One year

Looking ahead to a year seems like a really long time. Looking back on it, it seems all to short. My year living in Namibia is over, but after seven trips I can't imagine it will be my last. One thing that's always been a motto of mine is "be where you are." Trying to make that a reality in my own life I realize that the very purpose of blogging is to be somewhere else, to share what's on your mind with people who aren't there. So not that I've ever written on this blog with much regularity, but in trying to be more purposeful about living purposefully I won't be updating this blog as often. If you're interested in what's on my mind drop me an email or take me out to lunch! If you're interested in my observations from living in Namibia for a year, check out my African Travel Blog.

Photo of the Day

Tara Leigh Cobble has inspired me by her "photo of the day" series on her blog, so I thought I'd add my own from Saturday's adventure to Vermont and upstate New York. Though I'm sure you won't find nearly as much amusement about this shot as I did. This family was attending a small-town wedding in Bicentennial Park. I slipped alongside their photographer and asked if I could take a shot as well. They were speechless as to why this stranger would want their photo so I snapped it quickly before they could say no. Although now I owe them a couple wallet-sized prints. (ps. I think my favorite is the little boy in the front holding his little stuffed animal.)

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On a more serious note, driving along the back roads, checking out the hillsides ablaze with color, left me plenty of time to consider country living. Having grown up visiting my many relatives in upstate NY I have a pretty good handle on what it's like to live in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and I have to say, it's nice to visit, but I don't think I could live there.

Maybe I just have too much ambition (or delusions of grandeur) to be content living my entire life in a small country town, talking the latest gossip about nothing important. Maybe I've seen too much of the world (and the city) to get so wrapped up in small town drama. Maybe I'm just too young and restless to appreciate what so many people call home. I don't know, but it's not for me.

But as with anything, there are upsides to be learned from. There is something to say for investing your entire life in a particular community, building life long relationships with neighbors and friends, and the authenticity to talk to anybody and everybody. Those things I do value, but I don't think I could do it in the middle of nowhere.

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While at the park, a young teenage girl came up to us asking who was getting married as if we were with the party. She hadn't seen it in the paper or heard of anyone getting married around town. She went on to tell us how everybody knew everything in their small town. She had no regard for the fact that we were complete strangers and could probably care less except for the fact that we're not that rude and had just been talking about small-town folk and were amused that everything she was saying was corroborating exactly what we'd been talking about.

The physics of experiencing life

When shuttles return from the moon re-entry involves screaming through the flaming heat of the atmosphere. While coming home from Namibia isn't quite that bad, sometimes it seems like it. Anybody who's travelled cross-culturally knows what it's like to come home and experience the tension of not wanting to fall back into everyday life here but keep some of the tendencies and habits you learned in other places. For me it was walking.

Our last night in Arandis the pastor's daughter, Pearl, was hanging out at our house and so she wouldn't have to walk back home alone in the dark, a group of us walked her home. We walked the long way around, down the long, quiet road on the outskirts of town where there are houses on one side and nothing but desert as far as you can see on the other. The lights from the town aren't as bright on that road so the view of the stars is amazing. You can even see the Milky Way. I don't know whether it was short legs or just not wanting to go home, but she kept saying, "You're walking too fast." I'd hardly realized until she said it that half our group was way ahead and the rest of us were struggling to slow down enough to walk with her. It got me thinking how in America we're all about getting there. We're all about accomplishing the goal. The purpose of our outing was to walk her home and come back, we just set a pace to get it done without a second thought. But what Pearl understood, we totally missed. It didn't have anything to do with our velocity, but everything to do with our perspective. For her it was a last chance to spend time with these people she'd fallen in love with who would be leaving the next morning. She knew when we reached her house it'd be over. She was all about the walk, not the destination, so she kept reminding us, "Walk slower."

