last project we finished ended the construction week on a great note. We replaced the rotten floor in a play room. After the new floor was in, with no sagging spots or splinters weighting to happen, the floor administrator was just about in tears. She suggested that we could now use floor for dancing. Next week Scott and I will work on installing the fog machine, disco ball and multi-colored lazer lights - my last great calling in Moldova. When those things are in, we party. In preperation for this event, we had a dance party in CJ's van on the way home as Scott yelled out Moldovan grettings to passersby and the rest of us sang the Macarena. We like to party, we like, we like to party. Today however, we will be delivering an order of beds and mattresses to Falesti, another orphanage we work with in a more rural town.
Towards the end of yesterday, Ivan and Artur came into town. I haven't seen them in a while because they are working in a city about 100 miles away on a construction crew. At the end of the month they will come back to Chisinau to work with the same company and Ivan will go to driving school at night to become a professional driver - a taxi and eventually a Marshrukta. I look forward to the day that I am in Moldova, use a jazz hand to waive down a Marshrukta and find Ivan sitting in the driver's seat. That ride better be on the house after all the money I've loaned him.
Saying goodbye was a really encouraging thing. I talked with them a bit at the orphanage. We spoke our last words there, talking about their jobs, future plans and encouraging them to continue seeking the Lord. Afterwards we went to dinner with the team, another team and a bunch of the boys and girls from the orphanage. These nights are always very moving for the teams. Hearing the stories of the boys and girls puts what we're doing here in perspective. I see only a small part of what we're doing and have done. It is great to step back and see how God is using CERI and Sweet Sleep in Moldova. I am blessed to have been a part of it.
Towards the end of yesterday, Ivan and Artur came into town. I haven't seen them in a while because they are working in a city about 100 miles away on a construction crew. At the end of the month they will come back to Chisinau to work with the same company and Ivan will go to driving school at night to become a professional driver - a taxi and eventually a Marshrukta. I look forward to the day that I am in Moldova, use a jazz hand to waive down a Marshrukta and find Ivan sitting in the driver's seat. That ride better be on the house after all the money I've loaned him.
Saying goodbye was a really encouraging thing. I talked with them a bit at the orphanage. We spoke our last words there, talking about their jobs, future plans and encouraging them to continue seeking the Lord. Afterwards we went to dinner with the team, another team and a bunch of the boys and girls from the orphanage. These nights are always very moving for the teams. Hearing the stories of the boys and girls puts what we're doing here in perspective. I see only a small part of what we're doing and have done. It is great to step back and see how God is using CERI and Sweet Sleep in Moldova. I am blessed to have been a part of it.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
spam and the spirit
I'm very tired, my trend of the past couple weeks. The great news is that I've had all the energy I've needed. I like how Paul says it in Colossians 1.29 "For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he powerfully works within me." In Romans 8.11 it is put this way, "If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you." It is nice to have those promises and the assurance that God provides those who are working at serving Him with the energy they need. And it is his energy. We don't have to manufacture it. We don't have to produce it with Red Bull or coffee or the Moldovan energy drink Spam (i've not yet had this even though I love Spam). God's got it for us and He is willing to give it to us in good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, poored into our laps. All this is ours if we will only give and give more than we can.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
not much time
well, a team just arrived and i will be pretty busy working with them. i'm also trying to close out my time here. i've said many of my goodbyes and have a few more loose ends to tie up before i say the last.
this is a very surreal time for me. i'm not sure what to make of it or how to express the state i'm in. that is partly because i don't really understand it. i haven't had the time to sit and try to either. when i get the chance, which might not be for a week or two, i'll write some overall reflections.
it has been very challenging to keep this blog going while i've been here. i can get really busy and tired, which doesn't help me to think coherently. i hope that returning home will allow me to really take in all the things i've encountered, all the things i've been too unaware of while here. just getting seperated from something helps you to see it better.
this one time i was in a piano factory (this is probably the best story beginning i've got). i was a kid and we were taking a tour, something i was not overly excited about at that tender age. it was the mid-eighties and my father was wearing one of 12 standard issued dad uniforms for the time. he was wearing simple white sneakers, very high white socks, short shorts -which revealed much man thigh-, and a red polo shirt with horizontal white stripes.
another man on the tour was wearing the same outfit. it is important to remember that there were only 12 outfits for men of that age to wear in the 80's so it should be no surprise that they were wearing the same clothes.
as all kids do when they tire, i began to fling myself onto my dad's leg for support. this was a tactic i used much when i was tired. perhaps the frequency of my personal use of this technique caused me to become over confident and made me think i didn't even need to look up to verify the man's identity.
you see, i had flung myself onto the similarly dressed man. i did it several times. each time had the same result. i would back off a little, look up, see the man was not my dad and seperate myself from him. it felt awful, like i was cheating on my dad or something, metaphorical adultery.
but while i was connected to the man, i had no idea anything was off. it was when i made a little space that i was able to see the mistake i had made. when i was right and the man was my dad, i still had to make a little space to confirm it was him.
it's a bit of a stretch, but right now i kind of feel like i'm hugging somebody that could or could not be my dad. but i'm in too far to know who the person is and all i see is socks, short shorts and a red horizontally striped polo shirt. i'm looking forward to pushing back a little and being able to see what i've been hugging over here.
