How I am spinning

I'm moving to Africa soon. That's a start. I'm winging into a city, country, continent that I have never seen before with no prospect of leaving for 6 months. And there's a civil war there.

Five months ago I was working retail part time, praying for an opportunity to do something bigger, more exciting. God answered.

In the last few months I've been through Nepal and India, enjoying God's limitless provision. He dropped a job in my lap that I could never get by applying based on my education and expience (believe me, I tried). I learned a whole new field (am learning, I should say) that some study for years to get into. I've been talking to people at 20/20, the Oprah Winfrey Show, People Magazine.

That's right, five months ago, retail. Today, Oprah.

And then I move to Africa.

I'm spinning.

This is not to mention the host of new people that I've met. Passionate, adventurous, well-traveled, focussed. They are everything I want to be. It's marvelous.

About a week ago a pastor told me that I am now in God's pipeline and that He is going to do amazing things in, through, around me. This is true, I'm seeing it already, but what is also true is that being in God's pipeline is like being in any other pipeline - it's a wild, spinning, sometimes confusing, often exciting ride.

Personally, I love it.

Why am I moving to Africa?

The answer, I think, is to live.

For he came that we might have life abundantly – not clothes abundantly, or food, or comfort (though all those things he promises us either in moderation or in due time). No, he came that we might have life.

But when I hear the troubles of many in today’s society, even today’s church, I don’t think that it is life we want. “My car got scratched. She cut my hair too short. The Steelers won. I can’t even afford an iPod.”

I’m sorry to be blunt, but I could not care less – not having seen the poverty in the magnificent Himalayas, the hope of Indian orphans, the hospitality in downtrodden Ukraine, and the shambles of beautiful Romania. No part of your grievance makes me want to help you – there is no value in it.

I’ve noticed that men are as aptly judged by their complaints as by their celebrations, and the complaints of our society indict us. We are shallow and self-centered, myopic and ignorant.

And so I will go to Africa, where complaints such as “I don’t have enough food” or “I am an orphan” ring with a purity that polishes their sadness. These I want to help, for they are true needs, and in helping perhaps I will correct my myopia, educate my ignorance, deepen my understanding, and learn to love others as I love myself.

And then, perhaps, I will have life more abundantly.

everMoment

To Strike the Sky

Kiley and Blauert near the peak of Mt. Whitney, 2004

A Word of Praise

Father I thank you for your dominoes. You set them up in the dark and tip the first without my knowing. Soon one encouragement falls out of another as I watch them spiral around me, heaping joy upon joy.

Your plan is good. Your planning immaculate.

God's Way of Connecting People

In January I got a job doing PR for Invisible Children, though I had never done PR before.

In February I decided to move to Africa to work for IC in Uganda, a move that will happen in early March.

Two weeks ago I went to REI to buy some clothes for Africa, where a man overheard me talking about Uganda. He happened to be connected with a pastor from Uganda who was coming to speak in San Diego for a couple days.

This past Thursday Invisible Children got a call from a girl at 20/20 - they want to do a story about AIDS in Africa and are looking for a good angle.

That night I went to hear the Ugandan pastor speak at a black Pentecostal church (so much fun) where I heard that he has founded an orphanage for AIDS orphans. He is struggling to raise the necessary support to take on more orphans.

Are we seeing the connections?

Tomorrow I'm going to try to connect him with 20/20. We'll see what God does with that.

Bullets

The beautiful clarity of bullet points giving you all the info you need to know.

• The last post was a joke.
• I think that a razor with 5 blades is almost as absurd as the overblown advertisements that accompany it.
• Invisible Children had contact with Dateline NBC, 20/20, and the Oprah Winfrey Show today.
• I might be flying to Chicago this weekend to take info to Oprah.
• I'm very, very tired.

Goodnight.

The Future is Now

Mankind has long struggled against nature, straining against those natural rhythms that he calls limitations. The changing of seasons, the inevitable march of aging, the dying of each bright day. But finally we have achieved victory, at least in one field. That's right, we've done it. A razor with five blades. Let mankind join together in triumph.

Play it Again

[from August of last year]

The Acts of the Apostles

You can almost hear the low hum of excitement coming off the page. Hushed voices punctuated by gasps of faithful disbelief.

"He's doing what? Where? The Holy Spirit? Who told you that? You're kidding? THE Saul?"

These disciples, apostles, appointed as the physical leaders of the burgeoning church, watch in amused awe as their Master spreads His message, their message, over their ancient world. The Holy Spirit is falling upon the gentiles, cripples are walking, the blind are seeing, and it's happening everywhere.

They almost got used to it from Jesus, and when they themselves were the conduits of such tremendous grace at least they were there to take stock of the ramifications. But this is getting out of control, certainly out of their control.

I wouldn't be surprised if The Original "The Rock" Peter shook his head occasionally as the group of believers that he was to call his flock spiralled into the thousands, tens of thousands, and spread throughout the Roman world.

