מָרוּד

"I do not understand how anyone can live without one small place of enchantment to turn to."

-  Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings -

"What is the use of a house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?"   

-  Henry David Thoreau -

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” 

-C.S. Lewis-

I'm tired of this society, this earth where no one is satisfied with himself and so finds it necessary to be dissatisfied with everyone else. Where everyone is self-seeking, even and especially those self-proclaimed philanthropists, those physicians of mankind's temporal maladies. Where even the air we breathe and surround ourselves with does us harm.

I am tired of having no home, of no comfortable place. Of bearing a body that is forever aching and sore, a mind always restless and imperfectly thinking, a heart that is torn between being too malleable or too hard. 

I am tired of bearing with people who are insincere, illogical, demanding, belittling, and selfish. I am tired of witnessing the abuse exacted and suffered by others. I am tired of the uselessness, of the waste of space, the empty, incessant words.

You Can't Go Home Again

I arrived on American soil late Monday night. The feelings of reverse culture shock have been almost proverbial and barely worth relating. I have done my best not to allow things to get away from me, while at the same time the desperate urge to preserve all that I have experienced, seen, heard, learned about myself, the world, and God has not faltered. I have had so much to write about, and yet because of the sheer volume, I have had nothing to write about.

All this to say that I am home, that is, that I have returned to the land of my terrestrial birth. And yet, I am not home. That is to say, this place, this particular longitude and latitude, has never been my home. But once a resident has been away for a time--and that time need not be long--he discovers things about himself, about the place he called home in light of all the places that had once been (and may perhaps continue to be) strange to him, and about elsewhere that make it impossible for him to see "home" the same way. One truly cannot go home again, for reasons both good and bad. Home as it was will never again, even though a physical departure from it is not necessary. All one must really do is grow up. But leaving does seem to accelerate the process by which we begin to notice differences, changes, shortcomings, things we long for or detest that are either no more or are different in relation to our perception and experience of them.

My greatest fear is not that I will unable to return to life as usual. My greatest fear is not that I will be unable to relate to people here. My greatest fear is not that I will forget anything or everything that has transpired over the course of these three months. No, my greatest fear is that I will return to life as usual, that I will look upon this place as alien, and that, while remembering lessons and revelations, will choose to ignore them. I do not want things to be the same as they were. I do not want to be the same person I was. I do not want to distance myself from life or from God.  I want to continue to grow in the Light, to seek Him with all my heart, to be alone with Him, to serve Him, and love Him. I want to enjoy living and to do so diligently. I want to share whatever I have to share and to be alive, not as those who have not known the Truth are alive.

I have discovered many things, but my competence in the execution or understanding is only at the most elementary level. I am like one who has discovered music--that it exists--but cannot yet play with authority or finesse. I have just discovered the world of mathematics, of science. I am like one blind who has just seen the blue sky, the white of clouds, the green of spring, but is as yet unaware of what I am looking at or of how I am looking at it. All I can do is see, but nothing more. The window has been cracked open just a little more and I can see beyond where I could see before, though it be not far beyond.

I can understand more deeply what it means to die to the world, to old ways, to compromises, to things that are so unimportant, but for which so many lose their lives. I have understood what it is to run away, to be gathered back and disciplined, only to be forgiven and comforted the very moment following repentance. I have had but a glimpse of what it is to be totally dependent upon God.

It is difficult to come back, although I suppose it is incorrect to look at it that way. I am not coming back, that is, I am not regressing (although I certainly have that option). There is so much to say, and yet perhaps it cannot or should not be said.

“Something has spoken to me in the night...and told me that I shall die, I know not where. Saying: "[Death is] to lose the earth you know for greater knowing; to lose the life you have, for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth.” 

― Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again--

Balm of Gilead

"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed."  

(Isaiah 53:3-6)

Nepal: Land That Took My Breath Away...Literally

Nepal: land of the Himalayas, mo-mos, torturously slow internet, and doggedly determined street salesmen. Stepping out of the plane and into shiver-inducing 75-degree weather, I had almost decided then and there that the transition from Southeast Asia to Nepal was going to be a piece of cake. Almost.

24 hours and five scheduled power outages, one ordeal ncessitating the slicing through of airline-placed zip ties on my suitcase with the top of a can of tuna inadvertently placed in my carry-on bag (hey, God's plan may seem whacky at times, but it works!); being bodily shoved, pushed, and prodded by passersby, rickshaws, and taxis every time I ventured outside; and three encounters with undeniably insulting Nepalese men later, I sort of kind of reconsidered my perception.

Nepal Facts:

1) It is a fact widely acknowledged by those who find breathing here to be somewhat of a challenge, that out of 180 countries, Nepal ranks as the world's 2nd worst for air pollution. I am in agreement with this fact, though even if I were not, I am positive that it would continue to be true. Breathing here has become burdensome and does not occur unaccompanied by productive coughing.

2) In addition to air pollution, noise pollution is particularly severe, particularly in Kathmandu, particularly in the tourist district of Thamel, particularly just below my window, particularly in the wee hours of the morning. The honking of one's horn is more readily executed than greeting someone with, say, one's voice or the wave of a hand. A horn honks every 0.3 seconds in Kathmandu, but just in case you were about to lose your mind, be aware that every time a horn honks, a person doesn't die.

3) There are mountains here. Really, there are. But, given fact #1, you can't see them, so mind your step or you may very well run into one.

