Moments

Snow on the mountains to my left, sunshine on my face, salt breeze in the air, the soft blue of the ocean down the hill… Days like this are why I originally fell in love with this place.

It brought back the impressions of sitting on my grandparent’s front door, hot coffee in the blue handmade mug that formed perfectly to my hand, warm toasted sourdough in the other, feeling the sun in my face after a long flight from a sub-zero Chicago night. It brought back reminders of jumping into icy glacier fed lakes, of crawling out of sleeping bags around the campfire on the beach to see the sun catch the air on fire. It brought back memories of home, and this world that is so full of beauty and joy and things that, if we just stop and look at them, will make us say “This is good!”

What’s good in your life today?

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion — put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Wendell Berry

Come and see

come and see

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined…”

There is a beauty in Isaiah’s words – but it is also dangerous. For when your eyes are used to darkness, the light can burn. And when darkness is what you have known, the light can be frightening, scalding, blinding.

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined…”

I read Frederick Buechner’s words – an essay he wrote called “Come and See” – and there is a terrifying, challenging beauty to the truth that he proclaims.

Listen.

“The prophecy of Isaiah is that into this darkness a great light will shine, and of course the proclamation of the gospel, especially the wild and joy-drunk proclamation of Christmas, is that into this darkness there has already shone a light to dazzle the world with its glory and its terror, for if there is a terror about the darkness because we cannot see, there is also a terror about light because we can see. There is a terror about light because much of what we see in the light about ourselves and our world we would rather not see, would rather not have be seen. The first thing that the angel said to the shepherds was, “Be not afraid,” and he said it with the glory of the Lord shining round about them there in the fields, because there was terror as well as splendor in the light of the glory of the Lord.”

This is the promise of Christmas – beyond the sparkles and laughter and magic and joy – that no matter how dark the days, no matter how dark our lives, the light has come – and when the light has come, we see things as they are. We see ourselves for who we really are – in our beauty and our brokenness, in our joys and our sorrows. All is revealed. And if I’m honest, I all too often run and hide (but maybe a little less these days). I hide from the light that reveals, that burns; but also clarifies, and shines, it purifies and it warms, and it lets us see this new thing that is breaking loose. What is it?

“As the Gospels picture it, all heaven broke loose.

The darkness was shattered like glass, and the glory flooded through with the light of a thousand suns. A new star blazed forth where there had never been a star before,  and the air was filled with the bright wings of angels, the night sky came alive with the glittering armies of God, and a great hymn of victory rose up from them – “Glory to God in the highest” – and strange kings arrived out of the East to lay kingly gifts at the feet of this even stranger and more kingly child. This is how, after all the weary centuries of waiting, the light is said finally to have come into the world…”

A shimmering light gleams in the darkness – a new light that was not there before – and somehow, the darkness is not strong enough to overcome this light – the beauty and fragility and promise that is one moment a glimmering flicker, and the next super-nova searing itself into the soul.

But what really happened? What did Joseph and Mary and the shepherds actually see? Was there something unexplainable, inexplicable, ineffable? Or was it just another night, like any other night – quiet, dark, lonely, cold? What was different about this child? Why was he special? Him alone, out of the billions born before and after? What was it about him?

“The birth of the child into the darkness of the world made possible not just a new way of understanding life but a new way of living life. Ever since the child was born, there have been people who have gotten drunk on him no less than they can get drunk on hard liquor… people who have been grasped by him, caught up into his life, who have found themselves in deep and private ways healed and transformed by their relationships with him… That in this child, in the man he grew up to be, there is the power of God to bring light into our darkness, to make us whole, to give a new kind of life to anybody who turns toward him in faith, even to such as you and me.”

And I see how this life has transformed countless people throughout the centuries: given people the power to forgive and end the cycle of violence and hatred, to redeem, to reconcile, to bring life and wholeness where there have been tears and sorrow – this is the beauty and the promise that the baby Jesus came to give.

