The Day's Reflections

The days of summer drift in on rain clouds.
The year has taken me thus far from Edmonton to China, China to Thailand, Thailand back to Edmonton,
then to Oklahoma, Louisiana, Mississippi and finally onto the home soil of Ontario.
Too seldom have I taken moments to pause and breathe and reflect on time gone by.
Too few times have I walked across the field to one of my favorite place of reflection,
seated on the rock that sits before the forest.
A small bush grows beside it and vines clamber their way along it.
The rock is big enough that I can sit with feet dangling in the tall grass where bugs take the liberty of making a jungle out of my leg hair before I swat them aware for their itchy intrusion.
There, on that rock, I will just sit with paper and pen on my lap and, without fail, I will write with the inspiration that always travels on the breeze moving across the fields
and through the small trees growing just outside the forest.
The small trees whose leaves always shimmer when they shake
and whose song that they sing is always in tune, pitch perfect.
More than a few birds cannot resist to join in the melody and each,
with distinctive voices and even different songs,
 join together lifting one lyric together that moves me.
It always moves me upward from where I was when I came to that rock.
Upward beyond the present pomp and prejudice of stimulants designed to distract us from anything of real substance. Fleeting, momentarily satisfactory and pleasurable voids.
So unlike the song lifted up by the divinely created.
To one in love with the Creator, the songs of Creation, if allowed to percolate through you, is an amazing way to be lifted upward into His gaze; how sweet the sight.
I think that a good sign that you were truly present in a moment is if you can dissect it, even weeks later, and relive the phenomenons of perception that you experienced while in the moment.
The green shimmer of the leaves in the wind and sunlight is the most clear phenomenon I recall,
and how vivid it is.
How strangely easy it is to bring myself back to that spot with the use of this one memory.
The power of an intimate moment.
Power to draw yourself, almost as if out of body, into another place of a time gone by,
perhaps longs gone or perhaps merely only a moment ago.
If I were not careful though, I would be thankful for these moments and their power
but I would do little to replicate more by actually allowing the stillness of the heart to set in on a more common occasion.
And thus on that note, I must bid adieu.

She Sweeps the Breath of Another Year Away

Here's looking at you lady Abby.
Happy Birthday!

(Sorry about the pixelies, the perils of facebook photos)

Thinking Back

There was a time I, alone, climbed trees to dream,
 Laying in the arms of something I can't ever really understand.

Just reminiscing on some old days, and lessons learned and unlearned, with the words of Mr. Frost.

"When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay 
As ice-storms do.  Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain.  They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer.  He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground.  He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return.  Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."

                        -Robert Frost, Birches

To Shake the World

I was surprised, after having not posted for a solid three months, that there are still new page views happening on this ol' blog. Particularly yesterday with a solid 12 views. Perhaps others, alone on Valentine's Day as I was, with extra time to kill, were perusing the old haunts of inspiration like what I hope this place to be. Or perhaps they were merely random wanderers who have never seen this side of web before. My mystery page viewers, whoever you are, I thank thee for thy views, and for this I shall post once again.

With a newfound phone comes newfound possibilities, such as downloading classic literature to peruse and feel more in touch with a deeper sense of soul than I have for a while. On the go recently has been some Tennyson and Blake. The piece that has struck the deepest chord so far is The Poet's Mind by Tennyson. Allow me to quote the final stanza's of this work.

"And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame

WISDOM, a name to shake

All evil dreams of power--a sacred name.

And when she spoke,

Her words did gather thunder as they ran,

and as the lightning to the thunder

which follows it, riving the spirit of man,

making earth wonder,

So was their meaning to her words. No sword

Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,

But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word

She shook the world." 

Wisdom, it is a name to shake. And with a word wisdom can shake the world. 

I feel lately quite lacking in wisdom. Acting poorly towards those I care about the most. 

But may I not forget the power a little wisdom in thought, word and action can offer. 

May it grow as a seed in my mind in heart taking root,

 growing amidst and entangling my words in a radical way.

The North.

Well I guess it has been beyond that point where it has been too long since the last post. Time has carried us into two full months of school now as October soon draws to an end.
In the past month I had the privilege of joining the missions department on the bi-yearly trip up North. I led a team to Fort Resolution where we simply tried to love people and the town, and where all our eyes were open to the need there.
Small, isolated towns lead people into various and, often, unproductive and unsatisfactory way of filling time. We definitely did sense that the youth desired a different life than the alcoholism and apathy of manner of their parents. People yearn for change, purpose, meaning and something more.
I hope our lives while there demonstrated the value we saw in their lives even if our interaction may have been mostly through games and just having fun.
God can use all sorts of things to do all sorts of things.
May the old become new again. 

A Most Beautiful Sight

 A new school year, a retreat in the mountains, new faces, new ministries, new stresses. The same God over and through it all.
Hard to believe that a month of school has already come and past, a little hard to believe how quick time is now passing and a little hard to catch a mental grip on everything as well. Such is the importance of slowing down sometimes I suppose. Catching your breath.
Here's some thoughts from the SWD retreat a couple weeks ago, a moment where I was able to catch my breath during one of our evening services.