4) To avoid overloading the generators (or generator; I haven't counted them yet), routine power outages occur across the country several times a day. I say 'routine', because allegedly there is a schedule by which the people of Nepal abide. I attempted to do so, once, but I think I must not have this whole telling time, arithmetic thing down yet, which does make things somewhat inconvenient when one is ascending six flights of stairs at eight in the evening, because the power was not supposed to shut off until nine-thirty and one's flashlight just happened to run out of battery charge. It's all right, though. At least I, I mean "one" wasn't descending the stairs, because that would have made things downright dangerous.

5) Cats have tails here!


Now, before you jump to the conclusion that Nepal is not my favorite country in the world, please note that I have only listed a very few facts that, though terribly true, are not omnipotent when it comes to influencing my verdict. I shall reserve that until the end of the trip.

Nepal Observations:

1) The air pollution is somewhat masked by the burning of incense by almost every shopkeeper and home in Kathmandu.
2) Instead of the tuk tuks that populate the streets of Cambodia, bicycle-conducted, flower-adorned rickshaws make their treacherous way through the narrow streets of Kathmandu.

3) There are no fruit stands here, or really any food stalls at all. Coffee shops abound, advertising organic coffee, banana lassi, and German breads

4) Dogs sport Tikas (red powdered dye spread along their foreheads), but are just as moth-eaten and people-wary as anywhere else.

5) Hinduism here is not like the Hinduism on Pearl Street. It involves centuries of implantation, national identity, and the permeation of every aspect of life. The 20-something westerners who wander the streets here outwardly displaying their adoption of the religion are identical to the ones seen on Pearl Street, however.

6) The conserving of energy and natural resources in the United States is an absolute joke compared to here, where energy, fuel, and resources are not shut off because of conservation; they're shut off because they've run out!

7)  I have not seen a single traffic light or sign in this entire city, which isn't surprising, for I highly doubt they would be acknowledge. The streets are too narrow to accommodate more than one lane, let alone sidewalks, and yet, somehow pedestrians, bicycles, motorbikes, taxis, vans, trucks, and school buses all manage to get where they need to go with nary a scratch.

8) Sidewalks really are a luxury item, sort of like sun roofs and shih-tzus.

9) I have yet to see a Yeti!

Roots

"So their root will become like rot and their blossom will blow away like dust; for they have rejected the Law of the Lord..." (Isaiah 5:24)

Cambodia -- Land of My Heart

Preface to the entry: I don't feel like writing today. I didn't feel like writing yesterday. Given my past and present inclinations, I can deduce with almost perfect certainty that I will not feel like writing tomorrow. But for my advertised commitment to updating this pointless thing, I would have chucked it altogether weeks ago.

Having gotten that out of the way, you'll pardon whatever the proceeding lacks, including cultural sensitivity, Christian charity, and just maturity in general. Without further ado:

Cambodia--as much as I have grown to love this country, there persist definite shortcomings--and I have chosen this word specifically and conscientiously--that all, eventually seem to bear a correlation to one another. Allow me to start with the topic of noise pollution. There is such a thing, and such a thing exists here, in fact, it thrives. From the almost daily assault on the eardrums of every citizen in Siem Reap and, I suspect, elsewhere, by "music"--and I use this term loosely--chanting, and babbling (for it seems highly unlikely to me that even a listener proficient in Khmer could understand what is being said) over loudspeakers placed strategically throughout the city; to the genetically mutated cats (yes, they are) that haunt the alleyways and rooftops from evening until morning, imitating those cacophonous noises made by toddlers in grocery store aisles that draw looks of disdain from passersby who would tell the frazzled mothers that a spanking was in order if they did not fear the same was in store for them if they did. Yes, the loudspeakers proclaiming weddings, funerals, birthday parties; the cats howling, the traffic screeching, the construction that must be going on somewhere, because you can hear it, but where it is occurring and to what end, who can tell (?); the everyday hustle and bustle that seems naturally to become amplified at 4:00 o'clock in the morning. This is Cambodia. I would limit this statement to Siem Reap had I not already visited the countryside and experienced the same. Is it rudeness or a massive cry for existential acknowledgement? Well, at 4:00 o'clock in the morning, I really don't care what it is, I just wish that, 1) someone would offer that guy free music lessons and, 2) that they'd consider playing some Bob Barker entreaties about spaying and neutering your pet over the loudspeakers every once in a while.

Cambodia--smiles abound, almost outnumbering the tuk-tuks that perpetually assail anyone caught in the act of ambulating. Why, even the underfed, dirt-encrusted children wandering the streets collecting rubbish will smile at you if you smile at them first. Many children, in fact thousands of them are conscripted, most often by their parents, into working from morning until night at jobs comparable to those held by characters of many a Dickens novel. Many children are forced to do things that I cannot mention. So many of these children never learn to read or write in their own language, let alone in English. But that is a small thing compared to the stripping away of childhood and, in many instances, humanity that these children are subject to. When one realizes that such things take place, one begins to wonder what lurks behind those ready smiles. Pain? Desperation? Hope?

Cambodia--land of strangulating heat, golden temples, suicidal motorcyclists, sporadic sidewalks, unscheduled power outages, fruit stands, and tourists who all seem to follow the same dress code of baggy elephant pants, white tank-tops, and clueless expressions. Cambodia--land I have come to love, in a hateful sort of way.

Yes, I love it here. I'm not sure why, but I believe that when one finds compassion and affection for a person or place, all the while acknowledging (and at times, really, really despising) it's faults, one can claim to love said person or place. I do. I make the declaration again without having any observable, tangible reason for it. I'm not a people person in the social butterfly sense. No nation or social group, culture, age group, or gender appeals to me or captures my heart more than any other. I cannot pretend to be so pretentious as that. I do not feel called as of yet, but if I were to be called here, I would not argue...just so long as I were provided a room with air conditioning. I cannot physically bear the heat.