It seems to good to be true. How can it be?

“How do we find out for ourselves whether in this child born so long ago there really is the power to give us a new kind of life in which both suffering and joy are immeasurably deepened, a new kind of life in which little by little we begin to be able to love even our friends, at moments maybe even our enemies, maybe at last even ourselves, even God?”

Buechner answers in beautiful, powerful, poetic language:

Adeste fidelis. That is the only answer I know for people who want to find out whether or not this is true. Come all ye faithful, and all ye who would like to be faithful if only you could, all ye who walk in darkness and hunger for light. Have faith enough, hope enough, despair enough, foolishness enough at least to draw near to see for yourselves…

As far as I know, there is only one way to find out whether that is true, and that is to try it. Pray for him and see if he comes, in ways that only you will recognize. He says to follow him, to walk as he did into the world’s darkness, to throw yourself away as he threw himself away for love of the dark world. And he says that if you follow him, you will end up on some kind of cross, but that beyond your cross and even on your cross you will find your heart’s desire, the peace that passes all understanding… Follow him and see. And if the going gets too tough, you can always back out. Maybe you can always back out.

Adeste fidelis. Come and behold him, born the king of angels. Speak to him or be silent before him. In whatever way seems right to you and at whatever time, come to him with your empty hands. The great promise is that to come to him who was born at Bethlehem is to find coming to birth within ourselves something stronger and braver, gladder and kinder and holier, than ever we knew before or than ever we could have known without him.”

May we come before him, behold him, and remember why it is that we can celebrate, what it is that we wait for, and what it means for our lives, our futures, and our loves.

This is why we sing “joy to the world.”

Merry Christmas.

Taco Fridays

When I was growing up, Fridays were “taco days.”  Friday morning, while we kids were in school, my mom and Hermelinda would make homemade flour tortillas, delicious guacamole, fresh salsa, and all the fixings.  It was there that I learned to pile on the toppings until my tortilla threatened to burst, and slowly learned to enjoy tomatoes and onions.  Tacos were my favorite food growing up, so Fridays were a little bit like Christmas for this missionary kid.

But it wasn’t just the food that made Taco Fridays special.  My parents practiced hospitality often – inviting others over, into our home, to stay, to celebrate, to laugh and worship and tell stories, to eat good food, and to enjoy each other’s company.  My parents practiced hospitality generously – with other missionary families, with our neighbors and friends from church, with the co-translators and their families, with orphaned boys who had been abandoned in the hospital, with fugitive terrorists from the Sendero Luminoso.  And my parents practiced hospitality in a way that drew us kids into the practice.

Everyone was allowed to invite one friend over each Friday.  So our family of six would often turn into 10-12 people around the lunch table – eating, laughing, enjoying table fellowship together.  And each of us, from my parents to the children, was a part of being hospitable – of opening our home to others, and sharing our lives together.  It was a beautiful, delicious, sacred experience.

As I remember Taco Fridays, I realize how all too often I’ve waited to practice hospitality.  I’ve waited until I’m no long alone, or until I’m settled into a place of my own, or until things are better, things are easier.  But lately, I’ve been challenged to ask how I can create those spaces for community to flourish – for Shabbat to enter my life and my home and my community – and am excited to intentionally begin putting into practice the lessons I’ve learned from Taco Friday.

Wanna come over tacos and stories and laughter?  I’d love to have you…

Alive

So I’m waiting in the restaurant area of a Flying J trucker’s stop.  The buzzing noise from the harsh fluorescent lighting competes with the sickly sweet ballads of love songs playing on the radio, the floor alternates sticky patches of spilled soda, brown slushy ice, and yellow “Slippery When Wet” signs to mark the areas that have been freshly mopped, while the smells of stale donuts, slowly roasting hot dogs, and burning french fries wrestle for dominance in my nostrils.  This is not the most beautiful place I have sat, yet the presence of God is here.

