Separation and departure remain as a norm when you live in a highly transient community. Coming to the end of another year (years are from August to May when you work with or are in school), a couple of thoughts resurface almost daily.
Goodbyes, in this community, extend further than they should - in my opinion. As a youth staff, we began thinking about and speaking our parting words over six weeks before our official release date. As one who does not necessarily care for extended farewells, a corrupting frustration drips like acid rain on my concluding month. I much prefer to hug once speak a couple words (if that many) and go our separate ways. This is not to say we wouldn't keep in touch, however I only have a tolerance for so many sentimental moments. Even as I think these things now, it strikes me as youth and ignorance speaking.
"Every moment is precious," said one particular youth. I love this young man with every once of my capable heart, but awkwardness and blurred emotion sway our interaction.
For one who expects this as a norm, you'd think it would be easier. How did it come that I didn't know the wetness of a tear, yet now must tense with all my might to dam these salty emotions. Nostalgia and recollection poison any quiet moments that sneak past the clutter and bustle of Egyptian hours. We had a wise man of age come counsel our staff on some blah blah boring stuff that lowly interns such as myself don't care much for. Despite the assigned content of his seminars, he shared a sliver of life on a more personal basis with a select few. Perhaps the most clever words I recall are those regarding age - "Young men speak more about the future because they have more it than the past; old men speak on the past because they have more of it than they do future."
As a single man, not necessarily "on the prowl," I ponder the importance of companionship. Even as I write this now, the depth of my yearning to share life with another bears its ugly head. Plagued with furious questions speeding in from parents and peers about the ominous "future", nothing is certain. How scary that can be.
Please excuse my incoherence. Haze fogs my writing eyes. There are things I'd like to scribble out but the weight of my heart restrains me from straying too far from these leavings.
Change is rampant, swelling in my stomach. I know the man I entered as, he is but a remnant. But to be a new one, oh the fear. I knew how to manipulate that previous persona. And now discipline, and patience, and sacrifice stickle the conscience. I don't know how to do this.
And to further stone myself from these petty... emotions, I must depart this journal entry to watch a movie. That always helps; enter an alternative reality.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Aftermath
We were asked to share what God was doing in us this year, with our high school group. Here is what I wrote (and read):
I wouldn't be who I am without having been raised in the educational atmosphere, lavish environment, and persistent push toward excellence that I call home. For this I am ever grateful. However, there is only so much a student can learn from a teacherless classroom. Tired from the monotonous wade through materialism and self focus, I needed a breath of fresh air. Egypt. ?.
Take me to a new place, I whined.
A crooked bend spat in The Ear.
I prayed and prayed. I talked, complained, argued, and even on one occasion spat at God to free me from the shell of monoculture. Few people understood this longing, and fatefully this familiar phrase floundered fervently like a fading fad from friends and family, "Why would you want to leave America? Its the best country in the world!" Farewell, I bid. Farsighted had I fastened my fancy.
Abundance and luxury unsatisfying,
I need more - the undesire.
A fickle tickle sickled the rhythm of my
ear drums,
Beating a path across a dry ocean floor...
A journey of Mosaic proportions,
misunderstood.
But worry not, young pilgrim;
I had studied the scriptures from multiple perspectives, finding one common theme necessary for transformation - absence, drought, aridity. Where did Moses lead the Israelites after Egypt? Into the desert. Where was Jesus led by the Holy Spirit for his testing? Into the desert. Where did Elijah run before encountering the Lord on Mt. Horeb? Into the desert. So of course where must I go to meet my King? Into the desert. Enter Egypt.
Of course, the physical landscape seemed more of a pun and sense of God's humor than a spiritual metaphor, but before a month was down, a realization crept ever so subtly to whisper in my ear, "My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water." Those are not the words of a man who needs physical hydration.
Knees dirty and bent for a release from
Captivity,
Hands likened themselves to the weary knees,
breaking the abrasive fall to humility. A plea,
moved
p r o s t r a t e
from the depth of a soul,
Arid and barren as the cracked soil of a
gasping desert wilderness.
