Around the World in 18 Days

It is difficult to pinpoint what I love about travel. Perhaps it is the fact that no matter how many places you visit, there will always be new places to go or else something you haven’t seen at a previously visited location. There is also the aspect of meeting new people that fascinates me (says the introvert). The challenge of adjusting to a different way of doing things or thinking about things is also interesting. This process can be pleasant, and sometimes painful, but you can hardly walk away unscathed by what you experience during an expedition.

This month I bought a ticket to China. I have been telling my friends about it, and have found myself saying things like “I’m nervous about going to the airport in Beijing” or “I’m nervous about [insert whatever here].” It isn’t too much of a surprise that I’m saying these things.  I’ve heard similar things come out of my mouth right before venturing to other places. When I first went to Ireland I was concerned about living a whole year away from my family and friends, and when I first went to Switzerland I didn’t know if I would be able to find the proper train to get on, and when I went to Colombia I was anxious about Bogota being the Kidnapping Capital of the world (among other things). I am now realizing that I’m not just “nervous” about these things; I’m voicing fears. "Fears that I don’t totally want to admit are fears.

I just recently finished reading Numbers and Deuteronomy . The Israelites had plenty of fears, and usually didn’t mind voicing them. “You led us out here to die” they told Moses. “We’re going to starve to death; we’re thirsty! What I’d give for a good meal of leeks!" There was a lot going on with those folk. The fact that Numbers records an 11 day journey taking 40 years is quite sobering (I hope my journey to China just takes 18 days, as planned!). And then, as you probably know most of the Israelites still didn’t REALLY get it, and ended up dying in that sandy wasteland- except for Caleb and Joshua. And then what mighty warriors they turned out to be! I think it’s interesting how Joshua’s career started out. God told Moses to tell Joshua not to be afraid but to be courageous, and then God told Joshua that directly on several occasions, and then later on Josh was able to exhort the rest of the Israel not to be afraid, but to be courageous. What a journey for that man! What a kind of an epic journey for the rest of the nation! To finally go in and conquer the land; THEIR LAND, and to joyfully claim it. Now that's the kind of expedition I'm talking about- one that leaves the imprints of indelible ink.

Deut 5:29 Oh that they had such a heart in them, that they would fear Me, and keep all My commandments always, that it may be well with them and with their sons forever!

Dialog With a Six Year Old

He came to his lesson last Saturday with a beautifully wrapped present. The tri-colored bow was ingeniously twisted at the top, and the paper of the gift bag shouted things out at me, like “Joy! Joy! Joy!” and “Merry Christmas!” I uttered my surprise at the lovely gift, and let out an “Ooh!” and “Ahh!” as I lifted out the chocolate covered pretzels and a bottle of foamy soap- the kind whose delicious scent lingers on your hands long after you’ve washed them. After I discovered what was in the bag he explained the gift “Well, I didn’t buy it. My mom bought it, and then she gave it to me so I could give it to you… I have Eight Dollars!” I smiled at his frankness; not every kid gives credit where credit is due.

We worked on some Christmas music. Before we started, he protested: “I can’t do this! I don’t know how to play on the E string, or how to use my 4^th finger yet!” I assured him that he could play the song I had in mind for him, and flipped to one that was at his level. His eagerness to be where his older sister is on the violin shines through during every lesson.

As he swings his feet back and forth in his chair he asks “How old do you have to be before you can be a violin instructor?” I told him there wasn’t really a certain age that you had to reach to start teaching, but if he kept playing he would be ready in no time. “You know what?” he said “When I’m a teenager you’ll be a grandma!” I eagerly tried to adjust his math calculations by explaining that I would be in my thirties when he becomes a teenager... but I can understand how 7 years would seem like an infinite span of time for a 6 year old.