There is a beauty in colors and murals painted on the wall, the lyrics to the sappy love songs contain glimpses of transcendence, and the veil of the mundane that shields the faces of the cashiers working behind the register slips, showing glimpses of their true nature as the beloved daughters and sons of the King who created them in his image and loves them.  Beauty and glory are around, and gratitude and awe pour from my every pore.

I am so thankful for life – to be alive – to move, breathe, taste cool water on my lips, feel the soft warmth from my jacket, marvel at the chemical processes and electrical impulses that move my fingers on the keyboard, and seeing each and every moment as the precious gift that it is.  I am so thankful that words just don’t seem enough.

—–

The police officer who stopped on the side of the road and asked me what happened, shook his head, and told me I should buy a lottery ticket, because today was my lucky day.  Two hours ago, I was driving from Grand Rapids back to Rockford – my car full of practically every possession I own on this earth as I completed the move from Philadelphia back to Northern Illinois (for those of you whom this portion of the story catches you by surprise, just roll with it – I’ll explain more about that transition next time).

As I came around the corner on the highway going about 70 miles an hour, my phone rang – my eyes darted to see who it was, and when I glanced back up I saw the car ahead of me slam on the brakes.  I’m not sure what they were trying to avoid – I never saw it in any case.  I was able to swerve and miss hitting them, but as I cleared their car my tires hit a patch of ice and the car started fishtailing.  I was controlling the slide when the ice stopped, and my tires all of a sudden had traction again.  Unfortunately, they were no long pointing down the west bound lanes, but were at about a 45 degree angle to the road.  This managed to propel me across the lane of traffic to my left into the snow covered median, where I and my car were suddenly airborne and spinning.

I’m still not sure how many times we flipped as we bounced over the median: it could have only been once, or it could have been up to three or four.  Regardless, I managed to roll my way across the median, landed the car right-side up, then slid across three lanes of oncoming (eastbound) traffic before lightly coming to a stop on the guardrail at the far side of the highway.

I got out, shaken but otherwise completely unhurt, pulled my car completely onto the shoulder (it still runs, even though it is completely missing the back windshield – lost somewhere in the flipping and bouncing), and was greeted by an off-duty police officer who called it in.  Within a few minutes, I had three officers there who all expressed amazement  that I was unscathed (from the aforementioned “lottery ticket” comment to another officer exclaiming that my car should be in a Honda commercial for protecting me that well and coming out of it still running.)

The rest of the story is strangely anticlimactic – tow trucks, figuring out the logistics of getting the car looked at and deciding if it’s drivable, Abby driving down from Grand Rapids (over an hour) to pick me up, along with her mom (which made me tear up with gratitude when I heard it), to sitting in truck stop writing this.  My family is currently in Korea (except for Jon, who hasn’t picked up his phone yet), and the adrenaline is wearing off.  And above all, I needed to get it down and process my gratitude once more.  As he drove away, the police officer called me over and said, “Seriously, if I were you, I would buy a lottery ticket.  You are one lucky man.  I’m surprised that you’re still alive.  I’ve seen people MUCH worse off from much less serious accidents.  Count your blessings.”

So this is my attempt to stop and express my thanks.  Thanks to God for protection.  I am ok.  Thanks to people for picking up and driving 90 minutes each way to be with me.  Thanks, thanks, and more thanks.  Gratitude overflows.  Grace abounds.  And if you’re reading this, you too are alive.

Know I’m thankful for each of you – the family, the friends, those whose lives have touched mine and who have been touched by me.  So humbled.  And so, so, so thankful.

