practicum begins

Well, it’s the end of my first full week in Rwamagana. It was sad to say goodbye to the rest of the GoEd crew. Ali and Kelli who were going to Kionza, and the others left in Kigali. I really enjoyed singing them a goodbye song before we left, and hugging everyone goodbye before we squished tightly into the matatu.

My practicum has been pretty good so far. Seven others from the GoEd team and I are staying at a guesthouse at the Avega compound—it’s a nice place, we all have our own rooms with our own bathrooms. The room service is pretty nice too. They take our dirty clothes and wash them and dry them, so by the time we return to our rooms at the end of the day our laundry is finished.

I’ve been working at the Center for Champions, a home/school for orphans and street children from Kigali. Most of the children are orphans that have been given a better life and opportunity here than they would in the streets. My official title in the practicum is “Communications Coordinator”, in charge of social media updates, marketing sponsorships, and making videos, updating pictures, et cetera. It’s been pretty good.

The first day we arrived was very busy, and overwhelming. The people who are at the Center for Champions practicums met with Melissa, one of the staff, when we got here. We toured the campus and spoke about the code of conduct, as well as what each of us would be doing. After the tour, we met a few of the boys that are here—friendly and funny fellows. This week has been a process of learning their names and getting to know them.

Patrick on the left, others playing ball in the background.

Melissa took us to the market for the first time so we could buy some water. We bought a few boxes and took bicycle taxis back to the compound. That was a unique experience, quite exciting! Carrying a huge box of water bottles on my leg as we breezed through the Rwandan countryside on dirt roads hemmed by banana patches and corn. I loved it.

This week our first major task was to put on a dental hygiene workshop for the catch-up students. The catch-up students are the ones that missed out on primary school earlier in life and are now taking six years of it in three years at the Center. Anyway, we were tasked with presenting good dental hygiene. I didn’t expect it to be so fun. We acted out a skit about what happens when you don’t brush your teeth. Afterward we gave the students their own toothbrushes and toothpaste and gave them an opportunity to practice what we taught them by brushing their teeth in class. I got some good video from that, and pictures too.

Mikaela wields the giant toothbrush we used in our skits. It was a lot of fun.

My first project will be to make a video that can be sent to Crest and Colgate and other dental hygiene companies for some sort of sponsorship. The goal is to get free materials by demonstrating the Center’s intention for excellent hygiene. Pretty cool. I worked on the footage all afternoon. Tomorrow and next week I’ll get some interviews to splice in and out and make a nice little short to send off. I’ve also been working on logos for the Center, and taking plenty of pictures to begin updating the Facebook page next week.

Overall, the work has been good, and I’m really glad I’m with the group I’m with. It’s been really nice to crash in my own room at the end of the night, as well as just hang out with the other seven people here.

There is a really nice one-stop shop up the road where they sell these fried things. They make my tummy feel really weird, but they are so good—they have meat and a hard-boiled egg inside a fried wrapper in the shape of a triangle. Ryan and I have been frequenting the one-stop shop for them. They are 50 cents, and amazing.  

There is a lot of physical activity here. Yesterday we played basketball for about two hours. After dinner we came back to the center for hip hop dance night. It was hilarious, and beautiful. It’s pretty much all guys at the Center, so walking into a room full of guys breakdancing, hip-hop dancing, and just having an awesome time listening to bangin’ tunes was so cool. I loved it. I got to dance again with Africans—this time my new friends. There are all kinds of age groups, and it was awesome to get down with little Idi and Claude, and also to break with Alexis.

Thanks for reading. I could share a lot of other stuff, but I’ll save those stories for when I get home. This experience has been positive thus far, but I want to make sure that it remains a productive time. It’s tempting to just play with the children, but I have to remember that I’m here to promote the Center in different ways, and not just benefit myself and the children by hanging out with them and playing with them. Yes, that’s so important. But I am convinced that my role here is more than just immediate love for these kids—I think that what I do for the center long term through marketing, advertising, media, or whatever else is what I’m ultimately here for.  

One last thing—the kids love it when I beatbox. They think it’s the coolest thing in the world. Leonard was rapping yesterday when I was beatboxing after the basketball game. 

This is Leonard. He's good at volleyball and rapping.

lake kivu and such

It's been quite a while. I apologize for not updating anything very much. I feel like no one reads this blog anyway, so I don't have much motivation to write here.

We left for Kibuye after lunch on Friday. The journey was quite incredible. As soon as we passed out of Kigali, the landscape changed drastically. The mountains jutted out of the ground, green behemoths with carved out levels, where farmers had landscaped to be able to farm at ridiculous angles on the hillside. The highway wound up and around through the banana tree scattered hillsides, corn patched slopes, red earth roadside. It was so beautiful! I loved the trip. I also listened to some metal for the first time in a little while, which I enjoyed.