i feel like that makes no sense at all. so i'll stop writing after trying to simplify it a little. basically, my mind is everywhere but no place at all. that didn't simplify it at all, did it?
this is a very surreal time for me. i'm not sure what to make of it or how to express the state i'm in. that is partly because i don't really understand it. i haven't had the time to sit and try to either. when i get the chance, which might not be for a week or two, i'll write some overall reflections.
it has been very challenging to keep this blog going while i've been here. i can get really busy and tired, which doesn't help me to think coherently. i hope that returning home will allow me to really take in all the things i've encountered, all the things i've been too unaware of while here. just getting seperated from something helps you to see it better.
this one time i was in a piano factory (this is probably the best story beginning i've got). i was a kid and we were taking a tour, something i was not overly excited about at that tender age. it was the mid-eighties and my father was wearing one of 12 standard issued dad uniforms for the time. he was wearing simple white sneakers, very high white socks, short shorts -which revealed much man thigh-, and a red polo shirt with horizontal white stripes.
another man on the tour was wearing the same outfit. it is important to remember that there were only 12 outfits for men of that age to wear in the 80's so it should be no surprise that they were wearing the same clothes.
as all kids do when they tire, i began to fling myself onto my dad's leg for support. this was a tactic i used much when i was tired. perhaps the frequency of my personal use of this technique caused me to become over confident and made me think i didn't even need to look up to verify the man's identity.
you see, i had flung myself onto the similarly dressed man. i did it several times. each time had the same result. i would back off a little, look up, see the man was not my dad and seperate myself from him. it felt awful, like i was cheating on my dad or something, metaphorical adultery.
but while i was connected to the man, i had no idea anything was off. it was when i made a little space that i was able to see the mistake i had made. when i was right and the man was my dad, i still had to make a little space to confirm it was him.
it's a bit of a stretch, but right now i kind of feel like i'm hugging somebody that could or could not be my dad. but i'm in too far to know who the person is and all i see is socks, short shorts and a red horizontally striped polo shirt. i'm looking forward to pushing back a little and being able to see what i've been hugging over here.
i feel like that makes no sense at all. so i'll stop writing after trying to simplify it a little. basically, my mind is everywhere but no place at all. that didn't simplify it at all, did it?
Monday, August 07, 2006
Tales of the Marshrutka
As promised, I now bring you two exciting tales from the Marshrutka. For those of you not in the know, Marshrutkas are my primary means of transportation while here in Moldova. Recently the price of a ride on these bad boys went from an affordable 2 lei two an appalling 3 lei. Outrageous price increase aside, they are still my favorite chariot to ride about town.
I'll briefly try to describe these faithful steeds. They are basically vans with seating typically for 11 and a space about five feet, 10 inches high and the size of a twin size bed for standing passengers. I've seen over 30 people on these things. It isn't pretty. It also doesn't smell that great. A picture is worth about 60 words. Here you are.
One last thing and I'll start in on the Tales of the Marshrutka. Some of you know how I enjoy seeing people, especially children, fall. I'm sick. I know. Well, today I hit the jackpot.
As I was walking to the orphanage I noticed two young boys, maybe 8.5 years in age, riding one bike. This had the makings for catastrophe since their collective balance was not much better than that of a toddler. As they turned down a street, a car, yes a car was slowly rolling towards them. It stopped. They did not. In fact, they were completely out of control.
Yes, they crashed into the car. It even made the car crashing noise. They hit the front right bumper and fell to the side. I had about 2 seconds of concern until they started yelling at each other. The people just stayed in the car until the boys didn't get up for close to a minute. Then they got out and assessed the situation. The boys were fine. I was even better. I got to see two kids not only bite it, but bite it because they played a losing game of chicken with a Lada (my favorite Russian car).
Now for Tales of the Marshrutka.
The Marshrutka Tale of the Potato of Providence
It was a day like any other on the 184. I was enjoying a ride home on the marshrutka, getting close to the mustached old lady next to me. How was I supposed to know that blessings from on high were just one more stop away?
The number of passengers had dwindled down to me and my lady friend. You see, the 184 begins and ends very close to the street my place is on. As it ends its journey, the 184 rolls down a large hill. When the driver stopped to let his beloved sojourners off of that crazy ride, a beautiful potato rolled from the back of the machine towards the front.
We all paused, looking at it with eyes of wonder. I reached down and picked up this magical potato. My and the mustached old lady studied the potato. It was so beautiful. I looked her in the eye and asked her if she would like the potato. She declined. Then I looked at the driver, also sporting a flavor savor. He looked right back at me, with a soup catcher under my nose.
(I am thinking about how I will change the world through the power of my mustache.)
I asked if he would like the potato. He said no as well.
I placed the potato in my bag.
When I reached home, I set the potato in front of me and pondered. What would I do with this potato? I stood up, cleaned the potato and cut it up into bite-sized pieces. I then began to make a soup. I added the potato, or cartofi for my peeps in Moldova. After the proper amount of cooking, I ate the soup with the potato and it was nothing less than delicious.