 

———-

 

A Post-Script – So I am under the impression that my car (Eustace) has been trying to kill me.  On Monday night, en route from Philadelphia to Upland, I spun out on a slushy, snow-covered highway in Ohio going 50 and did at least one full rotation (it might have been two – I’m a little hazy and all I really remember is spinning) before stopping on the side of the road, facing the direction I was originally headed.  A few days later, after clearing off almost an inch of ice frozen to the car, I was driving from Indiana up to Michigan when the last of the ice melted.  My hood flew open as I pulled onto the highway from a rest stop, cracking the windshield, bending the hood in a few places, and generally scaring me half to death.  I was able to pull off the highway, bend the hood back down, and keep driving the rest of the way.  And then today, this happened.  Seriously Eustace, what is your problem with me, and why is it that you’ve decided I should no longer be among the living?  I think I may preemptively get rid of you in order to avoid any further attempts on my life…

A Post-Post-Script – I hesitate to admit this on a public forum such as the internet, but I will confess to you that as I walked, watched, and waited by the side of the road for the tow-truck to come, the song that kept running through my head was Amy Grant’s “Angels watching over me…”  Check it out.  It is amazing.

A horrible error

So we got home on Sunday evening from our mountain adventure… Pretty tired out, but refreshed emotionally, spiritually, and relationally. We rented this house way back in the middle of no-where – felt like I was back in Peru on the road up to Shillia at times, except instead of having our old 4×4 lemon-yellow Toyota pickup truck, we were in itty-bitty-city cars, not meant to drive through mud, dirt roads, giant ruts, huge rocks, and dodging dogs, cows and horses…

The house we stayed at had all kinds of fun toys – ping-pong table, pool table, sauna (the old fashioned, wood-burning kind), fireplace, volley-ball court, soccer field, and even its own little man-made pond (maybe 4 feet deep at its deepest point) with a tiny island out in the middle of it. On the little island was a picnic table, with a small, rickety foot-bridge leading out to it. Within the first half hour we were there, Rich and I started exploring – looking at the game room, checking out the area, etc., and we ended up on the island. Right next to the island (maybe four feet away) was a large sand-bar looking thing. As we were exploring, why not jump out onto this little sandbar?

Bad idea.

It was a little bit chilly (being at about 4000 feet, a bit rainy, and the sun getting ready to go down) so I was wearing jeans and tennis shoes. The jumping part went fine – it was the landing that got a little bit messy. Unbeknownst to me, the aforementioned sand-bar was more of a “quicksand-bar”, with the unfortunate result that when my left foot landed on/in the sand, instead of supporting my weight and allowing for a smooth, graceful landing, my foot sunk almost a foot deep, and stopped moving. This resulted in all my forward momentum stopping, and being translated into a fast downward momentum. Thankfully, the quicksand/mud broke my fall. The next thing I knew, I was lying face first on the edge of the sandbar, my entire front covered in mud and sand, cold and wet and a little bit shocked. “This wasn’t supposed to happen quite like this…”

Rich, watching from the island, was laughing so hard he almost fell into the water… I was laughing so hard that I could barely stand up (only to begin sinking again). And then, as the laughter died down, I realized I was stuck. I tried stepping closer to the edge to jump back onto the island, but the edge of the sand bar started caving in, sucking me back under. Rich tried to help by throwing me a small plank. We realized that I could make a bridge, but it would quickly break. So, I tried placing it on the edge of the sandbar to spread my weight out while I prepared for a jump. Still, no dice. The sand was just too crumbly and quick-sand-y.

By this point, the rest of the group had gathered – some offered helpful advice (like pointing out where the water was shallowest, and that it didn’t look like there were too many snakes in the high reeds) while other helped by throwing fruit at me to motivate me to get off the sandbar quicker. I was finally able to get off by taking off my shoes, and running and jumping into a marshy area where the water only came up to my ankles…

And thus began the retreat…

I fought the law…

Flashback – Last Thursday night…

Scene – A lonely traveler, lonely-ly driving down a dark and lonesome road. He is all alone…

So it was about 6:30 in the evening. It was already dark in the chilly Indiana evening as I finished up my drive to visit friends and speak to students at Indiana Wesleyan University. I was only about half an hour away, deep in thought and listening to my music, when the flashing lights and sirens started right behind me. I pulled over quickly, glancing at my speedometer. Was I speeding? I didn’t think so… Thus ended 10 golden years of driving history – 10 years of never being pulled over – 10 years of glorious, perfect driving (except for the time I flipped a friend’s car… but I didn’t get a ticket for that…)

As the police officer approached the car, I rolled down the window and shielded my eyes from the harsh light.

