itsjustathoug.ht

An Unbelieved Truth

2012-01-02T06:28:00.001-05:00

An unbelieved truth can hurt much more than a lie.

- John Steinbeck

I'd rather be lied about than not believed.

A lie speaks to the character of the one who says it. An unbelieved
truth does too. But, if this truth really is the truth, then the
statement that the unbelief is making (namely, that the speaker of the
truth is a liar) is itself a lie.

So I guess it doesn't matter either way. Got that?

Just Another Day in Port au Prince - Part 3

2011-12-24T07:27:00.000-05:00

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

My night at the Livesay's came and went without a hitch. I woke early without setting my alarm, not because I was well rested but because I got an early morning phone call. If I had been at home I would have risen at the same time, only instead of a phone call it would have been a child knocking at my door. Part of me wanted to wait around for the Livesay's to get up, see them one more time, and give them a proper thank you, but the other part of me knew that with as much uncertainty awaited that day, an earlier start gave me a much better chance af success. I had to find my car, transfer money, get the car out of impound, buy some tile, buy some tools, then meet someone at the airport at 1pm. I usually try to keep my Port au Prince todo lists to no more than 2 item.

When I saw that Isaac Livesay was the first to rise, I had him let me out of the house and began walking in the right direction. They don't allow motorcycles in that neighborhood (because, apparantly they are dangerous) so it was a bit of a hike to find a group of taxi drivers that were willing to take me to the impound lot. I approached the group slowly, sizing up each driver, trying to figure out which would get me where I wanted to go safest and fastest. I was looking for a clean, well maintained bike. A helmet was a must. I wanted the driver to be edgy enough that they could quickly get me through Port au Prince traffic, but not so edgy that I feared for my safety. In the end, I hired the first guy that yelled "hey blanco!" It's just easier that way.

This driver did a pretty good job getting me where I needed to go, and as he wove through traffic I realized that motos in Port au Prince, while something I had always said I wanted to avoid, were actually a great mode of transportation. Sitting in an air-conditioned truck, it's easy to look at the people going by you on the back of a moto and only think about how hot, dusty, and dangerous it seems. But as you SIT in your truck, you should also notice that those motos are GOING BY you. And the people on the back of them are getting where they're going much faster than you are getting where you are. I got off that moto, paid the driver the $6.25 I owed him and actually started to consider parking my truck outside Port au Prince the next time I came in and just riding a moto around town. I could get a lot more done. But then I'd also have to park the truck legally.

I had him drop me at a place called "circulation". It's a police station that deals with license plates, licenses, inspection, transfers, titles, etc. I guess you could call it the DMV of Haiti. It's also, I was being told, the impound lot. I got there early. Almost an hour before I expected it to open. But I've learned from experience that this can actually be a very helpful thing. As I entered the lot, there sitting in front of me in all it's glory (what of it there is) was my truck. I let out half a sigh of relief. Really more like a third. The next third was reserved for when I could actually drive the truck away. And the other third was waiting on something I had actually been more worried about than the truck-- it's contents. I had left a computer, a kindle, a modem, and a few other things in the truck the morning before. And while I have the utmost respect for the police in Haiti. I also know they aren't very well paid. And as in any profession, there are some bad apples. And so, even with the truck in hand, I wasn't sure I was going to see any of the expensive stuff inside it again. I glanced around, nobody seemed to be paying me much mind, and hopped over to the truck, peaking in the back window I saw everything as I had left it the day before. A win all around. Confidant that I was going to (eventually) get everything back, I began asking around to see if I could figure out how. People pointed me toward the correct office and I worked my way over there. I knocked on the door but didn't expect to find anyone as I was still about 45 minutes early.

The door wasn't actually shut, so my knocking pushed it open. I peeked inside and saw someone sitting at the desk. As I had done with the all the people that pointed me to this office, I explained my situation. He knew exactly what I was talking about. He even knew which car was mine. As we talked he booted up a computer in front of us. The computer contained pictures of all the vehicles that had been impounded IN THERE INFRINGING POSITIONS-- so there was no arguing with the man. It was like getting a picture of you car running a red light in the mail. Pretty hard to get out of that. He explained to me exactly what I had been told the day before. I was parked legally, but facing the wrong direction. For that reason the truck had been towed and I would have to pay a fine before getting it out.

"How much?" I asked, hoping the number would be less than the cash I had in my hand.

"3000 Gourdes." Ugh.

"This is all I have right now," as I showed him the 2000 Gourdes I had left from the day before. He just shrugged and told me to come back with the money. I had located my truck. Now I just had to get it back.

Just Another Day in Port au Prince - Part 2

2011-12-12T20:06:00.000-05:00

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

It was getting late as I approached three men unloading a small truck at their funeral home (or night club, I can never tell the difference, there might not be one). I knew my car was gone, but was still trying to figure out to where. My hope (It sounds strange to put it that way) was that my truck had gotten towed because a stolen vehicle would probably never reappear. I questioned the first man, who seemed to be in charge:

"Did you see a green truck parked here earlier in the day?" Their truck had backed in exactly where I had been parked. He seemed to take some offense at my initial query.

"No I have no idea what you're talking about." The curtness of his reply made me realize that perhaps he thought I was accusing him of something. I pressed the issue, but couldn't seem to make him understand that I wasn't upset with him in any way. I was actually hoping he had turned me into the police. I was getting nowhere with him when the third man who was pulling boxes out of the truck to hand to the second interrupted.

"Was it here all day?" He asked.

"I parked it here in the morning, but I don't know how long before it disappeared. Did you guys call the police because it was parked in the front of the gate."