Getting this boy to focus on his assigned music is tricky. The music ahead of what we are working on is always much more tantalizing to practice than on what is assigned on a weekly basis. As I wrapped up Saturday’s music lesson he said “Oh yeah, by the way, do you recognize this?” He then proceeded to play a few measures of Ode to Joy from memory. I was surprised; impressed that he was working on something more advanced than what we were struggling to play through just a few minutes earlier. I replied “Yes. Yes I do!” and secretly thought: “Will wonders never cease?”

Isaac

I’m not sure what I would do if I found myself on an altar, with my father’s hand wrapped around the handle of a knife ready to slit my throat. But that is exactly the predicament Isaac found himself in. Let’s say it is a safe bet that Isaac knew what was going on. He knew they had not arrived at that mountain carrying a lamb (or any other four legged animal). He knew the fire was pipin’ hot ready to go! He knew what usually took place on top of carefully stacked stones. But there seems to be something missing from the story. The chapter doesn’t give any detail of a dramatic struggle between Isaac and his father Abraham. It just says that Abraham bound Isaac. Does anybody else find this strange? I mean, Abraham was no spring chicken, and Isaac was what, a teenager? I’ve seen plenty of 2 year olds quickly outdistance their parents, I’m sure Isaac could have …but… he didn’t. All we know is that his father bound him, and that Isaac would have been a goner had it not been for the LORD’s intervention: an angel who spoke and staid Abraham’s outstretched hand.

I wonder what the walk back down the mountain was like. I wonder if Isaac resented being bound and almost killed; if dinner conversation was reduced to “Please pass the salt.” Or maybe he was impressed that his father withheld nothing from God. Nothing… not even him! Not even his son whom he loved.

More Notebook Notes

In the midst of my notebook sorting and purging, I came across a few quotations that made an impact on me several years ago. Here is one by Amy Carmichael from her book Thou Givest... They gather:

God- let me be aware,
Stab my soul fiercly with another's pain;
Let me walk, seeing horror and stain;
Let my hands, groping, find other hands.
Give me the heart that divines and understands-
Give me the courage, wounded, to fight;
Flood me with knowledge, drench me with light.

Here is a quotation from C.S. Lewis from the same notebook:

...behind all asceticism the thought should be, "Who will trust us with the true wealth if we cannot be trusted even with the wealth that perishes? Who will trust me with a spiritual body if I cannot control even an earthly body? These small and perishable bodies we now have were given to us as ponies are given to schoolboys. We must learn to manage; not that we may someday be free of horses altogether but that someday we may ride bareback, confident, and rejoicing, those greater mounts, those winged, shining and world-shaking horses which perhaps even now expect us with impatience, pawing and snorting in the King's stables. Not that the gallop would be of any value unless it were a gallop with the King; but how else- since He has retained His own Charger- should we accompany Him?"

High School Poetics

I have been digging through old notes and books from back when I was in High School. This process is part of a new effort to widdle down and condense what I own. Flipping through a few notebook, I came across some poetry that I wrote back in the day. It definately has a sober and darker tone to it. I don't think it was because I was perpetually depressed; I just think writing was a way for me to vent at the time and handle difficult experiences. Most of the poems are not particularly special or well written, but for what it's worth, here are two poems from the High School Heather. 

Silent Music

I shed the tears that weigh me down,
So that I can walk lonely halls.
Here, with head held high, I smile,
While frozen faces slip by, I sigh.

Is there an art to learning art?
I train my hands, but my eyes cannot focus.
I play music that most people cannot hear.
I hold my best on a platter,
only to look down and see that it is broken.
But I'll give what needs mending,
And I'll smile as they pass me by,
Here is where darkness cries for light,
And I'll carry a candle gladly.
I'll carry a candle gladly.

Here is another poem that was written shortly after a friend died in a car wreck.