“Good evening Officer…”

He asked for my license and registration – I couldn’t find the registration (it is my dad’s car) and ended up handing him my 18 year old brother’s expired driving permit. He was a bit confused by that until I dug out the insurance card and handed it off to him. A quick jaunt back to the car to “check it out,” while I waited in the car. I glanced over and saw Partner #2 walking along the side of the car with this really nice looking German Shepherd… I saw them, but I didn’t really notice them. After all, Partner #1 was going to come back in a few seconds and I’d be on the road again.

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to ask you to get out of the car. Our dog is a trained drug dog, and he smelled something. We’re going to have to search your car. Please step outside.”

I didn’t say anything, but in my mind, I’m thinking “What! You have to be kidding me!” But I play along with the law, and step out of the car, immediately breaking rule #1 and putting my hands in my pockets. (In my defense, it was pretty cold…) “Take you hands OUT of your pockets SIR!” “oops. sorry…” I mumble.

Partner #1 leads me behind the car, puts my hands behind my back, and proceeds to give me a VERY thorough frisking. I just wish he had warmer hands… He tells me “You don’t seem very surprised we pulled you over. You were expecting something like this, weren’t you…” (I’m thinking, “Do you want me to start shaking and crying? Break into nervous sweats? Run away? What else am I supposed to do?” I don’t say that though.) I shrug my shoulders and make a non-committal noise. He then stands next to me while Partner #2 proceeds to very slowly search the car.

Before Partner #2 begins, he turns to me and asks “You like to smoke a little now and then, don’t you? Are you sure you don’t have any drugs for personal use? Cause if you do, just tell me, and we’ll let you go…” Again, I’m not sure what my response is supposed to be. Do I confess? (“Oh yes, officer, here is all my drug paraphenalia. Let me go now please…”) How stupid would I need to be… So I tell Partner #2 “No, I don’t do drugs, I don’t have anything in the car, I don’t know what your dog smelled… Do you need me to open the trunk?”

“No, we’ll get to that later…”

Partner #2 continues searching the car, while Partner #1 stands next to me and observes. It’s a little awkward just standing there not saying anything, so I begin to make small talk with him. “How long you been with the force? Do you get a lot of drugs through here? How does the dog work? Do you like it? You from around here? (and so on and so forth…)” I felt odd, wanting to be curious and pass the time, but not wanting to ask too many questions that could be suspicious (“So how do you fool those drug dogs?”).

Partner #1 asked me where I was from, and I told him that I lived in Brazil. “Brazil Indiana?”

“No, Brazil South America.”

“Hmmm. You ever been to Columbia?”

“Nope. Well, not unless you count the one Christmas that I flew through there and had a six hour layover in the Bogota airport…”

“…”

After 20 minutes of looking, Partner #2 gives up, tells me I’m free to go, and they both walk back to the car. I shoot a grin at them… “Good luck…”

—–

It’s only after I leave that I start to wonder… Did the dog really smell something? I thought there could be some residue from one of my bags when it was in the favelas. But if that was the case (and marijuana smoke was able to cling to my shoulder bag for four weeks), and the dog really did smell that, then why did Partner #2 spend so much time looking through all my stuff? Why didn’t he just have the dog sniff around until he found what they needed? Was there really probably cause for them to search my car? Or did they just see a lone guy driving a non-descript car with Illinois plates through rural Indiana and decided to see what would happen… I really don’t know…

—–

I made it to IWU later on – not too late, and with a good story… all in all, it was totally worth it…