We arrived at the Hotel Golf on Friday evening and spent the night there. In the morning our adventure began-- we set out on a rickety boat to hike up Napolean Island, a jutting, angular mountain island in the middle of Lake Kivu.

Mikaela is is really excited to go to the island.

When we arrived, it was a 16 minute climb to the top. A stupendous journey, and a spectacular view. I wished I could have stayed up there longer... I feel like we stayed up there long enough to snap a bunch of pictures and then head out!

Ryan on a rock. This gives you a sense of the steepness of this thing.

This was the highlight of my trip. After this big hike we boated around the lake and made it back to the hotel. After church on Sunday we headed home. I will upload more pictures of the hike on Facebook.

The first day of our research was yesterday. I went around Gasharu, a town inside a cell inside the Muhazi sector where Procom will be doing development work in the next 10 years. Patrick was our translator, a very kind, smooth voiced student from the Kigali Institute of Science and Technology. He wants to do IT work when he gets out in March. I really liked him and he was extremely helpful!

We walked around the town with the help of some other man who knew the area (I didn't get his name). The compounds were close together, with plant fences and mud houses. Some of the houses were better than others. Some of the houses were obviously built with mud bricks and had an exterior finish with a more solid, cement foundation, and other houses were sticks in the ground with mud plastered over them. The households we were able to interview had weathered Africans to greet us-- for the most part the wife or son came to greet us and speak with us, as the father was generally working somewhere. Each household offered us chairs to sit down on. We sat and began to ask questions.

Sitting in the front or back yards of small, rural African households was a unique experience, to say the least. There were generally African children frolicking and bantering behind and around us as we inquired about daily life, income, and food for these people. All with tattered, secondhand clothes dirtied with daily use, hanging off shoulders, several sizes too large. Neon, rubber sandals on most children, some barefoot and filthy footed. The people we spoke to were sometimes solemn, sometimes funny, sometimes shy, sometimes loud, sometimes talkative, always willing to answer our questions.

It was heartbreaking to hear from all nine of the households we spoke with today that the only water is an hour away by foot, and that water is not clean. Every one of the places boils their water before they drink it to decontaminate it. Some of the families made about 5,000 francs a month, or the equivalent of 8 dollars in 4 weeks. There was one mother of four that was widowed and when we asked her what her monthly income was, she answered that she had none. She grew what she needed to survive, traveled to the market about once a year, and the rest of the time just survived. It was eye-opening, and at the same time, expected. I hope and pray that in ten years when Procom goes back to measure the progress, that people will have better access to necessities than what they have today.

Today's interviewees had similar stories. One woman had no income and was getting about one meal a day, generally. She was a widow and her name was Mary Odeth Kayitesi, and she was quiet while we spoke with her in her home.

She spoke softly.

I felt horrible for her because she had received a cow as a part of the government's program to give every poor person a cow, but after the cow had born a calf, they took both back apparently. Left with nothing. Patrick couldn't figure out why, and we couldn't either, but it was sad to hear. I wished there was something more I could do for her, but there wasn't really. I just hope that Procom can indeed do something positive in the community.

Another person we interviewed was named Emerita Nyirabatunzi. She was also a widow, and HIV positive. 

She had one child in secondary school, and has to walk half an hour to the lake to get water, and then boil it because it is dirty. Her average monthly income is 1000 rwf. 

Research continues tomorrow. Practicum begins next week. I find out what I'll be doing tonight!

today tonight tomorrow

Classes are excellent. In my social context for development class, we've talked about different social institutions that are addressed and contribute to development. It's a lot of stuff that I've never even thought about before. I'm realizing through this class and the issues in peacekeeping class just how interconnected my desire to end genocide is with maintaining, growing, and changing societies... and how development is sort of a precursor to peace. I don't fully understand all of it, but all the objectives of Christian development, or basically moving a community forward by principles of the Kingdom of heaven, all point  to a place where hostility ends and reconciliation can be facilitated.

Today was a per diem day, which means GoED gives us a few thousand francs and we're allowed to get out and buy some food at a restaurant in Kigali. A group of us went out looking for Shokola, a place I found online, but ended up at Camilla's (I can't remember if that's what it was called), a Rwandan buffet. For the equivalent of about four dollars I loaded up a plate and gorged on delicious food out on the front porch, cars, taxis, motos, and buses driving by. Rwandans laughing, talking, and strolling up and down the street.