The moral of this tale of the marshrutka: my life is sad.
The Marshrutka Tale of the Understanding and Sensitive Marshrutka Passenger
Marshrutka drivers are not necessarily known for their benevolence. It is understandable. They don't make a whole lot of money - that is until they started charging 3 lei - so I can sympathize with their financial stinginess.
I encountered such a man on the 180. I had just climbed the hill up to Doina Street to ride into town. It was hot. I was tired. The marshrutka approached and I used a classic jazz hand to flag him down. Once on board, I was surprised to find that I was the only passenger on board.
I handed him my money and sat behind him. Then he got cut off really badly. A guy turned into the street on our right and just stopped in front of him. There was nowhere we could go.
Needless to say, this made the driver quite angry. At this point, I must bring up the fact that my Romanian is terrible, absolutely terrible, surprisingly and shamefully terrible. I know enough to get by and I can understand it a little when it is being spoken slowly and I know the basic topic of conversation.
I have never heard a person talk so rapidly or with such pure rage. I didn't know what to do. He was yelling these things to me. There was nobody else to talk to. So I employed to simple phrases. The first was "I know" and the second was "I understand."
I simply kept repeating these two things. "I know. I know. I understand. I know." shaking my head which implied that the other driver was an idiot. After a few minutes, the car left and the marshrutka driver's rage went with it. He was still complaining, but was much calmer. I offered two last and comforting 'I know's and then something completely unexpected happened. The driver said "Thank you."
Even more unexpected was what he did next. He turned around and gave me my two lei payment. This ride was on the house. I couldn’t believe it. From then on, we were brothers.
A little later, he picked up a few more passengers, then a few more and a few more until the beast was full. But no matter how full that marshrutka got that day or any day after, it will never be as full as the brotherly love we shared on that gorgeous Moldovan afternoon.
Moral of this tale of the Marshrutka: do what you can with what you got.
This concludes Tales of the Marshrutka. God bless us, everyone.
I'll briefly try to describe these faithful steeds. They are basically vans with seating typically for 11 and a space about five feet, 10 inches high and the size of a twin size bed for standing passengers. I've seen over 30 people on these things. It isn't pretty. It also doesn't smell that great. A picture is worth about 60 words. Here you are.
One last thing and I'll start in on the Tales of the Marshrutka. Some of you know how I enjoy seeing people, especially children, fall. I'm sick. I know. Well, today I hit the jackpot.As I was walking to the orphanage I noticed two young boys, maybe 8.5 years in age, riding one bike. This had the makings for catastrophe since their collective balance was not much better than that of a toddler. As they turned down a street, a car, yes a car was slowly rolling towards them. It stopped. They did not. In fact, they were completely out of control.
Yes, they crashed into the car. It even made the car crashing noise. They hit the front right bumper and fell to the side. I had about 2 seconds of concern until they started yelling at each other. The people just stayed in the car until the boys didn't get up for close to a minute. Then they got out and assessed the situation. The boys were fine. I was even better. I got to see two kids not only bite it, but bite it because they played a losing game of chicken with a Lada (my favorite Russian car).
Now for Tales of the Marshrutka.
The Marshrutka Tale of the Potato of Providence
It was a day like any other on the 184. I was enjoying a ride home on the marshrutka, getting close to the mustached old lady next to me. How was I supposed to know that blessings from on high were just one more stop away?
The number of passengers had dwindled down to me and my lady friend. You see, the 184 begins and ends very close to the street my place is on. As it ends its journey, the 184 rolls down a large hill. When the driver stopped to let his beloved sojourners off of that crazy ride, a beautiful potato rolled from the back of the machine towards the front.
We all paused, looking at it with eyes of wonder. I reached down and picked up this magical potato. My and the mustached old lady studied the potato. It was so beautiful. I looked her in the eye and asked her if she would like the potato. She declined. Then I looked at the driver, also sporting a flavor savor. He looked right back at me, with a soup catcher under my nose.
(I am thinking about how I will change the world through the power of my mustache.)I asked if he would like the potato. He said no as well.
I placed the potato in my bag.
When I reached home, I set the potato in front of me and pondered. What would I do with this potato? I stood up, cleaned the potato and cut it up into bite-sized pieces. I then began to make a soup. I added the potato, or cartofi for my peeps in Moldova. After the proper amount of cooking, I ate the soup with the potato and it was nothing less than delicious.
The moral of this tale of the marshrutka: my life is sad.
The Marshrutka Tale of the Understanding and Sensitive Marshrutka Passenger
Marshrutka drivers are not necessarily known for their benevolence. It is understandable. They don't make a whole lot of money - that is until they started charging 3 lei - so I can sympathize with their financial stinginess.
I encountered such a man on the 180. I had just climbed the hill up to Doina Street to ride into town. It was hot. I was tired. The marshrutka approached and I used a classic jazz hand to flag him down. Once on board, I was surprised to find that I was the only passenger on board.
I handed him my money and sat behind him. Then he got cut off really badly. A guy turned into the street on our right and just stopped in front of him. There was nowhere we could go.