The children are in desperate need of love and commitment to their upbringing and wellbeing. I am sure that Cambodia is not unique in this, and yet the need is so strongly felt here. The need is undeniable.

I don't feel like writing any more.

A Dry and Thirsty Land

Here in Cambodia, and I am certain in the majority of developing countries, one must be very careful when it comes to drinking water. In this particular region, unless water has undergone a process of being purified at least three times, it is not suitable to drink. In fact, it is downright dangerous. Even to brush one's teeth using water from the tap is not advisable. One may wash oneself with it, but one must never drink it.

I found myself in situations in which I have been without water to drink, whether it was due to having just arrived somewhere or having miscalculated my hydration requirements. In the event of having done this, I find myself in a position of reflection, not merely upon my physical thirst and inability to quench it, but upon what it is like to be spiritually parched. All around me is water, but I dare not drink it. Unless I drink from the proper source, I can neither rehydrate nor hope to safely preserve my health and, ultimately, my life.

In this land, indeed, in this world, there are many sources of water. We are surrounded by it, in fact. And yet, the prevailing truth of the matter is that unless we drink the water that has been purified, the water that is suitable for and intended for us to drink, we will only inflict harm upon ourselves. And we cannot do without it, or we shall surely die.

I am, at this very moment, without any drinking water. There is a sink, a shower head, a hose outside for watering the garden, a basin with water intended for lavatorial purposes, but nothing that I can drink. It is a truly terrible sensation, not merely to be thirsty, but to know that I cannot satiate my thirst even when I have so many sources from which I could achieve that satisfaction. I must not drink, and therefore I cannot drink.

I see thirst that is rampant here. Thirst for hope, thirst for love, and thirst for life. But the water here is tainted. 

The Lord will Supply All Your Needs

As I lay here in bed, doing my best to recover from today's draining, yet rewarding preparations and subsequent Fiesta, I hear the cats playing outside my window, and somehow seamlessly thankfulness and an awareness of the Lord's provision wash over me. From my first night here in Chiang Rai when I was feeling particularly homesick, and yearnings for my dog, Imani were not abating, God has inclined His mighty self to me in meeting my needs. On my very first night, as I was sitting on my bed, at the very moment I began to write in my journal about how I was not sure how would stand the next nine weeks, in pranced a little black cat through the open door I had unwittingly left ajar. Without any hesitation, she leapt onto my bed, crawled into my lap, and there she stayed throughout the night. Although this cat roams around the property here at Home of the Open Heart, for she is owned by own of the HIV mothers here, she has not shown any inclination to enter my room again since that first night when I needed her most.

And then there were the pinto beans. Once the decision had been made to carry out my plans for a Mexican Fiesta Night with the kids, I and two volunteers set out in search of ingredients, pinto beans being one of the most vital to the success of our (or my, as it were) mission. We searched far and wide, but nary a bean was to be found. At our final destination--a market that caters to westerners--I sought out the aisle with grains, legumes, and the like. I looked and looked, but was able only to find black beans. Even the two other volunteers searched vigilantly, but were also unsuccessful. We had resigned ourselves to substituting black beans for the pinto beans and were just about to leave, when I gave the shelf above me one last look and, lo and behold, there sat a very small bag of unmarked pinto beans! Four bags of them, in fact! They were very small, but oh how joyful a moment that was. I grabbed them as swiftly as I could, for fear that they would disappear. As I walked toward the checkout, I thanked God aloud, and then realized how infrequently such joyous occasions were accompanied by vocalizations of thanks for His concern for what concerns me.

And finally, and probably the silliest (to anyone who has not had an eating disorder) of all, there was the scale. I hesitate to share this one, but it was so undeniable and moving to me, and even now I truly feel the Father's love for silly little me, that I cannot neglect its relation. Unfortunately, a little bit of backstory is necessary:

During my teens and early twenties, I suffered from anorexia nervosa and bulimia. After my father left, while my 'disease' or 'addiction', whatever you want to call it, went in the opposite direction, resulting in the rapid weight gain of over a hundred pounds. My eating has always been disordered, and my self-image distorted. It has been a daily obsession and disability that has plagued my life for nearly twenty years. I have since lost sixty-five pounds, but food, my appearance, my weight, calories, carbohydrates, everything continue to dominate every aspect of my life. It is very humiliating for me. I avoid discussing it with people, for I have discovered that it doesn't dominate their lives as it does mine, and that they cannot relate to me, or I to them. It is embarrassing for me, very much like an addiction would be. I do not see things...correctly, it seems. I do not see myself correctly, or so I've been led to believe. I cannot rely upon myself or my own perception of myself as an accurate judge of...what I look like. I know logically that it doesn't matter, but that doesn't matter to me, to someone with this psychological disease. I can liken it only to that scene in the very first Dark Knight film where all of the inhabitants of Gotham have been drugged. One person knows that what they're seeing isn't real, but they still, ACTUALLY see things in a distorted way. I have struggled and will probably continue to struggle with this until something miraculous happens, or I'm given the antidote.

That being said, I have been experiencing very intensively lately these "thoughts", "anxieties", what have you. It has been brought on by the absence of mirrors, scales, treadmills, and protein sources. I have seen myself gaining weight, looking bloated and blimp-like. Being attractive is not important to me. Being thin, whatever, doesn't matter. This way of living and thinking does not make sense, I reiterate! But just the same, it's been debilitating to the point of me not wanting to go out in public. I mean, I'm on a mission trip, for goodness sake!!! It is ridiculous, but there it is. I'm not perfect. Now you know!