Tonight I went bowling with Kevin, Ryan, Jordon, and Nathan from Procom. It was a fun night. We went to the only bowling alley in Rwanda and bowled two games. The electricity went out for about half an hour between games.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to ride around Kigali and interview different pastors, priests, or whoever else from different churches in the city. Next Thursday I have a group presentation with Ally and Nicoya about the role of the Church in the genocide, and we're hoping to get some first hand knowledge or testimony. Who knows what the day holds!

memorials

Today we piled into another matatu and drove to two more genocide memorials just outside Kigali. It was after another delicious lunch that Aidah prepared for us, and after a short siesta we headed out. I've grown accustomed to the colorful chair selections in the matatus, as well as the comfortable feeling of the air moving by my face and arms as I am almost pushed out the window by lack of space. And it's always kind of funny the stuff on the back of van, and the variety of music played. Last time the van was a pimp wagon that said "Rick Ross" with giant picture of him on the back, and we bumped old school rap the whole time. This time our matatu taxi said "Nigga 1" on the back (I don't know what that means?) and we listened to inspirational ballads the whole time. The CD skipped a lot though. 

We drove to the first genocide memorial. As we approached the buildings where the memorial was held, our group held a sort of solemn silence. The guide came forward and told us a bit about the location--it was a Catholic church; one building a chapel, one building a sunday school room, and a couple other buildings as well. Upon entering the chapel, our guide told us that 5,000 Tutsis had been murdered there in two days. The chapel was full of clothes of the murdered. Shirts, pants, dresses, blankets, socks. The walls were adorned with the tattered clothing of those who'd been killed. On the back wall was a shelf with different levels. On each of the levels there were human skulls, some of them incomplete, some of them with more machete cuts than one, some with bullet holes. There were also femurs and other human bones from bodies from the killings there.

At the front of the chapel were a few coffins, probably only 12. Our guide told us that six on the left side were found last year, in 2011, in the area. It smelled like dust and decay in the room. 

The second building was where school children hid from the killers for some time, until the wall was blown open by grenades. It was another room where children had been killed. There were shelves where the books of students used to leave their books.

The last two buildings were the worst. One of them was a structure where there were burnt mattresses and clothing all over the floor. They had incapacitated victims and burned them on mattresses. I stepped on someone's underwear, and noticed a shoe. The last building was the Sunday school room. There were small pews made of concrete. On the wall was a spot where the killers had killed babies by smashing their heads against the brick. The mixture of blood, brain, and hair had left a stain on the wall that never was washed. The rest of the building looked fairly clean except for that dark spot on the wall.

The most intense part was when the tour concluded and our guide asked if we had any questions. Carly asked how he escaped… he described how he had stayed hidden in swamps and on the hill. She asked if he could tell his story, and in more detail he described the day his father was killed but by chance he made it away from the pursuing soldiers. We stood out there out in the breezy air by the planted gardens, gathered around this thin man telling his story. He concluded by saying that he had left out a lot, but that it was terrible. As we gathered into our van to leave, locals gathered around to look at the bunch of muzungus that had come to the memorial. And we left that place. 

We drove further down the road, and I couldn't really think of words for in the van. I felt kind of weird because some of the other people were talking and I just couldn't say anything. I just felt like crying. Here was a man who had his life traumatized and now has a job reliving the massacres for tours. And he was grateful to do it. He said himself that he is not pessimistic; what happened in the past is in the past and he does not mind talking about it. I couldn't help but think what a genuinely beautiful human could do that-- to not be consumed by rage, bitterness, and sorrow, and instead quietly, slowly, describe the horrors he experienced in hopes of teaching a new generation what happened. 

We arrived at the second memorial, another Catholic church. The group piled out and we visited the inside. Our guide described how the church had been a safe haven in initial killings in 1992, and thousands flocked during the 1994 killings, but instead were all slaughtered there. 10,000 people lost their lives in and around the church. The pews were stacked high with the clothes of victims. They looked ordinary, but were dusty, old, and decayed. I could see many colors, weaves, and designs on all the clothing. The interior of the church smelled like age and decay. A musty, dusty smell. There were bullet holes in the ceiling and holes from the shrapnel. They had thrown grenades into the church because the people were too tightly packed to kill with machetes. They had thrown the grenades first and gone in afterward with machetes to kill the survivors in the sanctuary. 

Behind the church were mass graves of 45,000 people killed in the genocide. We could actually go down inside… one of the graves was a narrow, tall hallway that held skulls and other bones on shelves. The underground hallway was narrow, and it was dark. The weight of a thousand lives was thick in the air. I saw so many skulls… it was so weird to be able to reach out and touch them. I didn't, but they were inches from me. Prematurely ended lives now lined up in front of me. The skulls were yellowish, and a few of them had obvious machete holes. After we had a chance to see the graves, a lady that had been cleaning the church came with us in the matatu to a different location, to tell her story. 