Needless to say, this made the driver quite angry. At this point, I must bring up the fact that my Romanian is terrible, absolutely terrible, surprisingly and shamefully terrible. I know enough to get by and I can understand it a little when it is being spoken slowly and I know the basic topic of conversation.
I have never heard a person talk so rapidly or with such pure rage. I didn't know what to do. He was yelling these things to me. There was nobody else to talk to. So I employed to simple phrases. The first was "I know" and the second was "I understand."
I simply kept repeating these two things. "I know. I know. I understand. I know." shaking my head which implied that the other driver was an idiot. After a few minutes, the car left and the marshrutka driver's rage went with it. He was still complaining, but was much calmer. I offered two last and comforting 'I know's and then something completely unexpected happened. The driver said "Thank you."
Even more unexpected was what he did next. He turned around and gave me my two lei payment. This ride was on the house. I couldn’t believe it. From then on, we were brothers.
A little later, he picked up a few more passengers, then a few more and a few more until the beast was full. But no matter how full that marshrutka got that day or any day after, it will never be as full as the brotherly love we shared on that gorgeous Moldovan afternoon.
Moral of this tale of the Marshrutka: do what you can with what you got.
This concludes Tales of the Marshrutka. God bless us, everyone.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Enjoy
Anticipating this to be a longer than average post, I have developed a brilliant system or organization to allow you, the reader, to read at both your own pace and leisure. It took weeks to figure out this method. In fact, figuring out how to better organize my disjunctive thoughts is, in part, what has prevented me from updating this in such a long time. I shall divide my thoughts using a complex system of numbers which will indicate when I'll be discussing a new thought thus allowing you, the reader, to read one section at a time (if you so desire, feel free to read the entire post or more than one section. The world is your oyster.). Thank yous are not necessary.
I have been a poor blogger as of late. It is not the first time, nor is it likely to be the last. I will attempt to do better. Well then, enough of this vapid introduction, I shall move on to beguiling you with this new science of order.
1. (note that i've made the numbers bold) What have I been doing?Well, I've been doing several things lately. I am still working on furniture at the orphanage. We are currently helping Dima, Ivan and Artur find jobs (i'll try to devote more time to this later) so I am working with a new group of boys. This work has gone very smoothly and should be over in the next week or two. Putting this furniture together has consumed a great deal of time. I'll be happy to see it completed.
Helping Dima, Ivan and Artur find jobs has been really difficult. It took a while for a couple of them to realize that they do, in fact, need jobs to survive. They all have jobs now and I have been meeting with them periodically to see how they're going. I actually just got off the phone with Dima a little while ago and he told me that he likes his new job. Hopefully this one will stick. He told me it is one where he could be around a while and move up the ladder. Artur has been doing construction, as was Ivan. But it looks like Ivan will be going to driving school as opposed to sticking with construction work. After one week of working a typical Moldovan construction job he told me he wanted to drive a taxi.
Victor, Vitalle and Ruslan have worked quite well. I've enjoyed getting to work closer with these boys. I've had relationships with them but I didn't get to spend as much time with them as I am now. In a really rare move, these boys approached Jamey at camp one night after a day of work. They asked him to find out how they were doing at the job but they didn't want him to ask me directly. They wanted him to work into one of our conversations casually because they wanted to make sure they were working hard enough. What a great encouragement that was. It isn't often that these older boys from the orphanage take this kind of initiative. That is my nine to five situation.
3. I've been sick the last few days. Mainly, my throat and head have been bothering me. It seems as though I'm on the upswing though. Having throat/cold issues is not that great. Though it is true that my voice gets deeper sometimes. I like when this happens because it makes me feel manlier than I already am (yes ladies, that is possible). However, sometimes it just makes my voice sound more nasally. I don't like when this happens because it makes me sound like more of a dork than I already am (yes ladies, that is possible). Any who, I guess I rather not be sick, barry white voice heat not withstanding.
4. Wednesday, at 5:45 in the a.m. Jamey and I took Matthew and Dane to the airport as they began their journey to America (I like to say America in these types of circumstances with a sort of italian-immagrant-like accent. It makes it seem more magical.) I will miss their company. Matthew will be attending graduate school at UNC in hopes to create even smaller mp3 players and x-ray machines while Dane will be traveling to Iowa, the land of farmers' daughters (to steal a line from Zack Morris), to begin an exciting undergraduate career at Cornell.
It was a strange thing to say goodbye to both of them. They are both, in their own right, outstanding individuals and I have learned from both of them. Playing spades without them will be next to impossible, until the robots are completed that is. Though I fear that no robot or combination of robots will be able to capture the light in their collective eyes. Godspeed friends. We'll cross paths again.
5. On a similar note, I will be moving back to America on August 23rd. I think some of you already know this. For those of you who haven't heard, I'm coming home on August the 23rd. It is a few months earlier than planned. Why would be explained easiest in person but I can give the following as a brief explanation. After several weeks of prayer and seeking consultation from the Word and close friends and mentors, it became clear that the purpose God has called me here for is close to being at an end.