"No." Crap. "But it was facing that way, right." He pointed behind him, up the hill.

"Yes, that was my truck."

"Right, well it was supposed to be facing down." He seemed to be putting things together in his mind. But I wasn't quite yet.

"What?"

"Your truck was facing up, but you should have parked it facing down. You needed to turn it around before parking on this side of the road. It probably got towed." I don't remember if he had explained things that clearly. But whatever he said got me to put things together in my mind. All the cars I had seen parked on that road were facing the same direction as traffic. But I had crossed over traffic, parking on the left side of the road, and hence, was facing the wrong direction. Do they tow for that? I could only hope.

I thanked the men for their help-- even the one that wasn't helpful and the one that didn't say anything-- and I left them to the boxes of liquor they were unlisding at the funeral home. It was getting late. I felt satisfied that my truck had probably been towed. I was also sure that if it hadn't been towed, there was nothing I could do anyway. So my focus turned from the truck to own precarious situation.

I needed food (I was still waiting to celebrate). I needed a place to sleep. And in the morning, I was going to need some money. Food was the most pressing, and easiest solved. So I hopped over to the restaurant I've been raving about and ordered a chicken sandwich and a Tampico. I also order french fries, but they never came. So maybe the woman didn't hear me. Or maybe they didn't have them. I don't know. I didn't get a receipt, so I hope she didn't charge me for them. As I sat to wait for my food I contemplated my next step. I needed to get in contact with people but, to add another problem to my every-growing pile, my phone had recently died and I was using a temporary one. It only had two numbers in it: Mike and Gwenn. Now if you're thinking "phone numbers" should be something that gets added to my list of things to prepare for PAP, you're right. But in my defense I had brought a computer with an internet connection so that I could look up any numbers that I needed-- it was in the car.

I called Gwenn and she agreed to stop at one of those newfangled McDonald's that have wireless so she could look up numbers for me. I call Mike and began to discuss my money troubles. He agreed to transfer money in the morning and I agreed to run the errands he was supposed to do the next day (seeing that I had just lost the car he was planning on using, that only seemed fair).

In the meantime my food came. Don't picture a chicken patty for the sandwich. It's more of a pulled chicken sub. Very good. And the Tampico was, of course, great. If you have never tried Tampico you should. It's like Sunny Delight, but with more sugar. And every time I drink Sunny Delight I think "what this needs is more sugar." Don't you?

Gwenn, because it's who she is, went above and beyond the call of duty. She informed people beck at the house that I would be returning that night and she set me up with a room at a friends house for the night. She had called the Livesays. It would my first choice to call as well. Because I like them, yes, and I knew I would enjoy my evening. But also because the Livesays are the only long-term missionaries I know who haven't developed healthy bouderies. And I mean that in the best possible way. I have never heard of them turning down a request for a place to stay. They basically ran a hotel after the earthquake. And even after they left the country their house was home base for dozens of short and long term workers. My point is this, I would have called them because I knew they would say yes :)

They did say yes. Mike and I finalized plans for the money transfer in the morning and I headed to the Livesay's. A short walk and a $6 taxi ride brought me to their home behind the airport. But not before I discovered a shop that sells pigeons, parrots, geese, and peacocks-- awesome.

Troy and Tara were great short-notice hosts. I hung out with them and their kids for awhile before crashing into bed. I had done everything possible, but still I didn't know if I would find the truck at the impound lot the next morning. I could only hope.

Just Another Day in Port au Prince - Part 1

2011-12-10T07:31:00.001-05:00

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

My Thursday started out like many others have over the past year. Keeping all your ducks in a row in Haiti is hard enough, but if you allow things to get de-arranged (there's a nice Creole-inspired word for you)-- if you allow things to get de-arranged, it can be nearly (if not actually) impossible to re-arrange them.

So dozens of times over the past year I have risen at a normal time but immediately started prepping for a Port au Prince trip to re-arrange paperwork that had been, unfortunately, de-arranged. This time it was a 6am departure with a 9am meeting at the other end. Prepping for Port au Prince is an involved process. You've got to think about all the possibilities-- everything that can go wrong-- and, if possible, mitigate those risks.

You need a spare in case of a flat (I've learned that one the hard way).
You need a jack to change the tire in case of a flat (I've learner that one the hard way).
You need your phone (I've learner that one the hard way) .
And a car charger for your phone (I've learner that one the hard way) .
You need money.
Money for gas.
Money for food.
Money for food for everyone that's coming with you.
Money for a possible break down.
Money for whatever errands you are running.
Money in case you have problems with your errands.
You need a lot of money (I usually just empty the safe and be done with it).
You need paperwork.
Paperwork for you.
Paperwork for your car.
Paperwork for the organization.
You need a lot of paperwork (I usually just empty the file cabinet and be done with it).

Once prepped, I set out on my journey and began calling all the people I was supposed to meet on the other side. We were all coming from Jacmel, so it would have made sense to travel together, but strained personal relationships have made that impossible. Instead there was a delicate dance where each of us tried to arrive on-time, but last, so that we didn't have to wait for the others.

I arrived at the offices first (I've never been good at dancing) and began to get things in order. We had come to sign some paperwork that we had been assured was already prepared for us. By the time all of us were there they had begun preparing the paperwork (see what I did there) and we waited. 9 became 10 and then 11 and 12. But while the wait was excruciating, the outcome was more than I could have hoped for. By 3:30 the paperwork was done(ish) and I was planning my celebration! There is a restaurant I particularly enjoy just up the block from the offices and around the corner from where I had parked. The fact that I hadn't eaten all day was going to make the food even better. On top of that, I had my laptop and a USB modem in the car so that I would soon be surfing the web at 3G speeds while eating good food on an empty stomach.