Enter a place to match the posture.
The irony runs deep. Never before in my life have I been so well fed; never have I thirsted for drink since I laid a tiny toe on this turbulent terrain. However, never since I left the safety of the womb have I ever been so scared, so vulnerable. But unlike before, I knew how to steel myself.
Feasting ferociously on the faux pas of a former facade, trust walls rose up to protect and defend a tattered heart. Yet as they say, what goes up, must come down. The hospitalities of hearts and homes, your hearts and homes, crushed divots in those defenses. Unsolicited love cannoned holes through my seemingly impervious protection. From families to freshmen to fun-loving freaks, the trust walls turned to trust falls (but only in the case of a tie).
Ease does not bring definition.
Are the river's rocks sculpted by a pebble's
time ashore?
Shall the character of a warrior be tested
in the evenings of peace?
Ease does not bring definition.
It took a trip to Romania, a Hardy, a Betty. Children waning, bodies mistaken, souls misled. It took a trip to the orphanage, a Bramsen, a story about the unremembered, neglected, overlooked and ignored, lives of beautiful souls dropped off to die - to bring purpose, to bring life to that limp lying body. And so we ask, how have I changed?
Lest there be adversity and engagement
clashing the forces,
A character shall not be tested.
Ease does not bring definition.
Now a man with insight. I am a man knelt before his King to go were he sends me. I will go where you send me. Once a floater, now a focused fighter, fierce and fearless for the future of the Kingdom. Fettered to my first love, forever.
Challenge casts composure.
Knee now sanctioned for service.
Exit this place with purpose to posture.
I wouldn't be who I am without having been raised in the educational atmosphere, lavish environment, and persistent push toward excellence that I call home. For this I am ever grateful. However, there is only so much a student can learn from a teacherless classroom. Tired from the monotonous wade through materialism and self focus, I needed a breath of fresh air. Egypt. ?.
Take me to a new place, I whined.
A crooked bend spat in The Ear.
I prayed and prayed. I talked, complained, argued, and even on one occasion spat at God to free me from the shell of monoculture. Few people understood this longing, and fatefully this familiar phrase floundered fervently like a fading fad from friends and family, "Why would you want to leave America? Its the best country in the world!" Farewell, I bid. Farsighted had I fastened my fancy.
Abundance and luxury unsatisfying,
I need more - the undesire.
A fickle tickle sickled the rhythm of my
ear drums,
Beating a path across a dry ocean floor...
A journey of Mosaic proportions,
misunderstood.
But worry not, young pilgrim;
I had studied the scriptures from multiple perspectives, finding one common theme necessary for transformation - absence, drought, aridity. Where did Moses lead the Israelites after Egypt? Into the desert. Where was Jesus led by the Holy Spirit for his testing? Into the desert. Where did Elijah run before encountering the Lord on Mt. Horeb? Into the desert. So of course where must I go to meet my King? Into the desert. Enter Egypt.
Of course, the physical landscape seemed more of a pun and sense of God's humor than a spiritual metaphor, but before a month was down, a realization crept ever so subtly to whisper in my ear, "My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water." Those are not the words of a man who needs physical hydration.
Knees dirty and bent for a release from
Captivity,
Hands likened themselves to the weary knees,
breaking the abrasive fall to humility. A plea,
moved
p r o s t r a t e
from the depth of a soul,
Arid and barren as the cracked soil of a
gasping desert wilderness.
Enter a place to match the posture.
The irony runs deep. Never before in my life have I been so well fed; never have I thirsted for drink since I laid a tiny toe on this turbulent terrain. However, never since I left the safety of the womb have I ever been so scared, so vulnerable. But unlike before, I knew how to steel myself.
Feasting ferociously on the faux pas of a former facade, trust walls rose up to protect and defend a tattered heart. Yet as they say, what goes up, must come down. The hospitalities of hearts and homes, your hearts and homes, crushed divots in those defenses. Unsolicited love cannoned holes through my seemingly impervious protection. From families to freshmen to fun-loving freaks, the trust walls turned to trust falls (but only in the case of a tie).