On our way home we made it all the way to Paris without a snag, then when we were about to board our last plane for the final leg home they delayed our flight another 10 hours. So we went about switching gates and going through security...again, and getting some food. We got online to update the blog and let people send messages home. But 10 hours is still a long time and we were all tired and emotionally exhausted, so people started getting frustrated and bored. Now I'm a pretty laid back guy and I'm in no hurry to get home, there's nobody waiting for me at the airport except the knowledge that I'll have to say goodbye to all the people I've grown so close to during the last two weeks, so I was getting a little frustrated that everyone was wasting away this last opportunity just being bored and complaining. I eventually dropped some comments to some different people in the least harsh way I could muster, and I think they got my drift. But it just reminded me of how often we go through life waiting instead of living.

So yesterday morning I went for a walk. I never go for morning walks in America, but in Africa it's not uncommon. I thought about how much I live from one scheduled activity to the next and about how much I miss in between. I imagined what it would be like to live in the 'in betweens' instead of in the schedule. I looked up from the ground and glanced around. I hadn't realized how much I was missing around me as I was watching where I would make my next step. I took a deep breath, and took my next step...just a little slower.

The wages of work is death

So lately I've been working tirelessly on a recording project to help raise money for our upcoming Namibia trip and it's gotten me thinking about the value of work. In the end people will listen to the CD for a while but eventually it'll end up in the yard sale pile. The songs will go out of style and new songs will take their place. Eventually the glory of that CD will pass away, but is that why I work?

Every year at this time we have a Graduation Banquet celebrating another year done, saying goodbye to all our seniors, and welcoming the incoming freshmen. For the presentation, I put hours into setting up a little slideshow of pictures reviewing the year and of the seniors through the years. I show the video once at the banquet, then it quickly finds itself buried in an archive file, forgotten about for years to come. I've made so many videos for so many occasions through the years that all have the same fate. Their glory days fade quickly, but is that why I work?

All our work fades away. I spent the last hour scrubbing the bathroom, only for it to get dirty again. I spend hours mowing the lawn, but it grows back. I cook a meal, wash dishes, take the trash out, knowing that I'll do it all again tomorrow. So why do we work if it doesn't last?

Well some of those last illustrations seem obvious for health reasons and such, but I think there are lasting things about the work we do, and I mean more than just a paycheck at the end of the week. For instance, sometimes I work to show love to people. Sometimes my work leaves a lasting impression, like the CD. Who knows what somebody might take away or how God might speak into someone's life by listening to those songs. Sometimes it's for the pleasure in a job well done, or using a clean shower.

Maybe the temporary nature of our work is meant to remind us that this is not all there is. In this world, things break and deteriorate but it won't always be this way. One day everything will be healed, never to hurt again. By working we mimic God by redeeming the broken, filthy, useless things of this world. His glory can shine through our work, so in the end all is not worthless. It may only be like a drop in a pond, but every drop leaves ripples.

Row 11 Seat C

Yesterday I found myself sitting in the airport waiting for my flight on Southwest. Now Southwest doesn't assign seats so the trick is to get in seating order 'A' and get there early so you can get a good seat. So I got there plenty early, in fact, there were only a few others in the waiting area when I arrived. After about a half hour or more, still before the plane even arrived, I saw this couple walk up and plop themselves down in front of the gate so as to be the first in line. Now I thought to myself, "How arrogant of them to think they can pass by all these people who've been waiting here ahead of them to get a seat on the plane." As soon as that couple sat down as if "in line", it started an onslaught of others rushing for a spot in line lest they get left with a middle seat, like the first drop of water that breaks through the dam. As the lines continued to get longer I kept thinking, "The nerve of these people to think they have any more right to get a better seat then me cause they stood up in line. I've been waiting here longer than all of them", which naturally gives me more of a right than them to get a better seat. "It's not like they're going to run out of seats before you get there. It's a huge plane, just get over yourselves and wait like all of us have had to." Fortunately, from where I was sitting close to the gate, the line extended backward pretty far, so my mind concieved a plan where I would just stand up and make my way to the gate as if there was no line and these presumptuous people were simply standing there for no particular reason. But the longer I sat there I began to actually listen to what I was thinking, that it really is just a seat on the plane and it's awful selfish to think that I should force my rights on them who actually think they have more rights because they've been standing and I sitting. I began to think of Paul talking about yielding his rights and that it's better to be wronged than to make a big deal about it and take someone to court like the world. So I decided it would probably be better of me and more Christlike to make my way back to the end of "the line" and allow the presumptuous people on the plane ahead of me. Afterall I would still get a pretty good seat because I was in the 'A' line. Eventually the plane arrived and people began shuttling off and my mind was fighting with itself over where to get in line. Then the little red 'A' light came on and we were called to board. I watched myself stand up, collect my things and make my way straight to the gate.