Well, anyway, I was terrified and convinced that I had gained at least ten pounds. My clothes fit the same, in fact they were a little baggier, but my eyes saw something else. They still do, actually. I was panicked and depressed. I was making lists of foods I could and could not eat, and which days I could and could not eat, how many workouts I would have to undertake. I mean, if iwasn't doing anything here in Thailand, I could at least lose weight, right? It was desperate and unending, and completely unfulfilling!

 Long story short, on the very worst day of this "relapse",  I was in the kitchen making preparations for the Fiesta on Sunday and as I walked through the hall, down by my feet was a scale. I know it sounds ridiculous. Almost like God was enabling me, but...that's not what it felt like then, that's not what it feels like now. I weighed myself then and there, and discovered that I'd actually lost two pounds. I hadn't gained any weight! That wasn't what struck me. What struck me  was that I had been in and out of that house almost every day for a month and had never once seen that scale. It was probably there, but I noticed it on a day of particular oppression and despair (these are strong terms, I know, but they are applicable). I truly believe that God provided that scale for me, because nothing else--NOTHING ELSE--could have gotten through to me. As I stepped foot off the scale, it wasn't "Thank God I didn't gain any weight" it was "Thank you God for seeing what I needed, silly as it was, and deigning to give it to me anyway. And in so doing, not giving into my weakness, but reminding me of, oh so many things. That I do have a problem. That You are with me and will work with me through that problem. That You care about my tiniest, most irrational needs."

He has met my needs here, and everywhere. He has met my needs in ways that I have net to see. He will continue to meet my needs. And by 'meet my needs' I do not mean that He will give me my way. No, He knows what I need, even before or in spite of my failure to realize that I need them. Sometimes, He will comfort us, sometimes He will discipline, sometimes He will allow us to go without our desires, but He always meets our needs. My needs, so far, have been very small and silly, but I am so grateful to have taken notice of His acknowledgement of them. I wish to praise Him here before anyone who may read this. He is such a good Father!

"God, I'm scared..."

I don't normally post private conversations publicly, but I guess I felt as though publicizing my weaknesses (as though I haven't already done that!) would promote transparency. So, here is a little prayer I prayed tonight. If anyone would like to agree with me, or add to it, or possibly make corrections, feel free:

"God I'm scared. This life has me shaking in my boots--my tired, tattered boots that don't keep out the snow or rain, and make my feet sweat if it gets the least bit hot. I'm scared that I'll screw everything up: Your plans, my plans, the plans of people trying their best to carry out Your plans. I'm scared of spending the rest of my life chasing my tail in an attempt to chase after You. I'm scared of being scared forever, and of wasting opportunities that You provide for me. I'm afraid I won't have what it takes, that I don't have what it takes.

"Even as I pray, Lord, I realize how selfish and egocentric I'm being. All I talk about is what I can do, what I can mess up, how I will fail. If, as You have reassured me, You really do have everything planned out, including my life, then it doesn't matter what I'm afraid of. Actually, I take that back--it isn't what I'm afraid of, it's that I'm afraid at all. That I'm so focused on myself, my abilities or lack thereof, just goes to show that I have failed to absorb anything You've attempted to teach me. It isn't about me, it's about You and my reaction to You, and my acceptance of You.

"But I'm still scared. What if I don't have what it takes to get through, not only the next few weeks, but life altogether! I am so restless for home, but I am like one who has no home to go to. What a terrifying position to be in, God. My hope is in You alone, my home is with You and You have made Your home in me. You go before me and with me. Please, Lord keep reminding me that I am not alone, that I am not in control, and that I am not home; that You accompany me everywhere, that You are in control, that You are my home. Please help me to accept Your love for me, Your plan for me and for the rest of humanity, and Your perfect evaluation of me. Please help me to faithfully and consistently seek after You, fellowship with You, listen to You, obey You, and trust You. Nothing else matters. I know that full well. Experience has taught me that, if nothing else. Teach me to understand and believe, to carry out and to receive. Teach me to serve and to surrender. Please help me not to be afraid!"

23 Random Thoughts About Travelling, Which Could Actually Just Be Called "23 Random Thoughts Concerning Life In General", But Who Wants To Read About Life in General?

1. Witnessing a gecko crawl out of one's cluster of grapes really isn't as disturbing as it sounds.

2. The affordability of a full-body massage is still not enough to entice me to endure one.

3. A mall is a mall, is a mall. If you've seen one, then you've seen them all.

4. Sweating non-stop leads to dehydration

4b. When eating hard boiled eggs and pineapple for breakfast, always eat the hard boiled eggs first. Always.

4c. In Thailand, the Westerns genre on Netflix has absolutely nothing to do with John Wayne, Colt pistols, or Indians (sorry, Native Americans; my political correctness is wearing off)! The selection consists of Mean Girls 2, The Notebook, and the Mission Impossible series.

4d. In Thailand, if you're looking for someone, just check to see if their shoes are on the porch.

5. Kids are kids, teenage girls are teenage girls, and men are men, but never, ever underestimate little old ladies. Just when you think you've got them figured out, they'll switch it up on you.

6. The resolve one has to never eat anything with more than four legs or that lives underneath a tree stump is actually a force more powerful than gravity, and increases as the proximity between said comestibles and said resolved individual decreases.