Ease does not bring definition.
Are the river's rocks sculpted by a pebble's
time ashore?
Shall the character of a warrior be tested
in the evenings of peace?
Ease does not bring definition.
It took a trip to Romania, a Hardy, a Betty. Children waning, bodies mistaken, souls misled. It took a trip to the orphanage, a Bramsen, a story about the unremembered, neglected, overlooked and ignored, lives of beautiful souls dropped off to die - to bring purpose, to bring life to that limp lying body. And so we ask, how have I changed?
Lest there be adversity and engagement
clashing the forces,
A character shall not be tested.
Ease does not bring definition.
Now a man with insight. I am a man knelt before his King to go were he sends me. I will go where you send me. Once a floater, now a focused fighter, fierce and fearless for the future of the Kingdom. Fettered to my first love, forever.
Challenge casts composure.
Knee now sanctioned for service.
Exit this place with purpose to posture.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
500 miles
I'm Gonna Walk (500 miles) -
[to the music of I'm Gonna Be (500 miles) by The Proclaimers]
When I wake up, yeah, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to do his yoga. (10 min.)
After Yoga, yeah, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to go to church. (10 min.)
If I eat lunch, yes, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to get his lunch. (10 min.)
And if I have a meeting, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to his meeting. (10 min.)
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks all over Maadi
to have taxis honk their horns.
-Da da dun duh interlude-
When I meet kids, yeah, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man walking to their house. (10 min.)
And when they don't show, even when they said they would
I'm gonna be the man who walks right out the door. (10 min.)
If we hang out, yes, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man whose walkin all the more (10 min.)
If I lose weight, its because I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man walking everywhere.
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks all over Maadi
to have taxis honk their horns.
[Fade music]
As you may have guessed, in Cairo, we walk a lot. This is nothing new. People have always walked. But this week I grew curious; what portion of our day do we spend walking where we would normally drive? So I calculated. It is approximately 10 minutes to walk from our villa to the church or the school, about 15 minutes to certain students homes, and 20 minutes to visit some young adult friends we work and hang out with. It is another 10 minutes from the church to the school, and from any given point, between 7-10 minutes to walk to Rd 9 (its like the Strip - full of stores, groceries, banks, restaurants, etc). So on any given day I will walk at minimun 20 minutes just to get to the church and back home. An average day keeps my feet pedaling for around an hour but it is not uncommon to meet me on a day that I have walked upwards of 2+ hours, strictly for event to event transportation.
I entered this country weighing in at 180 pounds (81 kilograms). As of 9:00 am this morning, I clocked in at 164 pounds (74 kg). The moral of this story is the 80s made some great music.
[to the music of I'm Gonna Be (500 miles) by The Proclaimers]
When I wake up, yeah, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to do his yoga. (10 min.)
After Yoga, yeah, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to go to church. (10 min.)
If I eat lunch, yes, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to get his lunch. (10 min.)
And if I have a meeting, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who walks to his meeting. (10 min.)
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks all over Maadi
to have taxis honk their horns.
-Da da dun duh interlude-
When I meet kids, yeah, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man walking to their house. (10 min.)
And when they don't show, even when they said they would
I'm gonna be the man who walks right out the door. (10 min.)
If we hang out, yes, I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man whose walkin all the more (10 min.)
If I lose weight, its because I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man walking everywhere.
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks all over Maadi
to have taxis honk their horns.
[Fade music]
As you may have guessed, in Cairo, we walk a lot. This is nothing new. People have always walked. But this week I grew curious; what portion of our day do we spend walking where we would normally drive? So I calculated. It is approximately 10 minutes to walk from our villa to the church or the school, about 15 minutes to certain students homes, and 20 minutes to visit some young adult friends we work and hang out with. It is another 10 minutes from the church to the school, and from any given point, between 7-10 minutes to walk to Rd 9 (its like the Strip - full of stores, groceries, banks, restaurants, etc). So on any given day I will walk at minimun 20 minutes just to get to the church and back home. An average day keeps my feet pedaling for around an hour but it is not uncommon to meet me on a day that I have walked upwards of 2+ hours, strictly for event to event transportation.