Why is it that our selfish desires carry so much more weight than our desire to love? Why is it that my heart tells me it's not that big a deal but my mind is so much more concerned with my comfortable seating preference? Why do I cling so tightly to what I consider to be my earthly rights? This whole process of becoming less and less earthly minded is a tough battle, especially when what I want is in such contradiction to what I know. And since it's my mind that chooses my behavior I'm pretty much screwed, huh. Oh how I long to just 'get over myself' and love people with selfless abandon.

I ended up with a phenomenal seat, an aisle seat in the exit row, couldn't ask for more. But as the guilt poured on and the eyes of those behind me bored holes in the back of my head I kept wishing I could take it back. I pulled out my book, Seizing Your Divine Moment by Erwin McManus, and read about how the choices we make define the moments in which we live. He writes, "If a moment is the gate through which your divine journey begins, then choice is the key that unlocks the adventure." Figures.

To dream or not to dream...

Before you read this post, make sure you get a little context by reading the latest Pascal quote that I've been thinking on lately. Also the movie Vanilla Sky may come to mind if you've ever seen it.

The question at hand relates to our insatiable desire to always want to be somewhere else, to do something else with our lives, something bigger, something better. We dream...and we're far better off for it, I do believe. What greatness would ever be achieved if we didn't dream? I resonate with George Mallory who, in response to the question "Why climb Everest?" replied, "Because it's there." It called out a challenge to him. It gave him a dream. Dreams are about being involved in something bigger than yourself. Something bigger than average, better than normal. Have you ever awoken from a dream only to wish you could fall back asleep because you quite enjoyed it there? It was much more enjoyable and satisfying than the reality you wake up to. That present reality, which we all live in, is far to real, with all it's pains, frustrations, annoyances, interruptions, discontentment. So we dream. Yet dreams are merely a hope, a favorable expectation of a future that may or may not ever exist. But in contrast to this present reality, we dream in perfect color, the way things could be. So we're lead to the question, if our dreams are so great, why don't we drop everything and pursue them with abandon? What is it that keeps us from following our dreams? Fear perhaps. Fear of the unknown. Fear that if we pursue our dream into the present then it may not be as perfect as we imagined it to be. Fear that if it doesn't work out then we'll have nothing to fall back on. And so we remain in discontented reality...with our dreams. But what of those who do follow their dreams? Those who give up average for the hope of fulfillment? When they get there, is it all they imagined it to be? Or do they only find another dream, like climbing to the top of a mountain only to find another mountain on the other side of the valley? So ultimately we've come to the question, is it possible to live your dream? Does anyone ever really honestly say I wouldn't rather be doing anything else than what I'm doing right now, I wouldn't rather be anywhere else than where I am right now? Is that true contentment? Is that life fulfillment?

I'm not totally convinced. Like Pascal says, we can't go on living in times that are not our own (ie, the future, our dreams). The only time we have to live is the present. So does that devalue our dreams? On the contrary, I think it revalues the in-betweens. Follow your dreams, but live the journey. Climb your Everest, but find joy in the climb, not just the summit. Maybe in the end dreams aren't really a place to be, or something to do, but a joy to hold. To hold that joy in this present reality, in the everyday, that's contentment, that's the dream.

So we continue to dream...and are much better off for it, I do believe.