6b. Peanut Butter is a glorious thing! Especially when you can't find a jar of it anywhere, unless you fancy Jiffy at $12 a pop, FULLY hydrogenated canola oil included.

7. Lines for the ladies restroom are a constant and universal phenomenon. I wonder if men ever experience that Frodo-at-the-end-of-Lord-of-the-Rings-type elation of having come through something truly epic as they wash their hands and go on with whatever is left of their day? Somehow, I doubt it.

8. No nation of individuals is any friendlier or happier than any other nation of individuals. I don't care what anyone says.

9. A cockroach half the size of my fist is more revolting than, well, almost anything. Especially when it's in your kitchen sink, and you can't drown it by tossing spoonfuls of water at it from a distance, because there is no way you are getting any closer to that thing, because you have no idea whether that thing can fly or how far it can jump, but you have the sneaking suspicion that it's far, because how did it get up there in the first place? In an effort to control my hysteria, I even attempted to recall the endearing relationship Wall-E had with his cockroach, but then all that came to mind was how Wall-E's cockroach had survived post-apocalyptic conditions, not to mention being crushed countless times beneath his own wheels...and so now I am inside and I will not go back outside until that thing has written me an official letter notifying me of its exact departure date. And a formal apology would be nice, too. Delivered impersonally by a letter carrier. When it's daylight.

9b. I have done a lot of considering about mattresses of late, particularly in regards to the disconnect there exists where supply and demand are concerned. For instance: nations sporting populations with the greatest amount of natural insulation per capita demand and are therefore supplied with the softest mattresses; whereas nations whose population is in possession of the least amount of natural insulation don't seem to demand much of anything in terms of sleeping equipment. In Thailand, mattresses are basically elevated, slightly bouncier versions of the ground. I'm not complaining or anything, but unless one periodically rotates oneself, one finds that significant portions of oneself go numb.

9c. Sidewalks are wonderful things! You never really appreciate something until it completely disappears and you find yourself out in the middle of the road or in a ditch somewhere.

10. Bicycles are the healthiest form of air conditioning invented by man.

11. Realizing that there is a very good reason why the American version of Thai food tastes the way it  does (and, subsequently maintains its populatiry). There is also a reason why I will more than likely never eat either again. Sometimes, the real deal just isn't better.

12.  In America, I am poor. In Thailand, I'm just cheap. "What? Thirty baht for a dozen eggs, you've got to be kidding me!" (30 baht is a little less than a dollar and, yes, I've actually had this reaction). How do I even afford to live in America?!?

13. I love fruit! Papayas, mangos, watermelon, tiny, crunchy pineapple things, three different kinds of bananas, rose apples, guavas, limes! The apples aren't the best, but I discovered today that it is possible to inhale a mango, and so who needs apples?

14. There are good things (endless supplies of fruit) and bad things (cockroaches, widespread poverty) everywhere. There is nothing wrong with noticing either, but to deny the existence of either is unjust, ignorant, and a personal disservice.

15. 7-Eleven. That's all I have to say really. I've seen almost as many of them as I've seen spirit houses. So if you like 7-eleven, I'd highly recommend Thailand, but don't expect to find any Red Bull! There simply aren't any. The Thais derive their energy from rice, stir fry vegetables, and various parts of a pig's anatomy not even it knew it had, and...that stuff...alone.

16. Taking my shoes off to enter a restaurant or store is not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be...no, I'm lying, it's totally uncomfortable. I mean, how many other bare feet have trod inside this place, where have they been, when's the last time they were washed? It's simply not kosher, man!

17. Seeing clouds in a foreign land is an extremely comforting thing. The birds sound different, the people sound different, even the side of the moon you're accustomed to seeing has its back to you. But clouds, when they do appear, are very welcoming. I saw my first cloud today!

18. Australians are loud. And this is coming from an unruly American.

19. Pizza is my comfort food. Yeah, yeah, I could list something healthy, but you'd all know I was lying. We're some natural disaster to occur that resulted in the annihilation all other food except for pizza, I would be perfectly content. I will eat it in a box, with a fox, whatever.

20. I manage to stress myself out in such clever ways, even I am impressed!

21. Playing Mario Karts as a kid has sufficiently prepared me for driving in Thailand. Everything I ever needed to know about survival, whether I am the operator or passenger, whether the mode of transportation be taxi, SUV, tuk-tuk, motorbike, bus, or bicycle (just so long as I am not a pedestrian) I learned from Mario Brothers. Except for the turtle shell things, it's pretty much the same thing.

22. The number of times a car horn is honked is directly proportional to the number of times you didn't almost die whilst operating a vehicle. I have witnessed and personally experienced the very real, and yet surprisingly underwhelming sensation of being taken out by a moving vehicle multiple times this trip, but nary a horn have I heard. I guess it just goes to demonstrate the Thai philosophy of "You drive like a maniac, I drive like a maniac, we all get home in one piece and nobody has to say a word about it."

23. The truth never changes. It is absolute, immutable, and universally applicable. It differs from deceit which, while it is always the opposite of truth, takes on a variety of sickly pallors, shapes, and sizes. The truth always looks the same and says the same thing, but lies are constant only in that they always contradict the truth. There are so many ways to contradict the truth, but only one way to be truthful. There are so many lies everywhere and we cannot know they are lies by studying them. We can only know what lies are by studying the truth.