This is a strange thing to say because, in truth, I don't really know why He brought me here. I could look back and come up with things that God accomplished and taught me while here and say that those were the reasons, but I'm not going to do that. Many of the things He is doing, we don't see. I'm sure that there are things invisible that God does right in front of our eyes. God knows why I came here. There are tangible things, yes. But sometimes I think the stuff we can't see is probably the most beautiful. To a degree, that is grace: seeing the invisible.
All that to say, I came over with the peace of knowing He wanted me to and I feel like I'll leave with the peace of knowing He wanted me to. In time God will, like He already is, show me why.
6. Jen Gash, by way of Joe Swing, brought the following to my attention: http://www.cnn.com/2006/HEALTH/07/27/happy.world.reut/index.html
Here is a look at the complete list: http://www.le.ac.uk/pc/aw57/world/sample.html
As you can see, Moldova didn't do so well. We were 175 out of the 178 countries. In spite of the fact that this science has proven this place to be dissapressing (oh yeah!), I must say that I am still quite happy. The collective Denmark ain't got nothing on me.
In related news, I've decided that over the course of the next few years I shall live and missioneer (a word for what missionaries do) in countries 176-178, Congo Democratic, Zimbabwe and Burundi respectively, thus proving myself to be the most hardcore mission person ever. Take that Lottie Moon!
To clarify, I am joking. I don't typically make my decisions based on such criteria. My life choices are made using several 9-sided dice and very complicated algorithmic equations.
7. Now, I shall rest. Remember, I am still somewhat sick and need to sleep. Per the request of some folks here in Moldova I shall, in the near future, tell two tales of the Marshrutka: The Marshrutka Tale of the Potato of Providence & The Tale of the Understanding and Sensitive Marshrutka Passenger. Until that time, sera buna.
[On a personal note, I must say that if you have made it this far, I love you. Seriously I mean that. You've always been a good friend, anonymous reader. You're true blue. I appreciate you.]
I have been a poor blogger as of late. It is not the first time, nor is it likely to be the last. I will attempt to do better. Well then, enough of this vapid introduction, I shall move on to beguiling you with this new science of order.
1. (note that i've made the numbers bold) What have I been doing?Well, I've been doing several things lately. I am still working on furniture at the orphanage. We are currently helping Dima, Ivan and Artur find jobs (i'll try to devote more time to this later) so I am working with a new group of boys. This work has gone very smoothly and should be over in the next week or two. Putting this furniture together has consumed a great deal of time. I'll be happy to see it completed.
Helping Dima, Ivan and Artur find jobs has been really difficult. It took a while for a couple of them to realize that they do, in fact, need jobs to survive. They all have jobs now and I have been meeting with them periodically to see how they're going. I actually just got off the phone with Dima a little while ago and he told me that he likes his new job. Hopefully this one will stick. He told me it is one where he could be around a while and move up the ladder. Artur has been doing construction, as was Ivan. But it looks like Ivan will be going to driving school as opposed to sticking with construction work. After one week of working a typical Moldovan construction job he told me he wanted to drive a taxi.
Victor, Vitalle and Ruslan have worked quite well. I've enjoyed getting to work closer with these boys. I've had relationships with them but I didn't get to spend as much time with them as I am now. In a really rare move, these boys approached Jamey at camp one night after a day of work. They asked him to find out how they were doing at the job but they didn't want him to ask me directly. They wanted him to work into one of our conversations casually because they wanted to make sure they were working hard enough. What a great encouragement that was. It isn't often that these older boys from the orphanage take this kind of initiative. That is my nine to five situation.
2. I also have spent some time at the orphanage with Dorel and Raia looking at some of the needs the orphanage has in terms of property up-keep. As you can imagine, there was quite a bit of work that needs to be done. But, with the unstable state of Moldova's orphan-care policies, it is hard to determine what to do knowing that the orphanage system has the possibility of being abolished (that is something I haven't written about much, if you are more curious, let me know). There are some things that could be done now. I'll give you a short list.
- In the dorms at the orphanage, the vinyl flooring is flaking off and in desperate need of replacing. They already have the material for a few rooms but there are probably close to 100 rooms that need the floors replaced. I remember being in the orphanage one day and watching a little girl as she was sweeping up the floor, literally. It was one of those images that sticks with you for some reason.
- There are several doors that need replaced. When, I say Sneed please remember that I mean "need" and don't mean "would be nice to improve" like that space above the garage (not that there is anything wrong with improving your home [some times]).
- Some of the walls need new wall paper. The old paper is peeling off and falling down.Most of the bed rooms have no curtains or blinds.
- There are many windows that need replacing. Some of them are broken, exposing sharp edges and providing no insulation, which proves troublesome during Moldova's cold winters.
- The roof to the cafeteria is leaking, needs patching and also a new coat of tar.
- More general upkeep.
As you can see, there is plenty to do. They don't have the resources to do these themselves and get little assistance from the government on many of these things (especially with the aforementioned possible move away from an orphanage system). These things will soon be harder to fix because school starts in about a month. There is a construction team coming in the next few weeks that may be able to work on some of these things (we're still working out those details). I would love to see these things get taken care of some how. Hopefully I'll get to be a part of that.