But oh! Port au Prince, you have never been faithful to me. And this day would be no different. I have no eloquent or ironic way of putting this: My car was gone from where I had parked it. My first thoughts turned toward theft because our recent past, but I knew that would be a complete loss. So I pinned my hopes on towing. I knew the car was legal but maybe I had parked illegally? I looked for signs. The was a no-parking sign (which looks very similar to the American "wrong way" sign incidentally) across the street, but I had seen that in the morning. Plus there were other cars currently parked just a few feet from where my truck had been. Maybe they were illegal too and the police hadn't passed by in awhile? I was beginning to doubt my own story.

Checking with the locals didn't help either. The merchant on the corner hadn't noticed anything unusual between sales of crackers, sleeping pills, and phone calls. And the police, normally out in force on this particular street, were no where to be found. I wandered the neighborhood looking for an officer, but all had gone home the moment the local offices had closed. Running out of ideas to retrieve my car, I approached the scene of the (hopefully not) crime again.

But as I approached, a small truck pulled up. A man got out of the cab and pull the fence (or what I had thought was a fence) aside to allow the truck enter his compound. I had parked in front a gate! Could my luck possibly hold out? Had these men called the police on me? I could only hope.

Strange Stories

2011-12-06T19:00:00.001-05:00

If a story is not about the hearer he will not listen. And I here make a rule--a great and lasting story is about everyone or it will not last. The strange and foreign is not interesting--only the deeply personal and familiar.

- John Steinbeck

It seems that we are drawn to the strange and exotic. But they are only interesting to us in that they act to amplify our own story.

It is far too easy to miss the important truths that are communicated in our everyday lives simply because we see them everyday. "If there was anything to learn within my daily story," we reason, "I would have learned it long ago." The world around us ceases to be the amazing and varied creation of God because it is "the same old same old."

But in the strange and exotic. In the stories of the lives of those who live differently than us. We can see the truth of God more clearly than in our own. The deceptive smokescreen of familiarity is pulled away and we see that God is working everyday-- in their lives, yes, but also in our own.

Mankind is made in the image of God. When we know more stories of more men we see God more clearly.

Racepig

2011-11-29T20:00:00.001-05:00

"You can't make a racehorse of a pig"
"No, but you can make a very fast pig."

- John Steinbeck

The Good Lord knows that circumstances aren't always ideal. Sure we have good times, but if we're all honest, most of us would admit to a lot of, if not mostly, hard times.

And there's nothing we can do about. Absolutely nothing. Sure, we pour some of the crap over our own heads, but the vast majority of the crap we're walking through was put there by other people. Some we know. Many we don't. Some of that crap has been siting there for years. Some was there long before we were even born.

So what do we do about it? We have to know what we can change and what we can't. We'll never get rid of all the junk, but we can still live the way God expects us to.

My life will never be a racehorse. But it will be the fastest pig you've ever seen.

Hot and Cold

2011-11-27T12:47:00.001-05:00

I love a cool breeze-- as long as the weather is hot. And I love a warm bed-- as long as the weather is cold. If the weather is moderate-- moderate temperature, moderate sunshine, moderate breeze, etc-- then we don't even notice it. And that's OK I guess but great weather is either hot or cold.

Food is the same. I like hot hot-chocolate, or cold chocolate milk, but nothing in between. I'll reheat leftover turkey, or I'll eat it cold on a sandwich, but lukewarm is the worst.

God feels the same way about people. When speaking to one of His churches he said, "I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth."

Its funny that many people use this quote to challenge themselves and others to avoid being "lukewarm Christians." You should instead be "on fire" for Jesus. Of course you could read this verse that way, but you could also use it to encourage people not to be Christians. Right? God says that He would rather you not be a Christian, than be a lukewarm one?

I don't know. But I know this: Great lives are those that are lived either hot or cold. And nothing great is done halfheartedly. We all know it. God knows it. Will we live it?

The Old Mazda

2011-11-26T17:48:00.001-05:00

The old Mazda is starting to show her age. She doesn't climb hills like she used to. She rattles. She shakes. She squeeks and creaks. Her horn sounds like a dying goose. She's got enough dings and dents, scrapes and scratches to make me say she used to be a nice truck-- but not anymore.

Please don't think I'm complaining she's still a great truck. She's firmly entrenched as my second favorite vehicle of all time. And come to think of it, this afternoon I was driving around town with five adults, seven kids, one baby, four bikes, a soccer ball, and a dog. We were pretty loaded down and the Mazda drove like she was new-- not a rattle, not shake, not a sqeak, not a creak.

I guess she just needs a load on her back to drive straight. Maybe we all do.

The Lazy Man's Game

2011-11-25T06:37:00.001-05:00

George was a tall handsome boy, gentle and sweet, who had from the first a kind of courtliness. Even as a little boy he was polite and what they used to call "no trouble." From his father he inherited the neatness of clothing and body and hair, and he never seemed ill dressed even when he was. George was a sinless boy and grew to be a sinless man. No crime of commission was ever attributed to him, and his crimes of omission were only misdemeanors. In his middle life, at about the time such things were known about, it was discovered that, he had pernicious anemia. It is possible that his virtue lived on a lack of energy. (John Steinbeck)

Way back when, when responsibilities were less, a friend and I spent an afternoon inventing a game. It was called "The Lazy Man's Game" and it went like this. Two teenagers sitting in a room, any room. One teenager tosses something to the other. It can be anything. The game usually starts with a ball but it doesn't have to. The object is to toss the item back and forth with the least possible effort. Don't get up from your seat. Don't make any fast movements. And don't dive for the ball. If you drop the ball, if it falls out of reach, don't go after it. Just find something else within reach that you can throw instead-- again with the least possible effort. This game could last for hours. It had no winners or losers, just the lazy.