Darkness

Stall after stall displaying silk, cashmere, and linen dyed in any color you like. Stall after stall of t-shirts reading "Chiang Rai" in a plethora of fonts, with or without scribblings of elephants and happy little Buddhas. Stall after stall of ceramic elephants, plush elephants, wooden elephants, elephant pillows, baggy Thai pants with elephants dancing across them. Stall after stall, interrupted here and there by carts cooking up smelly comestibles conjured up to attract the ceaseless flow of tourists. Stall after stall of items whose domestic origin was highly questionable. Cheap trappings guaranteed to attract lots of rich tourists looking for an 'authentic' experience they could take back home with them. An authentic market showcasing authentic items that represent an authentic Thai experience. Foreigners, the majority of whom were white westerners with deep pockets, abounded.

The air reeked of oyster sauce, raw sewage, diesel, and sweat. Every odor was weighed down by the humidity and heat. Any hope of a fresh breeze to come clear, even temporarily the atmosphere was crushed by the enclosed surroundings. The dirt encrusted buildings towering over the market were illuminated by lights strung from the rooftops. Only the dark brown light of the moon outshone the tiny lights suspended above my head. Thai music played by traditional instruments accosted my ears from every direction. A blind man sat mock-playing a two-stringed instrument as a radio played beside him. Pairs of middle-aged white men disinterestedly browsing the vendors with their much younger escorts, some of whom, in spite of their cosmetic attempts to conceal it, could have been no older than sixteen. Women known as "Toms" dressed as men accompanied by their counterparts--extremely feminine-looking women known as "Dees"; men known as lady-boys dressed as women, and boys dressed as women dressed as boys made up a significant portion of patrons of the Night Market. White backpackers sporting their signature unkempt hairstyles, sleeveless shirts, baggy fisherman's trousers, and overall disheveled aspects roamed the place like derelicts infest the streets at night back home. Massage parlors overflowed with torpid-looking tourists. Feet, legs, backs, and necks could all be sorted out for approximately $3 an hour! Facials, manicures, and even cosmetic surgery were just some of the singular features of this and most cities of Thailand.

Massage parlors, pizza restaurants run by American expatriates, tuk-tuk encampments, shops, shops, shops selling dirty, cheap goods to tourists. Beggars stationed themselves outside of 7-elevens, outside of the restaurants catering to richer customers, outside of the nicer massage parlors. Beggars dressed in rags, most of them young women with babies or toddlers attached by some sort of tattered and filthy blanket.

For hours I sat watching them. Money was passed, junk transferred from one person to another. Men and women wore their silly elephant trousers proudly. Groups of people rushed to the money changer adjacent to the Night Market's gates. Chinese, Americans, Germans, Japanese, Russians. Backpackers roamed in groups, looking hungry, trying to look local and failing. Beggars with forlorn, dirt-encrusted faces clocked out, gathered their meager belongings and went on their way, swiftly replacing their tears and plaintive whining with smiles and giggling. It was all just another day on the job. Everyone wandered about for no reason at all but to buy things that were not authentic. The only appeal that I could see that it was all cheap, but none of it was real. The people at the stalls were real patrons looking for a cheap and fake thrill.

The darkness of the sky was not as dark as that which lingered in this place. The din could not drown out the desperate plea for peace that raged inside me. We were supposed to be different, but they were off getting a massage, and they were off shopping with all the other tourists. I was left to fend for myself. What could I do? What could I do for these people or for myself? What could I do for God when all I wanted to do was escape. 

His Purpose...

...When I called, you answered me;

You made me bold and stouthearted.

This week, in fact, for a very long while, I have struggled desperately to unearth my purpose. And when I told myself that it was really 'God's purpose' that I was seeking, I really did mean my purpose. Using my strengths, my talents, my preferences for fulfillment, I endeavor end without success to find my place in this world. As I prepared to come here to Southeast Asia, I fretted and toiled over what it was I would be doing, what I could do with my meager experience and 'gifts'. On the plane(s) here, I literally plummeted into a pit of utter despondency and hopelessness. Nothing I did seemed to answer any of my questions about how or what or why. I read my Bible, prayed, made lists, sat and twiddled my thumbs, but to no avail. At least, that was what I thought.

As it turns out, I was asking the wrong question(s). Now, I wish to preface the following with what should be a well known fact: I am still learning and growing at such a pace that it seems very likely I will be doing both of these things for at least an eternity, maybe longer. That being said, I continue: my question contained the personal possessive, which is always temporary, conditional, and tentative at best. Asking what my purpose is is a question that can never be answered, because, 1) I am temporal, 2) I am limited in understanding, wisdom, power, and vision and 3) I am inconstant. Therefore anything that I am is not reliable, it is not eternal, it is not all-encompassing, and--most importantly--it is not possible. I did not create myself, let alone the universe or existence as a whole. Ergo, in order to determine 'my' purpose, I must turn my sights to the Author of life, of purpose, of all, and likewise must change my question: what is God's purpose? If I am in His will, then it should go without saying that I am a part of it. All of this came to me whilst in tears, after reading my Bible for hours, and after I haphazardly turned to Psalm 138. I am not a throw-my-Bible-open-close-my-eyes-and-slam-my-hand-down-on-the-first-verse-that-appears advocate, but I do believe that reading this verse at that particular time was somewhat miraculous and singularly affecting at the time.

I do not even have to ask 'What is God's purpose' any longer. God has already told me that He has a purpose, and even if He hadn't, who am I to demand such a thing from the Author of the universe? He has lovingly showed me His love, He has invited me into His family, He has shared with me who He is and what He desires. He has even told me that He has a purpose for all creation, which,  in point of fact, happens to include me. As my Lord and Savior, Creator and Redeemer, He ha demonstrated Himself to be all the things that I am not: 1) Infinite, 2) Limitless in understanding, wisdom, power, and vision, and, 3) Immutable. Not only that, but He is perfect and His plan is perfect. 