3. I've been sick the last few days. Mainly, my throat and head have been bothering me. It seems as though I'm on the upswing though. Having throat/cold issues is not that great. Though it is true that my voice gets deeper sometimes. I like when this happens because it makes me feel manlier than I already am (yes ladies, that is possible). However, sometimes it just makes my voice sound more nasally. I don't like when this happens because it makes me sound like more of a dork than I already am (yes ladies, that is possible). Any who, I guess I rather not be sick, barry white voice heat not withstanding.
4. Wednesday, at 5:45 in the a.m. Jamey and I took Matthew and Dane to the airport as they began their journey to America (I like to say America in these types of circumstances with a sort of italian-immagrant-like accent. It makes it seem more magical.) I will miss their company. Matthew will be attending graduate school at UNC in hopes to create even smaller mp3 players and x-ray machines while Dane will be traveling to Iowa, the land of farmers' daughters (to steal a line from Zack Morris), to begin an exciting undergraduate career at Cornell.
It was a strange thing to say goodbye to both of them. They are both, in their own right, outstanding individuals and I have learned from both of them. Playing spades without them will be next to impossible, until the robots are completed that is. Though I fear that no robot or combination of robots will be able to capture the light in their collective eyes. Godspeed friends. We'll cross paths again.
5. On a similar note, I will be moving back to America on August 23rd. I think some of you already know this. For those of you who haven't heard, I'm coming home on August the 23rd. It is a few months earlier than planned. Why would be explained easiest in person but I can give the following as a brief explanation. After several weeks of prayer and seeking consultation from the Word and close friends and mentors, it became clear that the purpose God has called me here for is close to being at an end.
This is a strange thing to say because, in truth, I don't really know why He brought me here. I could look back and come up with things that God accomplished and taught me while here and say that those were the reasons, but I'm not going to do that. Many of the things He is doing, we don't see. I'm sure that there are things invisible that God does right in front of our eyes. God knows why I came here. There are tangible things, yes. But sometimes I think the stuff we can't see is probably the most beautiful. To a degree, that is grace: seeing the invisible.
All that to say, I came over with the peace of knowing He wanted me to and I feel like I'll leave with the peace of knowing He wanted me to. In time God will, like He already is, show me why.
6. Jen Gash, by way of Joe Swing, brought the following to my attention: http://www.cnn.com/2006/HEALTH/07/27/happy.world.reut/index.html
Here is a look at the complete list: http://www.le.ac.uk/pc/aw57/world/sample.html
As you can see, Moldova didn't do so well. We were 175 out of the 178 countries. In spite of the fact that this science has proven this place to be dissapressing (oh yeah!), I must say that I am still quite happy. The collective Denmark ain't got nothing on me.
In related news, I've decided that over the course of the next few years I shall live and missioneer (a word for what missionaries do) in countries 176-178, Congo Democratic, Zimbabwe and Burundi respectively, thus proving myself to be the most hardcore mission person ever. Take that Lottie Moon!
To clarify, I am joking. I don't typically make my decisions based on such criteria. My life choices are made using several 9-sided dice and very complicated algorithmic equations.
7. Now, I shall rest. Remember, I am still somewhat sick and need to sleep. Per the request of some folks here in Moldova I shall, in the near future, tell two tales of the Marshrutka: The Marshrutka Tale of the Potato of Providence & The Tale of the Understanding and Sensitive Marshrutka Passenger. Until that time, sera buna.
[On a personal note, I must say that if you have made it this far, I love you. Seriously I mean that. You've always been a good friend, anonymous reader. You're true blue. I appreciate you.]
Saturday, July 08, 2006
clarification
i am not a vegan. i made an ill attempt at humor which was evidently taken seriously. i love to eat animal and things from animals, such as cheese. also, soy products i've tasted, especially soy ice cream, are unpleasing to my sensitive and sophisticated pallet.
taco bell is tasty and a friend to all diets.
scrappy-the dog formerly known as vodka- has returned home . he was gone for about a month and randomly returned one day a couple of weeks ago. to my knowledge, he was never a sandwich, sandwhich, or sand witch (i think several spellings are used. i'm not sure which one is correct but i do love the imagery of a dog-witch who dwells in some type of desert or beach or box [that is, a box with sand].)
i am leaving the beard off of my face thus exposing my collection of chins. for a brief spell -roughly 4 minutes- i was the ashamed, as opposed to proud, possesor of a mustache (please pronounce with syllable emphasis on the latter half of the word with a sort of smug tone). i took pictures and may get around to posting them some time, if i can live with the shame.
taco bell is tasty and a friend to all diets.
scrappy-the dog formerly known as vodka- has returned home . he was gone for about a month and randomly returned one day a couple of weeks ago. to my knowledge, he was never a sandwich, sandwhich, or sand witch (i think several spellings are used. i'm not sure which one is correct but i do love the imagery of a dog-witch who dwells in some type of desert or beach or box [that is, a box with sand].)
i am leaving the beard off of my face thus exposing my collection of chins. for a brief spell -roughly 4 minutes- i was the ashamed, as opposed to proud, possesor of a mustache (please pronounce with syllable emphasis on the latter half of the word with a sort of smug tone). i took pictures and may get around to posting them some time, if i can live with the shame.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
America and a Messianic Jew
First off, it is the 4th of July and I desperately covet your hamburgers and potato salads. Actually, I don’t covet them since I have become a vegan but I still wish you a happy 4th of July and shall give you one of my favorite stories of the holiday.