Peter: "Feed my sheep," he says. I should've asked for a head count!

But it's said with the wide-eyed smile of appreciation and wonder. Daily they were blessed by reports of God's grace. New churches forming, established fellowships growing and persevering, offerings taken, gifts given, possessions sold, prophecies fulfilled. Excitement every morning.

'What will God do today?' they must have thought as they tightened their sandals, expecting the miraculous.

'What will God do today?' I ask.

Invisible Children on Relevant

I'm in the public record. My friend Becca wrote an article about Invisible Children for Relevant Magazine's website, and I have some quotes in there. It's a great article, and I would certainly encourage you to check it out.

My favorite quote of myself: "If you want Christ to be in it, then come and devote your time."

Check this out...

Through a happy circumstance stemming from my involvement with Invisible Children, I have been given the chance to write for the Global Youth Fund on their blog. I'm stoked for the opportunity to be a part of this immensely promising organization (thanks Charles).

As I move to Uganda and undoubtedly begin writing about my travels and experiences I will continue to write here on Surviving America, and will also be posting over at GYF (I'll probably end up cross-posting a bit). I encourage you all to take a look at the GYF site and their plans for empowering the youth of the world to "be the change they wish to see."

Selection from Isaiah 58

Bono introduced me to this passage in his address at the National Prayer Breakfast. The emphases are mine.

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it
not to share your food with the
hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with
shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn and your
healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go
before you, and the glory of the
Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call and the Lord will answer.
You will cry for help and he will say: Here am
I."

As my friend Steve says, "God's a great ghostwriter."

The Glacier and the Wave

Personality and Character. That's the topic of tonight's ramble.

The distinction is important. Dale Carnegie cites it as the distinguishing factor between a leader and a hypocrite. I call it the difference between the glacier and the wave.

A wave is a powerful thing; I think we all learned that about a year ago. It can overwhelm and flood and wash and change things - but not all things. It tosses and pushes and it retreats. It is not sustainable, it's not meant to be.

Personality is like that.

It has strength, but it is a flippant strength, exerted and relaxed. Some things it cannot move, and some things seem not even to notice its flood.

A glacier is a powerful thing. It moves like a mountain, slowly and confidently. Those things that don't move with it are forever changed by its passing. It will not be stopped or redirected. It will move at its pace until it has reached its end.

Character is like that.

It's not near so fun to watch as personality, but it's deeper, like the book instead of the movie.

It may not be a splashy or explosive, and the impatient might find it maddening, but character will move you.

Africa or Bust

The rumors, whether you've heard them or not, are true. I'm moving to Uganda… which is in Africa… next to Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo.

It's interesting that, though I've been asked many questions by people close to me about my move, not one has asked me why. Why move? Why give up what we have? Why sacrifice?

Not one.

The way I look at, that means that I've got some great people around me. You understand why I'll go. You understand what life is about and that an opportunity like this is not to be missed, no matter how much lifetime income I may be giving up.

When I was flying back from Hong Kong I sat next to a guy - big guy, 6'8" I think - who ran a company that got things manufactured in China. I told him about my work in India, working with kids that weren't given a fair shot. He told me I should consider switching tactics, working with the rich and gifted kids because then, as the kids go on to do great things, I would find gratification. To him, if he happens across this, I say, "Friend, you've missed the point. It's not about my gratification. It's about them."

Because they are God's children. Blessed are the poor. Whatever you do unto the least of these. That's why I'll go.

Pray for India

When I went to India, the nurse at the orphanage where I stayed told me a story. About 9 months before I was there they had a graduation for their Bible students, their new pastors. Hundreds of students from all over the country would come to the orphanage to be commissioned as pastors and evangelists.

But when they got there they were greeted by militant Hindus. They were beaten. A number of students ended up in the local hospital. Burning bottles of kerosene were thrown over the walls of the orphanage campus. But the graduation was completed and hundreds of God's students are starting new ministries all over India.

Today I read this on Brian's blog, asking readers to pray for India on behalf of Dan Edelen, who asks the same. Dan's blog points here, to a post about a new initiative by Hindus in one part of India. Half a million of them have volunteered to attempt to force Christians to renounce their faith, starting on February 11. Pray for them.

But also read the post. Can you feel the hope, the excitement in the face of persecution? I love our brothers and sister in India.

A New Poem/Song

Occasionally I write verse online, for all to watch the bumbling and fumbling of the writing process. Tonight on the way home from work I thought of some lines. Let's see where it goes.

Ambivalence

The power in your hand is greater than my courage,
My legs quiver before the weight of your sword,
Those eyes so sure and confident see through me,
And push me into the deepest corners of the world,

But Your love frees me
Frees me to approach your throne
Your love, my Lord, it frees me
Frees me to know you and be known
Frees me to look upon your face
Frees me to revel in the grace of your presence
Frees me from my fear,
And frees me to call you Father

The holiness that sits in you, it cowers me
Sends me crawling away in my shame
Finds me hiding in the darkness of forgotten sin
Shivering at the mention of your name

But Your love frees me, Lord,
Frees me to stride up to your throne,
Your love, my Lord, it frees me,
Frees me to know you and be known,
Frees me to look upon your face
Frees me to revel in the grace of your presence
Frees me from my fear
Frees me to call you Father

The wrath that I have read of, the justice of your heart,
I know that I am subject to it like the rest
How can I know peace when I know Your wrath?