I entered this country weighing in at 180 pounds (81 kilograms). As of 9:00 am this morning, I clocked in at 164 pounds (74 kg). The moral of this story is the 80s made some great music.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
On my way to a party...
As I strolled the streets, a ruckus, a fuss snared my ear drums. Cranking up a sense of expatriate awareness, as if I could possibly find this life in potential jeopardy, my spidey sense honed into a rioting crowd flailing about down the hill. Wings awkwardly flapping with intent to strike sense into the head of an agressor met no opposition from the bleached officer amid the fight club. Living here has allowed me to see how contagious anger raptures the mind of innocent bystanders. And in this chaotic moment, as I resumed my seat on the front row after darting onto a safer sidewalk, to my astonishment, a graying elderly woman transformed her purse into a weapon of Egyptian destruction rebuking one of the young combatants with a purse-fist-verbal assault combo. A chuckle somehow slipped from my throat, countered tactfully with a somber and pompous head shake of attempted disapproval. "You'd never see a fight in the middle of the day like this in the States," I boasted. "We would do it the sophisticated way - wait until dark and gather a gang of roughnecks and vandals to secretly destroy the property of our caviling foe. Face-to-face, fist-to-fist, nose-to-nose, is just to close; we need to respect others' need for privacy and personal space.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Lessons
Against my better judgment, I will stay the drooping desires of my eyes for your reading enjoyment (hopefully).
Some life lessons I've embarked on as of late:
1. Good things come to those who wait. But when you've waited 10 months and you leave in one, good things suddenly become frustratingly urgent.
2. Females are difficult to understand. Males are difficult to know. I explain it like this: Men like to fix things, work on things take things apart and put them back together. We want formulas, mechanisms, so we can work logically through the steps when something is awry. Women, however, as I understand, seem to be more relational creatures. They do not care to understand how you feel. They just want to know how your day was. Tell me about you. Functionality serves little to no purpose when you attempt to know a person.
This theory serves true even among same-sex interaction. For instance, the young men I join in a small group each Tuesday night are great guys. However, it has taken me the length of my stay here in luscious Egypt to finally know these men. They all depart within the month. You better believe the irritation from that is worse than bed bug bites from a cheap motel mattress.
3. Husbands love your wives. In one of our group meetings with the aforementioned young men, we spent a decent tangent discussing the effects of various translations of the Bible which inevitably led to a discourse/soapbox lecture on the equality and consideration a couple should have for each other. As I spoke, the Spirit must have taken over because the words spewing out my mouth were not from thoughts I had previously constructed. The discussion went something along these lines (edited for grammatical alterations and slightly more impressive presentation from yours truly):
Me: Take for instance Ephesians 5 when we read about husbands and wives. When you start off, the text is seemingly sexist in its approach to "wives submit your husbands, for they are the head" etc, etc.
Student: [affirmative nod] Yeah...
Me: And some could even read into the next portion as another gender-bias argument, however, let's read this quickly - "Husbands, love your wives." Now we are like woopidee do da. If he married her, he probably loved her, so what's so special about this? Keep reading - "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ love the church and gave himself up for her [...]" So now, you get to die to yourself each day for the sake of your wife.
Student's mom: [walked in the door just in time to listen in on the end of conversation, pretending to fold clothes but truly just eavesdropping on her beloved son's meeting. Upon hearing "die to yourself for sake of your wife," chimes in to her son] Ben, are you listening to this man. You should be taking notes!
Me: [much quieter as mom exits, leaning in] She may have to submit, but you have to die?! Who got the raw end of that deal?