Some time ago some of my good friends and I were celebrating the aforementioned holiday. We were traveling towards Downtown Brentwood for some exciting firework action. It was a glorious night, not too warm, a nice breeze comforting us, full of patriotic bliss. A night such as this warrants a strict rolling-down-of-the-windows policy which we were all happy to obey.
As we pull up to a stop-light, my good friend Judson makes eye-contact with a man in an adjacent car. It was the kind of eye contact that demanded verbal engagement. We were all drawn to it. This moment was one that would be special. Call it a 6th sense if you must, but we all knew we were about to have a moment.
After little thought, Judson utters one word, proudly and boldly, to this stranger:
“America.”
Without missing a beat, the man shook his head in agreement, declaring the following:
“You’d better believe it.”
And we did, because that word stood for something. I could throw out the buzzwords but you already know them. Love it or hate it, America is a great place to live. Is it perfect?
Of course it isn’t. It is something for which it is worth being grateful.
Secondly, I feel I am long overdue in giving you an update on things here. Some of it I will be able to talk more about in the next few weeks and days and I ask you to be patient as I wait for the proper time. Some of it I can tell you about, but won’t because I’m a jerk.
I’m joking, if only a little. The homes in Gratieşti, which will serve as the transitional homes for boys and girls from the orphanage into independent life, are slowly moving along. There is some work being done on the girl’s home but the work that can be done is very minimal. Documents and paperwork is still the primary thing being done. I have no idea how long, exactly, this will take. It could be a few weeks or more. But they are moving along well and we seem to have a good company involved in the projects.
We have had a little delay in the furniture we have been building. I’ll be a little wordier on that later in the week. Right now it is just sitting, as am I. I’ve already read two and a half books this week (Into the Air by Jon Krakauer [which I absolutely was enthralled by], How to be Good by Nick Hornby [not as good as some of his other books but an enjoyable read] and Contemplative Prayer by Thomas Merton [I really like his writings on spiritual matters]. I’ve also been spending some time in the Old Testament (mainly Genesis), a place I wish I spent more time in. Hopefully we’ll get some news on the room this week. It has been nice to catch up on some reading.
Speaking of the Old Testament, I had the chance to spend some time with a Messianic Jew named Ghenadie who is an extremely talented painter from Moldova. Some friends of mine bumped into him at the national history museum and they began speaking.
It turns out that he is the president of an organization that works for spiritual renewal through the arts with the children of Moldova from a Christian perspective. They are active with the orphan population here in Chisinau. He was an amazing man and artist. For those of you who have been to Internat 2 in Chisinau and have seen the graffiti murals on the walls, you have seen one of the things his organization has done. He was an amazing man and artist.
We had the good fortune of going to his home to have a private showing of his work. As he led us into his home and studio, I was confronted with a painting of Jesus on trial in the synagogue that was about 8 feet long and 5 feet high. It was absolutely breathtaking due to its great spiritual depth and its style.
This painting was deeply personal. It had a wonderful Jewish perspective of a beautiful yet sometimes painful Christian event. He placed himself in this painting but put his back facing you, the painting’s audience, thus placing you in the theme. There was a visible dichotomy between light and darkness, heaven and hell, good and evil. It was theological and profoundly spiritual, which is hard in any form of expression to get across. I could try to describe it, but I would fail time and time again. A thousand words wouldn’t do it justice. I hope it will suffice to say that it is truly breathtaking.
He and his wife then proceeded to show us some of his other works. They were all amazing. There was one called “John” which I would love to take home. I can’t afford it though. That was what else struck me about this man. He had ideals. When asked how much he would sell his paintings for, he gave us high prices saying he knows they are high but doesn’t want to sell them because they are evangelical tools for him, especially the painting I spoke about earlier. They are ways he speaks of his “rebirth,” the only way he ever spoke about his salvation through Jesus Christ.
He doesn’t want to sell his paintings to someone who would just hang them on a wall to look pretty somewhere. They have stories to tell, deep meanings and dialogues to start about Christ. They are the way he engages a specific culture with the Gospel. How do you put a price on that?
Meeting Ghenadie was a breath of fresh air. I love seeing people who have blatantly been transformed and reborn by and in the Gospel and who express that occurrence in deeply beautiful ways. I hope to be one of those people.
Some time ago some of my good friends and I were celebrating the aforementioned holiday. We were traveling towards Downtown Brentwood for some exciting firework action. It was a glorious night, not too warm, a nice breeze comforting us, full of patriotic bliss. A night such as this warrants a strict rolling-down-of-the-windows policy which we were all happy to obey.
As we pull up to a stop-light, my good friend Judson makes eye-contact with a man in an adjacent car. It was the kind of eye contact that demanded verbal engagement. We were all drawn to it. This moment was one that would be special. Call it a 6th sense if you must, but we all knew we were about to have a moment.
After little thought, Judson utters one word, proudly and boldly, to this stranger:
“America.”
Without missing a beat, the man shook his head in agreement, declaring the following:
“You’d better believe it.”