When I tell people my life story I always start with my younger years and talk about how I believe God protected me during that time. Not following God, I had no particularly reason to remain on the "straight and narrow" path. And yet for the most part I did. I've always chalked this up to God's hand in my life even before I was aware of it-- I still do. At the same time, I've never been a very high energy person. I can get up early, but I go to bed even earlier. I can work hard but I need my rest. And I'm realizing that laziness can easily be mistaken for virtue. Lazy people never do anything great. But they never do anything terrible either. And so maybe my "virtue" as a child should really be chalked up to laziness.

So to broaden this idea: virtue is not necessarily what it seems. You may be living a life of virtue, but why? Is it laziness? Is if fear? Is it a desire to please others? To fit in? Or do you truly desire to live a life that is pleasing to God? God may have intended you for a great life and you're settling for a virtuous one.

Shock and Awe

2011-11-23T21:47:00.001-05:00

Very few things shock me these days. I've been through the largest natural disaster in the Western Hemisphere. I've been threatened. I've been robbed. I've pulled maggots out of my dog. I've nursed my wife back to health with a giant hole under her arm. I've dealt with intruders. I've confronted unexplained sickness. I've gone crazy. I've watched my kids go crazy. I've been punched, kicked, pinched, bit, sworn at, spit, and peed on. I've spent more time away from my wife than ever before. I've been lied to, lied about, and thrown under the bus. And its left me in a state where very few things shock me anymore.

Words that come to mind for this condition are callous, numb, or apathetic-- not good words. Even good words for this trait-- stoic or staid-- have a negative connotation. So what do I do with all of this? It reminds me of another list--indulge me for a moment.

I have worked much harder, been in prison more frequently, been flogged more severely, and been exposed to death again and again. Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was pelted with stones, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea, I have been constantly on the move. I have been in danger from rivers, in danger from bandits, in danger from my fellow Jews, in danger from Gentiles; in danger in the city, in danger in the country, in danger at sea; and in danger from false believers. I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked. (The Apostle Paul)

This all began to come together in my mind a few days ago. A friend was speaking about Paul. He was telling the story of Paul being stoned and left for dead outside the city. Paul woke up hours or days later, walked back into the city, and continued serving the very same people that had stoned him. Of course this story was being told in the midst of a group of people who had been robbed at gunpoint and were figuring out how to continue to serve in the very same community that had allowed it to happen.

And suddenly things started to make more sense. All the gushing letters of encouragment. All the people that are "so proud" of what we're doing in Haiti. They feel about us the way people then felt (and still feel today) about Paul. Now don't misunderstand me. I don't for a minute believe the things people say about us. Just like Paul didn't believe the things that were said about him (read the context of the above quote). I don't think there is anything special about us, just like there wasn't anything special about Paul.

Which brings me to the second half of the title-- I am in awe of the way God chooses to work. The amazing things He did that are documented in the bible are still being done today. And some of them He's doing through me.

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I very much hesitate to post this publically. When I step back and read it, it sounds awefully smug. It reminds me of so many statements by Christians that want to bring attention to themselves without bringing attention to themselves. We wrap bragging in Christian sounding words to dress it up as spiritual.

I hope that I'm not doing that. I don't believe that I am. But if you feel that way about me I'll repeat what I used to have posted on the front-page of my blog:

Please don't judge me on the content of a single post. These are the thoughts that are running through my head and my heart at any given moment and they are all part of the journey. If you don't agree with everything, well, neither do I. But that's not the point. I'm simply trying to give everyone an honest look at the journey that I'm on.

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Right now, honestly, I'm in shock and awe.

The Multitude of Moments

2011-11-22T08:41:00.001-05:00

The direction of a big act will warp history, but probably all acts do the same in their degree, down to a stone stepped over in the path or a breath caught at sight of a pretty girl or a fingernail nicked in the garden soil. (John Steinbeck)

Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom. (Song of Solomon 2:15)

The Electoral College is a strange mechanism of the US government by which the president is selected every four years. You would think this process would be a simple election, but in the US, people don't vote for the president. They vote for "electors"-- people who will in turn vote for the president. This is rarely a significant detail, but here is where it can get interesting: Each state has a number of "electors" equal to the number of it's representatives in congress plus the number of it's senators. Now the number of representatives for each state is determined by population. But there are always 2 senators. This means that the number of electors is roughly based on population, but skewed toward smaller states. As a practical example, a vote for president in Wyoming is worth 3 times more than a similar vote in California. So while we American's stay up till all ours of the morning waiting for the results of certain "swing states" like Ohio or Florida, the real election is being decided in small communities all over Wyoming, Vermont, North Dakota, Alaska... This is how George W. Bush won the 2000 election while receiving less votes than Al Gore. His small victories were worth more than Gore's big ones.

My point is this. Many of us think that we are defined by a few momentous decisions in our lives. I think, in reality, we are defined by the multitude of moments in between.

Distrust

2011-11-21T18:40:00.001-05:00

When a child first catches adults out-- when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not have divine intelligence, that their judgements are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just-- their world falls into a panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of the gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child's world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing. (John Steinbeck)

But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all men. (John 2:24)

One of the keys to trust is knowing when to distrust. We want to believe in people--be they parents, friends, or idols. But seriously, they are going to let us down. We've got to figure out how to walk the line between "love always trust" and "Jesus would not entrust himself to them".

Good luck.

Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Digicel

I Think I Can

2011-11-20T07:41:00.001-05:00

I think that because they trusted themselves and respected themselves as individuals, because they new beyond doubt that they were valueable and potentially moral units--because od this they could give God their own courage and dignity and then receive it back. Such things have disappeared perhaps because men do not trust themselves anymore, and when that happens there is nothing left except perhaps to find some strong sure man, even though he may be wrong, and to dangle from his coattails.

- John Steinbeck

I have a degree in Computer Science. Before moving to Haiti I worked as a computer programmer for a decade. Being a "computer guy", I've gotten used to the inevitable tech-support requests that come my way. If you're a fellow computer guy you know what I'm talking about. And if you're not, you know you do it. The moment you heard about my background in computers you began salivating to ask me about your latest frustration with Word, Windows, or your new cell phone.

But I want to let you in on a little secret. My education, my experience, none of it gave me any knowledge or skill that would help me solve your problem (unless, of course, you have a question about one of a few very specialized software packages). But even so, if you ask me I'll give it a try. Often times I'm quite succesful even without specific knowledge or experience.

The key to me being successful where you might have failed is nothing more complicated than confidence. I'm confident in my ability to work a computer so I'll try the things that need to be tried. Many other people never even try to solve their computer problems because they don't believe they can do it.

In many cases success is determined by confidence. So believe in yourself-- God does.

Intrinsic Relativity

2011-11-19T16:46:00.000-05:00

You can boast about anything if it's all you have.

- John Steinbeck

The deception of this world lies in its ability fool us into mistaking relative value for intrinsic. And and subjective measures for objective.

If my son Jerry can be more proud of his home made kite built with palm frands, a trash bag, and a potato sack than another child is of his or her $200 stunt-kite, what does that say about the true value of material things? They are relative. And yet we love to pretend these things have absolute value.

Another thing. Did anyone ever tell you that 95% of what you learned in science class was false? It's true. The vast majority of science curriculum teaches simplified models of scientific principles that have long been proven false. I'm not denying the educational value of these models. But at one point they were all considered true. Newton's laws of motion? What goes up must come down? These once formed the basis of our understanding of the universe. And yet, any modern physicist would admit that they are false. What does it say about our understanding of the universe that what is true today may tomorrow be false? Everything is subjective. And yet we love to tought the objectivity of our science.

Nothing has value except that which is given by God. And nothing is true except that which was proclaimed by Him.

Walk of Shame

2011-11-18T23:35:00.000-05:00

It seems that all my bridges have been burned. But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works. It's not the long walk home that will change this heart. But the welcome I receive with a restart.

I think we've all experienced the "walk of shame" in one way or another. It's returning home after straying. It's coming back after betraying your first love. It's walking away from what you should do, doing what you want to do, and then returning to real life. And of course, there is the obvious definition.

But taking that walk doesn't mean you changed. It doesn't mean you've turned away from the thing that you were doing. In fact, I would guess that most people talk the walk of shame expecting (if not planning) to do the same, shameful thing again the next chance they get. But even if they truly are ashamed and they never want to do that thing again, they probably will. It's who we are. It's what we do.

No, true change does not come from within. Think about the problem with that idea. You cannot pull yourself up by your own bootstraps. If you really wanted to be something different than what you are, you would already be that. And that's why my faith is so important to me. I have a father that always welcomes me home from my "walk of shame." And it is in His welcome back from my mistakes that I find the power to become someone different than I was before. Someone better.

Timshel

2011-11-17T20:47:00.001-05:00

Timshel. Thou Mayest. A reference to the book East of Eden. Which is a retelling of story of Cain and Abel. Which is the biblical account of the second sin. The first, of course, was Adam and Eve eating the "apple" in the garden. That story was about deception and distrust. But this story highlights the choice. Cain becomes jealous of his brother Abel and God steps in with this warning/encouragement/advice:

Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.

Put another way:

Why are you angry? And why has your countenance fallen? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin lies at the door. And its desire is for you, but you should rule over it.

And another:

Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? If thou doest well, shall it not be lifted up? and if thou doest not well, sin coucheth at the door: and unto thee shall be its desire, but do thou rule over it.

Yet another:

Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.

One more:

Poukisa ou move konsa? Poukisa ou mare figi ou konsa? Si sa ou te fè a te byen, ou pa ta rive nan sitiyasyon sa a. Men, paske ou fè sa ki mal, peche kouche nan papòt ou. L'ap tann konsa lè pou l' pran tèt ou. Men, ou menm, se pou ou kenbe tèt ak li.

OK, that last one was a foreign language, but the question remains: What is God saying? Is this a warning? A command? A suggestion? A promise?

It's a choice. And that's the point. Whether your decision is politicized (abortion), forbidden (murder) or allowed (hate), personal (suicide) or public (war), it is a choice-- your choice. We cannot simply say "God's will be done" and absolve ourselves of all responsibility. But neither cannot we deny the reality that there are forces (namely good and evil) outside of ourselves that are vying for dominance. And in the midst of that, when faced with a choice, we must keep our heads (run the Creole version through Google Translate to catch that last reference).

Welcome Prisca

2011-11-17T05:44:00.001-05:00

So we've been having some problems with Prisca lately. She's not actually doing anything wrong, but the little boys seem to flock to her. The other day I was visiting another orphanage in the area. A bunch of the boys their recognized me as Prisca's dad. They told me how much they loved her. I told them never to talk to her again :)

Here she is. Showing us why all the boys are falling in love with her.

Why then, do we cross cultures?

2011-10-10T17:48:00.007-04:00

If, as claimed in my last post, crossing cultures is basically the hardest thing you can do, why do so many Christians do it?