The ground was cold and hard. Scattered all around were pine needles, small stones and old coals of fires from days gone by. The ground sits by the shore of a lake that is beautiful but not unlike any other lake in the area. The air is quiet and it is cool. Before long footsteps lightly shake the the ground, their sound like a soft drumbeat breaks the silence of evening solitude. They stop near the fire. A pair of eyes surveys the land, the small fire pit, the firewood nearby. Soon the sound of an axe splitting wood, and, when enough has been cut, two hands gather dried grass and small twigs from the earth. A small teepee is formed on the ground with the grass, twigs and a few choice pieces of cut wood.

A match is struck and brought near the twigs, but a light breeze extinguishes the flame. A second match, this time it is sheltered by a spare hand. Held near the kindling it soon sends it alight, and with a controlled breath the small flame soon engulfs the teepee and the fire has begun.

The sound of crackling wood and needs catches the attention of several more people, and as the time comes, soon a large group is gathered around that fire. They sit with a quiet expectation for what is to come. And what is to come? The sound of guitar strings reverberating in the night. Two hands carving a rhythmic beat into the air with a single drum. The voices of many ascending up and up and up into the sky quickly growing dim as the sun wanders further out of sight.
Those voices, that music, they are an offering of praise. Its not a lot given; no light show, no moving, rotating, extravagant stage, no pedal board for the guitar. Just people gathered on the ordinary, cold ground, surrounding the fire, lifting their voices and catching the moment.

I suppose that if that ground could have spoke, it may have often complained of how ordinary it was. Just dirt. Often trampled over, dug into and burned. Nothing really set it apart from other ground. I suppose that if that ground could see it may have often looked up into the sky where the clouds moved and the stars shone out. I suppose that it often must have gazed into night skies and, with the eyes of the people who sang around that fire, watched in wonder at the great expanse of lights, stretching from North to South and East to West, and thought "What a beautiful sight that is".

What the ground doesn't realize, though, is that the stars also, if they had a voice and if they had eyes, may also be looking down upon that ground. And as those stars gaze to the earth and to that place of fire and voices lifted up in worship to the creator, I suppose that, perhaps, they may themselves be looking and saying:

    "Oh, what a most beautiful sight that is. Those children of God acknowledging the creator we know so well and yet so little. Those people, so diverse and ordinary united together to worship the extraordinary fulfiller and creator of dreams and holy desire. If only the ground could fully know what sort of wonder it is tonight. A greater wonder than we shall ever be. Yes, what a most beautiful sight that is."


 Some photos from the weekend.

To Be Back.

What does it feel like to be back?
That's the question I really don't know how to answer.
It feels the same in some ways, but I don't want it to at all. I don't want to be left unchanged. I want to discover what things I see differently. There are areas of my life that I want to be drastically altered.
What does it feel like to be back? It feels unsatisfying until I can figure out what has really been refined and processed, sharpened and shaped in me. Until I can figure out why and how I'm ready to move onto the next things God has for me. Until I can say the things which deeply affected me have grown into branches bearing fruit.
I don't want to be unchanged. I don't want to file the person I was in the Congo away into memories and binary code transformed into stories on some blog.
Patience.
Perhaps processing through some of my lessons will help. I want to post something on here, it was a school assignment, but I think it will help you to understand my processing and some of my experiences overseas. The assignment was to develop a list of questions to ask a missionary on field and then to interview them and report on the interview in a paper. Here is that assignment:

The questions which I asked were as follows:

1. Name: Christina

2. When did you first come to the Congo?

3. Did you see any changes in the city since the time you came?

4. How has your perspective of the country/city changed since you first came?

5. What are some of the greatest difficulties you have felt?

6. What are the greatest joys that you have experienced while serving overseas?

7. What has most helped you overcome the difficulties?

8. How often do you go home?

9. What are your main responsibilities now?               

10. How do you balance personal time and ministry time?

11. How do you decide who to help (physically/materially) and who to say no to?

12. What would you change if you were to stay it all from the beginning again?

13. How do you stay focused and connected on God?

14 . What has changed in your vision since you came?

15. What advice would you give to new missionaries coming onto the field?

                Christina first came to the city of Bukavu in 2002 as a teacher and school supervisor and since then has seen the city grow in population, technology and resources. Automatic withdrawal machines have been added, many fancy houses built or in the process of being built, an increase of military activity, increased access to the internet and increased political awareness are all changes that she has noted since she first arrived.

                Since her arrival she has also been able to see the country a bit more "from the inside out". Knowing individual people and circumstances rather than the general situation of the country. I too, though my time has been short, have felt this change. Reports on the news become personal stories among friends while walking down a dusty road or driving in a beat up car. You see the individual nits and grits of life and remember that even in a country ravaged by war someone still needs to change the baby, peel the cassava, change the oil in the car and to dance to music blaring from the radio. I have seen a more intimate part of life here. Less extravagant or sensational than some may imagine, but more elegantly simply and beautiful than most know how to imagine.