I have to stop here for the night. That last verse isn't even a rough draft. It is to a rough draft like a game trail is to a dirt road. But that's writing for you. Good night.

Play it Again

From July '05. But then, what else would you expect from a summer night in San Diego?

A Night.

There are times when the appropriate praises to God cannot be transcribed, when the Spirit must intercede with groans. Tonight’s groan is something like a sigh mixed with an utterance of wonder, but also of remembrance.

Since the purpose of my writing this, though, is that some might share in my praises I will try to describe the night that led to such groans. And perhaps the Spirit will groan for you as well.

The heat of the day lingered in my house, especially around the computer monitor into which I had been staring for too many minutes. I could feel coolness sifting in through the screen door.I followed it outside.

The moon lounged brightly in the Southeastern sky polishing the backyard to a shine. Such a quiet as man rarely knows hushed the voice even in my mind.I walked slowly through firm, wet grass to a back fence that I have known since childhood, its white paint made young again in the moonlight. Leaning there I was serenaded by a chorus of crickets, prolific in its breadth, if not its harmony. As with most choruses the number and variety of voices more than compensated for their lack of training.

Over my right shoulder, to the northeast, a flash. A low cloud that I had thought unworthy of attention was actually the expanding top of a distant thunderhead. Lightning rebuked my judgment and for separate moments detailed the intricacies of a boiling storm.

Now sitting on the wooden fence I cherished my own stillness and smallness. The nearest crickets, silenced by my approach, took up their song again and joined the harmony, a song now punctuated silently by cymbals of popping fire.

How content I was to watch and wait for the next flash! How utterly satisfied with God’s sovereignty – His choices of when to snap a lightning bolt and in which chords his crickets would play.And then, groan. Sweet groan.

Let me tell you a little about Nepal

Imagine a cheesy action movie where the jungles that the hero is fighting in have obviously been constructed on a rather small soundstage in Burbank.

And imagine that this particular production has hired a magnificent artist but a horrible art director.

And imagine that, consequently, the painted backdrop of snowy mountains is grossly out of proportion to everything else, that the mountains look as if they hail from a larger planet and are only visiting.

That is what it is like to hike in Nepal, or even to drive in Kathmandu on a clear day. The Himalayas are too big to be real, and yet you can walk on them. I know, I have. These anomolies, unearthly in beauty as well as size, are the backdrop of a nation - a small, proud, troubled nation.

Kathmandu, the capital, has the marks of a big, growing city. It's filled with that frenetic grasping of all the people who have come to make for themselves better lives. They rush around in old cars and on old motorcycles, they call to you from their storefronts, they are today's sellers and tomorrow's consumers.

It's in the leaving of Kathmandu that you meet Nepal, though. Driving west out of the city's namesake valley you crest the hills that surround it and wind down into an older, more scattered world. Houses of clay, mud and thatch peek out at random from amongst the ubiquitous greenery. The river that leads you way is host to women washing clothes and men bathing. For hours of twisting highway you pass almost nothing, and almost everything.

Pokhara is dicotomous town, at once a sleepy tourist nook and a rushing, pulsating commercial center. Mahendra Pul, the central market, is a mass of cars and pedestrians and eerily similar shops, with alleys and malls leading to yet more of the same. But retreating to Lakeside, the tourist district set against the beautfiful Phewa Tal (lake), you'll find rows of single-story shops and quiet guest houses and happy restaurants. If you're lucky you'll find something like the Little Tebetan Guest House, a restful haven of gardens and hot showers at $2/night.

Then there are the villages. Little splatters of humanity seperated by miles of wondrous trail and forest. And the mountains watch as they grow and shrink and migrate and settle. They watch quietly and confidently.

The people of the villages are smilers. They smile at you as you peak in their doors, hoping for tea. They smile as you attempt simple Nepali words, like they would at a child trying to string together his first sentence. They smile as you duck under their low doors and trip on their winding trails. And they smile as you leave, wishing you well and bidding you return.

And the mountains watch, uninterested, or unaffected, just there, bathed in light, moon or sun, never once showing any sign that they know that you see them. Not like the clouds that shy away or the birds that find a higher branch. One get's the feeling that they are either completely oblivious or all knowing. Many have erred on both sides.

Many haved asked what Nepali time is, how distant it is from America by the hands of the clock. I say now that sunrise is Nepali time. When you sit above the clouds, watching the sun climb to the elevation where you found yourself in your sleeping bag, sipping tea that steams clouds from your hands, watching the mountains beam orange, and with your Nepali brothers you smile.