The bible is a story, among other things, of God choosing to pour out His blessing in one particular place and then spread it out from there. God is not a rainstorm that soaks every square inch equally with living water. He is a lightening strike that comes with overwhelming power and light into one specific spot which then echoes into all the surrounding areas.

So God chose one man, Abraham, for his blessing. Then God worked through Abraham to bless his family. And then the family became a country, the nation of Israel. And then God used this nation, through Jesus, to bless anyone. Finally then, and this is the stage we're currently in, God is using the church that Jesus established to bless everyone.

Jesus said, "go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." (Matthew 28:19-20)

It's the story God is telling and He's inviting us into it. To be a singular point of love that does not keep to itself but overflows and saturates everything around it. This is a model of expansion/evangelism/conversion (whatever term you want to use) that is inherently unfair. It seems like spreading his love equally would be a much more equal and, honestly, effective way to reach the world. Why then does he choose to do it the way he does?

"God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them." (Genesis 1:27) The word "man" is interesting. The way we use it, it can mean one of three things. Most commonly, it means a single male human being. Other times it can be used as a singular term for a group of people, specifically men, or even including women. The latter being synonymous with the term "mankind", all members of the human race. This verse is referring to more than one person ("them") so it can't be using our first meaning. And it's referring to both men and women ("male and female") so it can't be the second meaning. It has to be the third.

God created mankind in His image. So I am not created in the image of God, you are not created in the image of God, WE are created in the image of God. God expects us to live out our lives in community because we cannot fully experience him on our own. In the same way, God calls us to cross cultures because WE cannot fully experience God without THEM. And the same can be said for them without us.

So I guess missionaries (me included) are pretty amazing, huh? Have we just altruistically taken on this agonizingly difficult task for the good everyone involved? Is this just one giant sacrifice for us? Or is there more involved?

"The hard... is what makes it great." (Jimmy Dugan, A League of Their Own)

I firmly believe, through reading about Christ, through experiencing Him, that Jesus didn't come to make our lives easier. He came to make them better. And so this may be the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's also the best.

Why is it so hard to be a missionary?

2011-10-08T08:47:00.000-04:00

First, so that we're not arguing semantics, I need to give you my definition of missionary. A missionary is any person that steps out of their own culture and into a different one for the purpose of bringing with them the full Gospel of Jesus Christ.

The Gospel, then, needs its own definition. It is the good news of Jesus Christ as characterized by the way he lived his life. He healed--that is part of the gospel. He taught--that is part of the gospel. He forgave--that is part of the gospel. The full Gospel of Jesus Christ is all of these things as well as many others that Jesus modeled through his time on earth.

Back to the idea of a missionary. It is the commitment to the FULL gospel of Jesus Christ (along with crossing cultures) that define a missionary. A humanitarian is not a missionary. A preacher is not a missionary. Etc. Etc. I want to create this very specific definition, not to draw lines, to include, or to exclude, but simply to get us all talking, thinking, reading, and writing about the same thing.

Back to the title question: Why is so hard to be a missionary?

We had a great team come through a few weeks ago. It was a youth team, but with a good amount of young-adult leaders. We brought them to church on Sunday and one of those young-adult leaders briefly spoke with a translator. His message centered around how hard his week in Haiti had been: "the hardest thing he had ever done." Honestly, I cringed as the translator said this in Creole. I wished I was translating for him just so that I could have toned that statement down. I wondered what each of the hundred-or-so Haitians in the congregation would think. These are people that have lived his short, ten-day, experience every moment of there lives. And there are millions of other Haitians out there. "Why," I questioned him in my head, "was this week so difficult for you and yet so normal for the people you are talking to?"

And yet I couldn't disagree with him. I remember being on short term trips and they were hard. And even after 2 1/2 years in Haiti it is still, on a daily basis, the hardest thing I've ever done. But why is it so hard for me and yet so normal for the millions of Haitians that live around me?

I don't think that the Gospel is the hard part of being a missionary. I don't think it's the preaching. I don't think it's the healing. I don't think it's the forgiving. I don't want to minimize these things, but at the same time, they are not what I struggle with on a daily basis.

Crossing cultures is the hardest thing I've ever done. And I would submit that crossing cultures, whether for a week or for the rest of your life, would be the hardest thing you've ever done too.

Here's one example. Marriage is hard, right? Gwenn maintains that the first year of our marriage was the worst of her life. I don't remember it being that bad, but admittedly, her memory is much better than mine. Well both of us would describe moving to Haiti as a "reset" button in our marriage. In fact I've had conversations with other couples that say the same thing. As difficult as the first year of our marriage was, so was marriage in our first year in Haiti. It was supposed to be the easy part. We had been working on our marriage for ten years and, frankly, we were good at it. But now, after crossing cultures, we spend so much time fighting everything else around us that neither of us have the energy to work on marriage. And a marriage that isn't being worked on is a bad marriage. And the worst part is, after 2 1/2 years, IT HASN'T GOTTEN EASIER.

But marriage is just one example. Everything becomes harder. So much is new. What isn't new is different. And what seems to be the same never seems to be. So then why would God call us to this? That's a question for another time.

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Taking It

2011-10-01T20:43:00.001-04:00

Muhammad Ali is one of those sports icons that seems to step out of the "sports culture" dominated by 18-25 year old men (boys) and become known to almost everyone. Clips and sound bytes from his early career are what stick out to us the most.

"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."