My purpose is to glorify Him by trusting Him, loving Him and my fellow humans, and by surrender get my pride and my fears to Him. It is not about me, although I must actively seek and obey, love and serve. I needn't ever ask the question, 'what is my purpose', because I am created and beloved of God, and God does not do anything without having a purpose. 

The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me;

Your love, O Lord, endures forever--

Do not abandon the works of your hands.

(Psalm 138)

Do I know what specifically I am supposed to be doing here? Well, I can do my best and I can trust God. I can serve others to the best of my ability, such that it is, and continue to seek God. I do not know what He wants physically, but ultimately He has made His plan clear:

God has now revealed to us his mysterious will regarding Christ, which is to fulfill his own good plan. And this is the plan: At the right time he will bring everything together under the authority of Christ-everything in heaven and on earth.

(Ephesians 1:9-10)

There's A Gecko On My Ceiling

I have now been in Thailand for a week and in Chiang Rai since Wednesday. I have ridden the requisite emotional roller-coaster of a hormonal 31-year-old Westerner who has found herself in The Land of Happy People, and can tentatively state that things are all right. I'm not sure what I'm doing, what God is doing, or what the majority of the people around me are doing (or saying), but after some cursory consideration I find that this is not altogether an unusual state of being for me. Just roll with it and all will be well.

The initial exposure to Bangkok's hustle and bustle (and pea soup-thick smog) prepared me to embrace whole-heartedly the much slower, much quieter, and much more breathable environs of northern Chiang Rai. Established in 1262 as Thailand's short-lived capital, Chiang Rai boasts a long history of conquests, rice and catfish cultivation, border disputes, and a rather fortuitous 1432 earthquake. In my week of temporary residence, I have found the area to be most pleasant, boasting endless birdwatching opportunities, affordable eateries (a full meal will cost anywhere from seventy-five cents to two dollars per person), meandering streets and walkways, and quaint vistas dotted with Brahman cows, colorful shrines, and watermelon stands. The Thai language remains elusive, but its sounds are less raucous and alien to me than they were a week ago. I entertain no delusions whatsoever in regards to the likelihood that I will ever successfully commit to memory all of Thai's 44 consonants and 28 vowel sounds! 

Anyway, Chiang Rai and, more specifically Home of the Open Heart has welcomed me generously and warmly. I have been presented with a list of responsibilities and potential opportunities to see what God will do. I have met many interesting people and hope to continue to get to know them, to hear their stories, and to share our mutual faith. I have a great deal of growing to do, much more, even than I had anticipated. I hope to remain receptive to God's teaching and to His love and faithfulness throughout my time here and, indeed for the rest of my life.

The Birds Sing Here, Too

I awoke to the foreign cries of unknown birds. I opened the glass door of my hotel room and looked out upon a neighborhood whose residents I had never met. The fragrance of flowers I had never smelled wafted upward with the warm breeze that blew. A woman wearing a straw sun hat passed by on the street below. Workers arrived in the back of a small and ancient-looking Toyota, chatted with one another as they unloaded, and then promptly resumed construction on a building that appeared to need the opposite sort of attention. A little girl of approximately twelve years stood on the edge of the incomplete, multi-storied building, deftly leaned over the side and received building supplies hoisted up via a makeshift pulley. People work here, birds sing here, life goes on here just as it does there. I cling to the safety of my room to the uncertainty of The Outside here just as I do there. Chia seeds form a gelatinous glob at the bottom of my Blender Bottle regardless of how vigorously or frequently I shake it here just as they do there. It can't be helped.

I believe that it is very natural for human beings so attached to home, family, and familiar, to initially seek out the familiar when they discover themselves in strange surroundings. Even the most daring and restless of wanderers cannot help but seek out, or at the very least, inherently compare what they know with what they do not. There are terms in every language that describe these feelings we humans experience: homesickness, dépaysement, sehnsucht, suadade, even culture shock can be the result of being overwhelmed by too many unfamiliar things all at once. I firmly believe, as an experiencer of this feeling of wanting to be elsewhere while simultaneously wanting to stay home, we humans thrive on familiarity, on being home. It is a sort of survival mechanism, I think. All creatures must adapt to their environments. Upon being introduced to anything new, our bodies, minds, and souls immediately scurry to find balance, homeostasis, normalcy, before once more into routine that we can rely upon. I am not sure, however, that meaningful familiarity or routine is either possible, beneficial, or authentic on this planet. What we eat, who we know, where and what we do for work, the sounds and sights that surround us are all temporal aspects of a life that means so much more. It's frosting on the cake, but frosting is not very nutritious.

My mind is swiftly fogging up again, so I'll end this entry with just this: I'm alive, I've eaten my breakfast, and now I'm arguing with myself over the possibility of venturing outside....

Tomorrow, I fly from Bangkok to Chiang Rai where I will be working, learning, and (hopefully) growing until the 8th of March.

This Is The Day!

“There's a race of men that don't fit in, 

A race that can't sit still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and rove the flood, 

And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood, 

And they don't know how to rest.” 

― Robert W. Service

안녕히 계세요!

It is the custom in many Asian languages, including Korean, to employ one of two terms when bidding farewell. One term is used as a farewell to the one who is leaving, while the other is uttered by the one who is leaving to those who are staying. And so, I say 안녕히 계세요 to my friends and coworkers as I prepare to embark upon this journey.