Love Advice from the Gridiron

You often learn the most profound things from the oddest places. So it should be no big surprise that my recent discoveries concerning love come from none other than the football field. No surprise to some who know of my slightly less than fanatical love of football, but surprise to me nonetheless. As many of you probably know, my New England Patriots lost in the divisional round of the playoffs after winning the last 2 Super Bowls. They were on their way to an unprecedented 3 consecutive Super Bowl victories when they were stopped short by their first playoff loss in at least 5 years. Now I've experienced playoff losses before, even a Super Bowl loss, but none struck me quite as hard as this one, and that's what took me by surprise. But that's also what helped me to realize that grief is proportional to love. You know exactly what I mean because those people who right now are saying, "Oh good grief" really have no love for the game, or a particular team. They say that those who can utter the words "It's only a game" have no love for the game. And those who say "There's always next year" just don't quite understand. But for those of us who have invested so much into following their team from free agency, to draft day, to training camp, through pre-season, the ups and downs of the regular season, and triumphantly into the post-season, there is nothing but this season. One friend told me this year he's been following the Minnesota Vikings since their induction to the league in 1961. For those fans, affectionately termed by some as fan-atics, there is nothing greater than watching your team hoist the Lombardi trophy in the air surrounded by confetti in team colors. And it's the ever present hope of that scene that causes us to carry on. But as there is always joy in love, so there is also grief. Two books that I have read recently have also helped greatly along these lines, A Severe Mercy by Sheldon VanHauken and A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. Grief and loss are not one in the same, nor should they be feared as though they are not a natural part of love. Grief helps clarify and identify love. We shouldn't run from it as though to cut it off before it's natural term, nor over-extend it as though to keep our beloved alive. It's the continuing process of love, not a state or a phase, but an ongoing process. It's a necessary part of the journey of love. I don't know what action I mean to imply by these thoughts. Perhaps it would shed a little light on what it means to "mourn with those who mourn" if we really knew the true extent of love. Perhaps it would help us to love a little deeper understanding that loss is inevitable and grief is a consummation of love. Or perhaps just to stop telling me "it's only a game, get over it", to figure out what things you grieve over with the thought of loss, and to embrace them with all your heart. Because it's true that deeper love brings greater loss, but it also brings greater joy, and I wouldn't trade that for the world.

Today was John Burke's funeral. John was more of an acquaintance of mine than a friend. We conversed in church on occasion when his family started attending Christ's Church a little over a year and a half ago. He came over and played frisbee with us once last summer. John had a tumor in his brain stem which made it inoperable. I remember the first time I visited John at home once he was bedridden. As we walked in the door you couldn't help but be overcome by the smell of the stale air, a smell I would strangely come to welcome upon each return. It always seemed a little awkward, especially at first until I became better acquainted with the family, and one never quite knew what to say so I was content to hide behind my guitar as simply a quiet reassurance that there were people who cared. The cancer and lack of mobility had taken it's toll on John's physical body. He couldn't really talk or move around a lot. We sang a few songs and he rocked his foot along off beat. God was in the room that night. I knew He was, because I knew the pain of this precious family was but an echo of the pain of the Father. They would not attend a dying son and brother alone, because God was there, and He was crying with them. As awkward as it could be I was always pleased to go back there because I knew it was a place where God was. The last time was late Thursday morning. We went to support Rose and Sarah and Jess and to see John Sr, who was also recovering from an operation removing his own brain tumor. Why so much in one family I will never understand. John died later that afternoon. He was only 23. Though from the stories I heard and the pictures I saw today it was a full 23 years. I think I would've like John if I'd gotten to know him. I think that a lot when I go to funerals. They miss who they've known. I miss ever getting to know him. It's a sobering reminder to take advantage of every opportunity, every conversation. Because I fear my greatest regret will not be something I've done, but the many somethings I was too afraid to do.

In memory of John Burke, 1982-2005

For Rose, John Sr, Jess, Dan, and especially Sarah: "Can a woman forget her nursing child and have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands" Isaiah 49:15-16