Back then (as Cassius Clay) he was faster and quicker than his competitors. He had more endurance and more confidence than all of them. He won matches by dancing around his opponents, confusing them, and punching when they least expected it. He became a world champion this way. But a funny thing happened: he got old. And as he tried to make a comeback in the boxing world, he was no longer the fastest and quickest fighter around. He no longer had the most endurance or the most confidence. People no longer believed he could win by dancing, confusing, and surprising his opponents. And he couldn't.

So Ali found a new strategy that seemed counter intuitive to most. As the bell rang and the match started, he would back toward the ropes. He would allow himself to get pinned there and then let his opponent hit him. That was the strategy, he called it "rope a dope." He would lean against the ropes, protect himself with his hands, let the elasticity of the ropes absorb a good amount of the shock, and get punched. Round after round would go like this and to every watching it would look like Ali was losing. But he didn't get knocked out. And eventually, after so much punching his opponent would get tired. He would begin to drop his arms because of fatigue and when he could no longer protect himself, Ali would punch back. And his fresh arms would hit harder and faster than his exhausted opponent could handle, and he would win.

It was this second phase of Ali's career that vaulted him (in most people's minds) from just another in a long line of boxing champions to one of the greatest athletes who ever lived. He showed that he was not only faster, smarter and stronger in his prime. But long past his prime he was so much tougher, mentally and physically, than everyone he came across. He showed that he could not only give a punch, but to take one.
And so I'm left with this question: What takes more strength? To punch? Or to be punched? To dish it out? Or to take it?

May I always be strong enough to take it.

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Connections

2011-09-18T11:36:00.001-04:00

Nothings runs independently of everything else.

We went through this situation a few weeks ago where my wife had a serious infection that she was dealing with. A staph infection created an absess under her skin that then developed a secondary infection and became quite dangerous. As the sickness quickly progressed we took the necessary steps to keep her safe. Protocol says that you open up an absess like this and drain it--keeping it open until the infection is gone and the absess is healed. We had a doctor in PAP do this for us.

I knew what to expect when Jen (the amazing doctor that did this procedure for us) drained the absess. We've dealt with boils before in our home. They are painful and full of puss. We've had them explode when lanced, splattering the walls or the face of the closest person. And this was the most serious boil we had encoutered yet. Lucky for Gwenn, the pain was managed with narcotics. Lucky for the rest of us, there was very little puss.

Now puss, technically, is dead white blood cells. They are part of our immune system. These cells attack the infection and sacrifice themselves for the overall health of our body. So puss is not a sign of infection. Rather, it is a sign of our body fighting infection.

"There is very little puss," Jen remarked, "but lots of space for it to collect." There was an infection, but Gwenn's body wasn't fighting it. As if, facing fourth and short, Gwenn's body had decided to punt. Or even better, facing third and long had decided to quick-kick. As if saying "I know we won't get the first down, so we might as well kick it while they aren't expecting it."

This explained why the infection was spreading so quickly: Because Gwenn's body wasn't fighting back against it. But why wasn't it? Because of connections. Because nothing runs independantly of everything else.

The few weeks preceding this medical emergency had been particularly stressful. More so than normal. I had been in the states for three weeks. Gwenn had been on her own dealing with the family, the organization, the day to day issues and the fires that needed to be put out. And the psychological stressors had such a great physical affect, that her body didn't have the ability (desire?) to fight off an infection that it had fought off many times in the past. This wasn't a conscious decision in any way. It's just the way our body works.
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What I Learned - Barney's Version

2011-09-07T14:51:00.001-04:00

One moment, one choice, can change the direction of the rest of your life. It's not as if I'm saying that you can never re-adjust or make up for a mistake, but some choices push us into a current that can carry us along for miles.

What is sad, about this movie, but about our lives as well, is how often these decisions are based on fear. We're afraid of what someone else might do. We're afraid of what we might do. We're afraid to reveal a secret. We're afraid to look stupid. When we allow these fears to guide our decision making we walk a dangerous path.

So what did I learn? Never make decisions in fear-- because you never know which decisions will define you in time.

Guilty Pleasures

2011-08-29T22:47:00.000-04:00

Josiah has been needy lately. All the kids have been, with our traveling in and out of the country, some staff transitions, and the general unsettledness of our family these past few months. But josiah, over the last few days has stood out from the rest.

This neediness has been especially difficult to manage because I was single-dadding it until Gwenn got home tonight. As an example, I had 12 kids, 20 team members, and two staff at the beach the other day. It was a lot to pay attention to. But Josiah clearly thought I was at there for one reason and one reason only: to play with him.

I humored him for a little while. I hoped he would warm up to and play with some of the team members, but he turned on the Josiah-charm and starting hitting anyone who came near him. So it was me and him for awhile. We swam, we walked, we jumped in the waves, and it was good. But there were other people to pay attention to and other kids to play with so I started to lay the groudwork for a separation:

"Josiah," I acted like this idea had just popped into my head. "Why don't I go swim by myself for awhile?"

"No."

I was just laying the groundwork anyway. We played some more.

"OK Josiah," this was less a question and more of a statement, "I think it's time for me to play with someone else."

"No."

"Josiah, I'm starting to get a little frustrated that you won't let me go. Can I please go swim by myself for a few minutes?" I was starting to get sturn with him.

"It's OK... you can go." He tilted his head down and stared at me for a moment before shuffling back toward the beach.

Josiah found other people to play with. He had a great time without me. But at that moment the guilt was overwhelming. I could almost hear "Cats in the Cradle" playing in the background (the Ugly Kid Joe version).

So now you think I'm going to beat myself up for not spending enough time with my kids right? I'm not. Nope, I'm sure I don't spend enough time with my kids, but right now I'm concerned about guilt.