In addition to featuring some "farewell" photos of The Barn below, I wanted to take a moment (or two) to express how truly moved I have been by the well-wishes of my coworkers and friends. In my thirty-one (as of tomorrow) years of living, I have not met so many kind, genuine, and accepting people as I have in these last eleven months. I am so grateful to my heavenly Father for the undeserved blessing of both long-lasting and meaningful friendship, and for His exposing me to a vast landscape of human beings who have managed to rekindle in me an appreciation for individuality, God's creativity, and the subtle importance and incredible complexity of relationships. I thank you all for making me feel like more than just a breath, a wave in the sea,  a stranger just passing through. Thank you for having made me feel significant and for allowing me to mark your unique presence on this planet. I am convinced that you have been crafted by God and designed to fulfill a purpose that is inimitable. Thank you all for your regards, encouragement, and friendship! Reciprocally, I extend to you a warm 保重!

Without further adieu, The Barn:

  

 

Me, The Missionary

A missionary? Me? How incompatible with my own character and lifestyle such a designation seems. But the fact remains that, though I may never venture beyond the boundaries of my hometown, though I may never engage in any socialization outside of the workplace or home, though the words I speak and the tasks I undertake never amount to much at all, I am, by a single act of redemption, an honest-to-goodness missionary.

The word missionary is, not surprisingly, derived from the noun mission, which, in turn is from the Latin missionem "an act of sending, dispatching; a release, a setting at liberty". It is a noun of action from the past participle stem of mittere "to send", and was used originally in reference to the Jesuits who were responsible for evangelizing to approximately one hundred and twelve countries on six continents. In English, the word mission can be a noun referring to an undertaking or assignment of some import, to a vocation generally associated with a religious calling, or to body of persons (i.e. ministry) serving a distinct and unified purpose, namely the propagation of an affiliated ideology. As a Christian, and therefore a missionary, one fulfills, I believe, each of these roles. As a Christian, I cannot help but do so:

Following His resurrection and during His reunion with the disciples, Christ made clear their role as His ambassadors. In John 20:21, He relates their injunction to the Father's own act of sending Christ into the world; just as Christ was sent to declare the Word of God, which was salvation to mankind, so it now fell upon the disciples--His representatives--to declare the same Good News to all creation:

"Go ye into all the world, and preach the Good News to every creature" (Mark 16:15)

I would like to briefly anatomize the primary verbs of this verse, if you will bear with me: the emphasis here is upon the active imperative verb kerusso (preach, proclaim, herald, declare), not upon the passive participle poreuthentes (go). For example, "Go wash the car" really cannot be said to emphasize the verb 'go', for it would have little to no meaning if the one to whom this task was assigned paid more attention to it than to the actual washing of the car. Go do what? Wash the car! Go preach the Gospel. Go do what? Preach the Gospel! It's a grammatical issue that has been converted into an unnecessary semantic misunderstanding. I am sorry, but I do not possess the scholarship or talent for expressing myself better. I have known too many, including myself, who have wasted time browbeating themselves because they were not going out into the deserts and jungles, and diverse places to preach the message of Christ. Our lives are to be a reflection, our words a declaration of the hope that is in us. Going is a secondary act to proclaiming. Indeed, it is a useless one in the absence of the other.

As Jesus' disciples, we inherently assume the responsibility of proclaiming the Good News of salvation provided by Him, which is the offer of forgiveness of sins and of eternal life. Yes, we must necessarily make some physical effort to move ourselves from where we are to where those who have not heard are located, but unless we preach, the going is for nought. Whereas, we may preach without going anywhere, particularly in this age of technology. I might never leave my basement, but, with a proper Wifi signal, I am without any sort of excuse for failing to fulfill Christ's commission. Therefore, I am a missionary.

I want to return to the definition I gave of the word missionem, specifically to "a setting at liberty". Two images come to my mind when I read this, the first being that of a heard of animals being released from a cage and let loose upon the world outside. The second to that of both being discharged of a terrible burden and of being unfettered from chains. As a former graduate student, I have I am well acquainted with the reality of shouldering debt that is both inescapable and, at times, suffocating. I am not free to do many things, including making donations to those in more dire straits. I am not free to share what I do not possess. I am in debt. I am a debtor. I cannot give what I do not have. Salvation, on the other hand, I do have, and with it, a mission. I have been set free of my sins so that I may proclaim that same freedom--or the possibility of it--to others who are still debtors. I was dead, but now am alive. A dead man cannot proclaim life to other dead men. A living man--a man in possession of life--can. He bears the responsibility. When Christ died for, rose for me, called me by name, and thereby commissioned me, He set me free--at liberty--He set me loose upon the the world, cast off my chains and my burdens so that I might declare freedom to the captives. I need not venture beyond the confines of my neighborhood or, indeed, my own room in order to preach to a global audience. But I proclaim I must. That is my mission.

This blog is audacious, I believe. I am moody, melancholy, and bordering on bipolar, but I am also ransomed, redeemed, and reconciled. The latter trio trumps the former, though, as a current itinerant of a fallen world, all six must unfortunately coexist for the time being.

I will be journeying to Southeast Asia for a grand total of nine weeks at the beginning of next month. I find myself simultaneously serene, indifferent, and terrified. The intended purpose of this blog is to chronicle happenings of dubious import. This post is meant to serve as a preamble to whatever I choose to write during the expedition, and also to superficially illuminate (and hopefully warn any hopeful or unsuspecting readers) the sort of person I am. What I hope to underline more than any other transitory and ultimately meaningless quality my self possesses or displays is the permanent, meaningful, and universal fact that Christ is everything.

And here we go...