And we did, because that word stood for something. I could throw out the buzzwords but you already know them. Love it or hate it, America is a great place to live. Is it perfect?
Of course it isn’t. It is something for which it is worth being grateful.
Secondly, I feel I am long overdue in giving you an update on things here. Some of it I will be able to talk more about in the next few weeks and days and I ask you to be patient as I wait for the proper time. Some of it I can tell you about, but won’t because I’m a jerk.
I’m joking, if only a little. The homes in Gratieşti, which will serve as the transitional homes for boys and girls from the orphanage into independent life, are slowly moving along. There is some work being done on the girl’s home but the work that can be done is very minimal. Documents and paperwork is still the primary thing being done. I have no idea how long, exactly, this will take. It could be a few weeks or more. But they are moving along well and we seem to have a good company involved in the projects.
We have had a little delay in the furniture we have been building. I’ll be a little wordier on that later in the week. Right now it is just sitting, as am I. I’ve already read two and a half books this week (Into the Air by Jon Krakauer [which I absolutely was enthralled by], How to be Good by Nick Hornby [not as good as some of his other books but an enjoyable read] and Contemplative Prayer by Thomas Merton [I really like his writings on spiritual matters]. I’ve also been spending some time in the Old Testament (mainly Genesis), a place I wish I spent more time in. Hopefully we’ll get some news on the room this week. It has been nice to catch up on some reading.
Speaking of the Old Testament, I had the chance to spend some time with a Messianic Jew named Ghenadie who is an extremely talented painter from Moldova. Some friends of mine bumped into him at the national history museum and they began speaking.
It turns out that he is the president of an organization that works for spiritual renewal through the arts with the children of Moldova from a Christian perspective. They are active with the orphan population here in Chisinau. He was an amazing man and artist. For those of you who have been to Internat 2 in Chisinau and have seen the graffiti murals on the walls, you have seen one of the things his organization has done. He was an amazing man and artist.
We had the good fortune of going to his home to have a private showing of his work. As he led us into his home and studio, I was confronted with a painting of Jesus on trial in the synagogue that was about 8 feet long and 5 feet high. It was absolutely breathtaking due to its great spiritual depth and its style.
This painting was deeply personal. It had a wonderful Jewish perspective of a beautiful yet sometimes painful Christian event. He placed himself in this painting but put his back facing you, the painting’s audience, thus placing you in the theme. There was a visible dichotomy between light and darkness, heaven and hell, good and evil. It was theological and profoundly spiritual, which is hard in any form of expression to get across. I could try to describe it, but I would fail time and time again. A thousand words wouldn’t do it justice. I hope it will suffice to say that it is truly breathtaking.
He and his wife then proceeded to show us some of his other works. They were all amazing. There was one called “John” which I would love to take home. I can’t afford it though. That was what else struck me about this man. He had ideals. When asked how much he would sell his paintings for, he gave us high prices saying he knows they are high but doesn’t want to sell them because they are evangelical tools for him, especially the painting I spoke about earlier. They are ways he speaks of his “rebirth,” the only way he ever spoke about his salvation through Jesus Christ.
He doesn’t want to sell his paintings to someone who would just hang them on a wall to look pretty somewhere. They have stories to tell, deep meanings and dialogues to start about Christ. They are the way he engages a specific culture with the Gospel. How do you put a price on that?
Meeting Ghenadie was a breath of fresh air. I love seeing people who have blatantly been transformed and reborn by and in the Gospel and who express that occurrence in deeply beautiful ways. I hope to be one of those people.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
elvis
i look at this picture and see passion, a man absorbed in what he is doing. then he got old, he got fat and finally got himself dead, on a toilet.
what happened?
i think of my life and i don't want this to happen to me. i've already gotten a little fat but i sure as heck don't want to die on a toilet. i want to finish my life with vigor, with passion. i want to be young elvis. i don't much care for old elvis.
paul's letters to timothy are a great help to me. it is a mentor's letters to a young, and from what i've gathered, somewhat scared man who is in over his head (a good place to be to experience God).
it's not just the advice, the wisdom that paul gives timothy that i love. it's the fact that paul is finishing as a young elvis, not the one that could barely squeeze into his gaudy jumpsuits. he still had the passion he did when he declared much earlier in his minisry that "i decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified." (1 cor. 2:2)
it is in these letters, his final writings, that he is able to declare the following: "i've fought the good fight, i have finished the race, i have kept the faith." (2 tim. 4.:7) and the fact was that he was still doing it. look closely a few verses down, he asks for timothy to bring his books and parchments above all (he also asks him to bring his cloak, which may or may not have been covered in rhine stones. we'lll never know). he knew it was just about his time to go but he still sought to know Christ and him crucified through the scriptures (the parchments). seeking Truth until the end.
i want that. i want to be a beat-up old fart who loves Christ with all he's got and who has been going strong since he started all those years back. i pray for the grace to love God passionately, which probably starts in the grace of knowing that He loves me.
of course, if you prefer the bloated elvis, this might not mean the same thing i'm hoping it does. metaphors are dangerous for this reason as. fyi- elvis died at the age of 42, easily the best number in the world.
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