4. Sit at his door. In a world so rapidly moving, we expect God to show up on our schedule. We rarely (if ever) wait for the Lord to exit his home to meet us where we are. I find myself waiting for God like I would a late professor. You get 5 minutes before I leave, if I'm feeling generous. Who would have thought that the Creator has a different time schedule than his limited, boundary-confined creation?
5. Perspective is a gift, given to those who don't really need it at a time it isn't really useful. Two close friends have some, how shall we say, prickly provocation any time they are in the same room. Both have sought mediation and counsel from others as well as myself. However, neither cares to listen to the portion they could improve or, more poignantly, the hard truth hidden from their cycloped eyes. With truth being hard and me a bit of a softy, nor residing in a place acceptable enough to deliver such catastrophic catalyst, we only pray they will discover these big red doors by combining there blinded peepers to form a single good pair they can share.
6. Family or Passionate occupation? Its an ongoing debate between inexperienced, idealistic twentysomethings. Save it for later.
Some life lessons I've embarked on as of late:
1. Good things come to those who wait. But when you've waited 10 months and you leave in one, good things suddenly become frustratingly urgent.
2. Females are difficult to understand. Males are difficult to know. I explain it like this: Men like to fix things, work on things take things apart and put them back together. We want formulas, mechanisms, so we can work logically through the steps when something is awry. Women, however, as I understand, seem to be more relational creatures. They do not care to understand how you feel. They just want to know how your day was. Tell me about you. Functionality serves little to no purpose when you attempt to know a person.
This theory serves true even among same-sex interaction. For instance, the young men I join in a small group each Tuesday night are great guys. However, it has taken me the length of my stay here in luscious Egypt to finally know these men. They all depart within the month. You better believe the irritation from that is worse than bed bug bites from a cheap motel mattress.
3. Husbands love your wives. In one of our group meetings with the aforementioned young men, we spent a decent tangent discussing the effects of various translations of the Bible which inevitably led to a discourse/soapbox lecture on the equality and consideration a couple should have for each other. As I spoke, the Spirit must have taken over because the words spewing out my mouth were not from thoughts I had previously constructed. The discussion went something along these lines (edited for grammatical alterations and slightly more impressive presentation from yours truly):
Me: Take for instance Ephesians 5 when we read about husbands and wives. When you start off, the text is seemingly sexist in its approach to "wives submit your husbands, for they are the head" etc, etc.
Student: [affirmative nod] Yeah...
Me: And some could even read into the next portion as another gender-bias argument, however, let's read this quickly - "Husbands, love your wives." Now we are like woopidee do da. If he married her, he probably loved her, so what's so special about this? Keep reading - "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ love the church and gave himself up for her [...]" So now, you get to die to yourself each day for the sake of your wife.
Student's mom: [walked in the door just in time to listen in on the end of conversation, pretending to fold clothes but truly just eavesdropping on her beloved son's meeting. Upon hearing "die to yourself for sake of your wife," chimes in to her son] Ben, are you listening to this man. You should be taking notes!
Me: [much quieter as mom exits, leaning in] She may have to submit, but you have to die?! Who got the raw end of that deal?
4. Sit at his door. In a world so rapidly moving, we expect God to show up on our schedule. We rarely (if ever) wait for the Lord to exit his home to meet us where we are. I find myself waiting for God like I would a late professor. You get 5 minutes before I leave, if I'm feeling generous. Who would have thought that the Creator has a different time schedule than his limited, boundary-confined creation?
5. Perspective is a gift, given to those who don't really need it at a time it isn't really useful. Two close friends have some, how shall we say, prickly provocation any time they are in the same room. Both have sought mediation and counsel from others as well as myself. However, neither cares to listen to the portion they could improve or, more poignantly, the hard truth hidden from their cycloped eyes. With truth being hard and me a bit of a softy, nor residing in a place acceptable enough to deliver such catastrophic catalyst, we only pray they will discover these big red doors by combining there blinded peepers to form a single good pair they can share.
6. Family or Passionate occupation? Its an ongoing debate between inexperienced, idealistic twentysomethings. Save it for later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)