Adrian

Black road
Silence
Crunching gravel
Tempo increases
Racing wheels
Laughing voices
Breathing souls
Spreading tree
Crunching metal
Brief cries
Burning flesh
Answering silence
17 years old
Peircing eyes
Man forever young
Mother's tears
Friends' disbelief
Silence
Black road      ...questions

Being Unbreakable and Getting Shot

I just recently watched the movie Unbreakable. I like this movie, but because of its serious treatment of the storyline and my preference for comedy, I’ve only watched it 2 or 3 times. The movie is slightly depressing to me, but I enjoy stories about super heroes. The cinematography is dark hued and cleverly manipulated; pieced together like illustrated panels found within a comic book.

One of my favorite scenes in this movie is fairly intense. The son of the main character wants to prove that his father is a super hero, and so one day he confronts his dad in the kitchen pointing a gun towards his chest. The boy believes that his father won’t die if he shoots him, thus proving to the world (and to his father) that there really is something ridiculously strong about him. Up until this point in the movie we have a hunch that the boy is right (to some extent), but we don’t want him to shoot his father because we don’t believe it will bounce off of his chest like a rubber bullet. In this nail biting scene the dad starts shouting at the boy to put the gun down- the mother as well is standing by helplessly, every-once-in-a-while saying a few words to try to diffuse the situation. Finally the dad says something to the effect of “I thought we were friends. Friends don’t shoot friends.” And then the mother affirms his words “Yeah, friends don’t shoot friends.” I’m not sure why this cracks me up every time, but I think it has something to do with the absurdity of the situation, and that the parents pick such an obvious truism to say to the boy. It helped calm down the situation, so I guess the son needed to hear it. In his head, the boy had thought through everything semi-rationally, but there was an obvious flaw in his thought process. If he was wrong about his theory, he would lose more than proof of his father’s super hero abilities; he would lose his father.

I believe, every now and again, we need to hear truisms. Sometimes they come in the form or clichés like “It’s not the end of the world.” or “Ya gotta get back on the horse.” or “If you keep doing that to your face it will stay that way.” And sometimes words just need to come in the form of truth. 100%, non-diluted unclichéd truth. We need reminded of the truth because we either forget it, or we haven’t really thought things through. We have somewhere, somehow, left something vital out of the equation.

I was reading 1 Peter this evening with a group of women in a Bible study, and in the middle of reading it dawned on me that it was really important for me to read some of those verses. They hit home. A little bit like bitter medicine; and at the same time, a little bit like a warm blanket. There wasn’t a gun in the room this evening, but I think I just got shot.  

Set on Pilate

Towards the end of summer, I had a taste of what it is like trying to pacify a mob. I was at Kansas Bible Camp, and acted out Pontius Pilate’s role during Christ’s trial. In order to disguise the fact that I’m the wrong gender to portray Pilate, I penciled in a quick unibrow on my face with eyeliner around 5:15 in the morning, and soon found myself staring down from a second story balcony, viewing a sea of bleary eyed High Schoolers, most of them with sheets haphazardly wrapped toga-style on top of their jammies. No decent trial should meet at this time of day!

Being Pilate, I had a few lines to shout to the mob. It seemed like I kept coming back to the fact that we were on the verge of killing an innocent man. Why would Barabbas look good in comparison to this man, Christ? The crowd shouted up to me “If this Man were not an evildoer, we would not have delivered Him up to you.” But the tone and look of the crowd did not necessarily reflect bunny-eyed innocence. What is the definition of “evildoer,” anyway? It was a situation so perplexing that I could see how it could make friends out of enemy rulers.  Another question that weighed on me:  I asked the camper who was portraying Christ, “What is truth?” I wonder if it occurred to the real Pilate that he had posed this question to Truth Himself. During the reenactment I washed my hands in front of the crowd, trying to show either them, or myself, that I was innocent of “this man’s blood;” I wonder if Pilate, in real life, had witnessed a tinge of red in the water, as torchlight flickered and played on the water’s surface.

It is common practice to act out Shakespearean plays in order to better understand what is taking place. I wouldn’t say the literary works are on the same plane, but I think it’s a worthwhile practice to apply to the Bible as well.