                However when getting to know people here on a more personal level the stereotypical image of a 'mzungu', a foreigner, is not one that is easy to overcome. Christina felt that " We are not a woman or a man – we are a mzungu. We are not supposed to work hard physically; we should have the best places, get first in the queue, not to get wet...." I myself have often felt as though I broke the stereotypical image of a mzungu by choosing to walk to work each day rather than take a car. For this I have received more than my fair share of stares from people who just did not know what to make of a mzungu getting his pants dusty and his feet dirty on the Bukavu streets. Christina said that she knew many people see us differently out of "love, thankfulness or honor...but I still have problems with it...  Sometimes you just want to be a normal, real person and to be a normal, real friend.

                This has been my one of my greatest difficulties. There are a few individuals that I have greatly desired to demonstrate true friendship and care towards. However it has been a struggle because it seems that they cannot see me as a person but rather merely as a mzungu with 'unlimited resources' who is expected to help them as the people struggling to live. Prior to my internship my supervisor from STMNetwork asked me this question: "What do you need from the poor?" I did not know how to answer him  then, but now I would say that I need them to see me as a person and not just a resource. Only then will we be able to exchange genuine care, support and love that will result in lasting empowerment and change.

                 It is a constant struggle to know who to help. To know who genuinely needs it and to know who is lying to you. Christina said that "Everyone who asks maybe needs my help. Some are cheating and some who are really in need are not even asking..." It is hard to know who is going to spend the money to buy food and medicine for their family, and who is going to buy a Primus beer with it the next day. It is hard to know who's voices are genuinely touched by grief and who's are merely a facade put on to invoke your pity. As I have chosen to do, Christina said that she also rarely gives to people herself. It is just too difficult to know and to give only feeds into the stereotype of a mzungu probably more than it actually helps anyone. So even though it can be heartbreaking to so "no" to someone, sometimes this is the choice that has to be made and another way must be found to connect with them.

                This leads into what one of Christina's greatest joys while on the field were - to be accepted as a person. There have been a few amazing times where God working through my actions has allowed people to see me in a different way. Where they stopped asking for money or stuff and instead just wanted to spend time with me. It makes being relational much easier and rewarding as well when you know that the other person does not have some sort of ulterior motives behind their willingness to talk with you.

                To overcome difficulties and to connect with God  Christina mentioned how she enjoyed both spending time in preparation and delivering a sermon, as well as in prayer with other missionaries on the compound. There is an undeniable link between the most difficult days and the days where prayer and connecting with God were not a priority. I cannot deny that my greatest frustrations were on the days when I did not take care of myself physically (allowing enough sleep or hydration), and spiritually (spending the needed time in prayer and in the Word). When I had taken the time to pray, I always experienced a greater love for the city and thankfulness for the opportunity to be here.

                While taking care of yourself spiritually and physically, however, there keeps arising a tension between personal time and ministry time. Should you feel guilty about taking time to yourself? What is a good balance? I asked Christina about this as well and what she did to relax/recharge and deal with the tension of ministry and personal life.

                For recharging time Christina travels home for a month each year and then for a full year after every 6 years. While on field, with so much need and so many people requesting the 'endless resources' of a mzungu, it can be easy for ministry to consume your entire life. However more hours does not mean better ministry. So when she was not away Christina would also still try to have her own time to read, take walks outside the mission and connect with friends back home via the internet. It did not seem as though she felt like every waking hour should be 'ministry'. Of course as Christians we should live and breathe an intentional life for God always being "ready in and out of season" to do what He sees is good. However this does not mean that every hour is spent with others. Jesus himself often took time alone to pray and recharge. This is what Christina recommended when I asked what advice she would

give those new to the field - that they take a break and go away regularly. To keep the spirit refreshed, the mind focused and the heart thankful for where God has brought it and is doing in and through it.

                Her other piece of advice for those new to the field was to not be too eager to change or criticize things until you have a deep understanding of how things really are and why they are that way. To understand things with a lens beyond the one you grew up with in your own country. Your time should be first spent learning and walking through life with open eyes and ears. This is something I have been thankful for during this internship. There have been a number of time where I have felt like I was doing so little for the people here. However in reality my purpose in these three months is not to change the Congo. Though I am to selflessly love while here, it is alright to see myself as a guest in a learning position. That this time be an opportunity to soak up experience without having the pressure of career or outside expectations controlling my every move. Now is a time to see, hear, touch, taste life in a context so unlike the one I have known and to test my heart to see where and how this experience will fit into my future. The biggest change that will result from this time will no doubt be in my own heart and life. I am not seeking merely to satisfy or gratify myself after all, so I do not think it is wrong to think this way.  

                Now, in conclusion, I had also asked Christina what she would have changed if she was to being her time again. To this she responded that she would have been more quick to be involved in preaching and the spiritual activities of the church. There is something to be said about not forgetting the spiritual aspects of a land so saturated in social and physical struggles. I hope that no matter where I find my life leading in the future, that the spiritual condition of my friends and family and strangers as well, would always be on my heart and mind. I cannot forget that miserable people live both abundant and impoverished lives, but the spiritual rich have joy and strange peace in all circumstances. When I find myself unable to share physical wealth, may spiritual wealth be pouring out from my hands, my words, my thoughts, my prayers and into the hands, ears, minds and hearts of others.