Deitrick Bonhoeffer puts it this way: "If any man tries to escape guilt in responsibility he detatches himself from the ultimate reality of human existance, and what is more he cuts himself off from the redeeming mystery of Christ's bearing guilt without sin, and he has no share in the divine justification which lies upon this event."

Avoiding guilt should not be the goal of our lives. I can feel guilty about leaving Josiah to play by himself, but I've got 11 other kids, shouldn't I feel guilty about not playing with them? And even if I can find the time to love 12 kids well, what about the thousands of kids in Jacmel, hundreds of thousands of kids in Haiti, and millions of kids around the world who are in need of a father as well-- shouldn't I feel guilty about them?

Do you see what I'm getting at? And it's not just for me. Anyone who lives a life without guilt is living a false life. They are ignoring all the hurts and wrongs and injustices out there that they should feel guilty about. The rest of us have to settle for following God and letting the preverbial chips fall where they may. For whatever reason (I won't pretend to understand) God has not fixed everything in the world. And while he calls us to be part of the solution to these problems. He doesn't call us to be THE solution-- and that should leave us with guilt.

I guess my point is that what makes us feel guilty should not determine what choices we make. What is right and true should.
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Devotions

2011-08-26T18:20:00.000-04:00

So I did devotions with my kids tonight.

Wait... Sit back down... Stop cheering... What I told you may be true, but it's a lie. I don't want you read it and get the wrong impression. We are not a family that is calm and collected. We don't pray quietly together for hours on end. In fact we don't pray much at all. Devotions tonight were an exception, not the norm. We prayed for about ten minutes and one of my children (whom will remain nameless) spent the entire time throwing bags of diapers at the others. Now you're getting a truthful picture of my life. And if you aren't yet thinking it, I'll just come out and say it-- I'm doing a pretty piss-poor job of raising followers of Christ.

So with all that in mind, I started our devotions with this question: "What is a Christian." Honestly I didn't think they would get it. But the answers came quickly. Lots of good thoughts about serving God and the like. Other childish (in a good way) thoughts like going to church. But my favorite answer was this one: "A Christian is someone who is like Papi Nick." Good answer, but how do you know that I'm a Christian? "Because God told you to come to Haiti, and you did." Even better answer :)

But I feel compelled to say that I believe very strongly that what I HAVE done doesn't make me a Christian any more than what SOMEONE ELSE HAS disqualifies them from being a Christian.

What I do today, right now, is the only indicator of my relationship with God. And if that's the case, I've got a lot of work to do.

So here's to all of us that have a lot of work to do: John 14: 27

PS. If I don't post this as is, I won't post it at all.
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Current Affairs

2011-08-19T17:55:00.005-04:00

It's a funny thing, the more things get bad, the less I tend to write. That, combined with a healthy dose of self-deprecation, makes me look humble without actually admitting any faults or struggles. I think Gwenn is similar. It's not that we're intentional in this way, but I'm afraid that it happens far too often. And if you haven't noticed, neither of us have been writing very much lately. Gwenn and I are together (which is a rarity), but we're in PAP (which means our family is still not together). We had talked about us getting away for a few days as the end of our time apart but this was not the plan.

Shortly before I returned to Haiti with Nia, Nico, and Josiah, Gwenn got a staph infection in her armpit. Staph is not new in our home—Yves started it, Prisca, Nia, Josiah, Sanndy and others have had it. While in the states I picked up some Hibiclense to attempt to rid our house of all all staph for good. But this infection turned out to be different. In addition to a boil, on Wednesday night, Gwenn contracted a secondary infection. The redness on her skin around the boil grew from the size of a orange to the size of a basketball in a matter of 24 hours. Her temperature started rising and we began to go down the list of medical options for her care. We ended up traveling to PAP Thursday morning and seeing a doctor to figure out what to do.

Dr. Jen immediately started IV antibiotics. By evening we had decided to open up the abscess (Gwenn is all about pain with a purpose, as she calls it) and clean it out. She got lucky and found the cavity while injecting a local anesthetic which made the procedure simpler. But simpler is a relative term. As Jen cleaned out the infection she (skip this next sentence if you don't like the thought of blood) had her instruments up 4” inches inside the incision before she reached the end of the infection. Packed and IV-ed up, we headed back to the Heartline guesthouse here in PAP to recover.

It's been a day since then, but we still aren't out of the woods yet. The redness has stayed about the same (indicating the infection hasn't gone down), Gwenn's fever is now going back up. So

she's still sick, but she's also dealing with the pain of a giant hole in her side and nausea from the medicine she's getting via IV every six hours—it's pretty pathetic. I wish I could take parts (if not all) of it away from her.

So here comes the true humility. We're not doing well right now. It's been over six weeks since our family has been together and healthy. It's been over a month since Gwenn and I have been together and healthy. All that separation was because Gwenn and I decided to split our furlough and not leave the family alone. But now, with Gwenn sick and me attending to her, that's exactly what we've done. This infection that Gwenn has is serious. And while I have no doubt that things will be OK for her, it's still scary to think about how it all could have turned out if we had made a few different decisions. I could go on.

I'm reminded of how fragile our lives are and how out-of-control we all are (we can't even make our own hearts beat). I'm reminded of how crucial our psychological health is. I don't think it's a coincidence that this infection came on the heals of 3 weeks of single handedly running a home with twelve kids (and five staff). And I'm reminded of how important other people are in our lives. So if you haven't heard from us lately, it's not because we don't need you. We do. Please pray for us.

Specifically:

For the infection to be killed by the antibiotics
For the Nausea to go away
For the pain to subside
For wisdom (for us and Jen) as we navigate the medical options
And that we can all be back together soon.