Pastor Anostase, our professor for Issues in Peacekeeping class, led us on this trip to the memorials, and had heard this woman's testimony before. We circled around her on a random back road and she spoke Kinyarwanda and told her story. Pastor Anostase translated. 

Her name was Sarafina. To hear her tell her story in her native language, hear her tell how her husband was killed, but she was for some reason spared with her children… it was gut wrenching. She wept when she told about her children and her staying in the overcrowded basement of a church for two months while people wept and died all around her. She and her children made it out alive. 

The most powerful part for me was to hear her say that she forgives them. She has forgiven the Hutus who killed her husband. It made me weep to hear her say that she now prays and worships with them. That is what hit me the hardest. Seeing this woman who has every reason to live in hatred, but has found the power to forgive and love in the gospel of Jesus. Pretty much everyone was in tears by the end of it. We were fairly silent on the return journey to the house. 

Learning and perceiving this genocide in different ways has opened my eyes to how dark, deep, and tense things still are. I am so encouraged to hear firsthand the reconciling power of God. But I am also very intimidated by the enormity of the horror of it all. After today and the last memorial we went to last week, I have become even more convinced I am called to prevent this tragedy from ever repeating. 

class

The past few days have been thoroughly enjoyable! We have taken a bus every day this week to the Procom office near the market. It feels pretty neat to say to the bus drivers "Gerera?" and hop on the bus if they answer yes. Often times we cram into the van and it's a short ride past the market at Kimironko. It is all sorts of shapes, colors, fruits, sounds, and smells when cruising down the street with motorcycles weaving around. I see people walking on the sidewalk on their phone, I see women sweeping the edge of the road, men walking their bikes with enormous baskets to the market, and even people selling pants and shirts on corners and curbs. Everywhere I've been in Kigali has been bustling with life and color-- the ride to class has been no exception.

One we get off at our stop at Gerera, we walk down a couple of streets to the house and sit in the room while Dr. Dwight Jackson (a former Greenville prof) teaches on development. He is obviously experienced and I feel very fortunate to be able to study with him-- he's spent almost half of his life in Africa, and knows what's up when talking about development. I've felt inspired and interested most of the time, especially today when we talked about "normative systems," and thinking also about economic systems and how they relate to development. It's over my head a bit, but I'm getting there. Neato.

My other class is held in the classroom at the Go Ed house, which is outside underneath a tin roof. It's the garage, turned classroom. I have very much enjoyed Pastor Anastose, who teaches the class about the genocide, peacekeeping, and reconciliation. It is difficult to think about what happened here, and difficult to process all that I read about and listen about. It's incredible to think that most of the people I see on the street have some deep connection with the events that have transpired here. Everyone on the bus, everyone on the street... most people witnessed the genocide, escaped it, or participated in it one way or the other. That is humbling and intimidating. I wish that I could convey what it's like a little bit better.

I really do enjoy my classes so far, and the food is astounding. Also, the weather is astounding too. Today was the first day when I decided to wear jeans instead of shorts with my T shirt because it was a bit chillier.

That's all for now. I'm going on a safari this weekend. Looking forward to posting some pictures!

exploring

Today we spent the day exploring Kigali after some of the group went to church. I accidentally slept in until 1230 when Ryan woke me up for lunch. I guess I really was tired! Anyway, after church, we had a bit of meeting around time and then we embarked on the highlight of the day, a scavenger hunt around Kigali.

Sam, Rae, and Mikaela traveled around with Sarah Mast (who I knew previously from in the US... weird) and saw a bunch of places as well as got to interact with some local people. We went to Kimeronko (spelling?), the market, and walked around for a bit. It was bustling with people selling everything from fruit to clothes to flour to cleaning supplies in stalls and under a large roof. It was delightful and I'm looking forward to going back and bartering with people. I want to see what kind of deals I can get on clothes, fruits, and gifts. And just learning how people buy things here differently.

It was excellent traveling in the matatus as well, buses/van things that cost between 100-250 franc to get around in Kigali and its outskirts. It was far more interesting, engaging, and sensual than traveling by car in America-- the sights, the sounds, the smells are all so unique. Everything is so much more colorful. Each person seems to have their own color scheme. I really like passing by all the many shops and market stores on the sides of the roads as well. The road that our driveway comes on to is peppered with everything from electronic stores to printing places to coffee shops to supermarkets. Or some combination of each.

We stopped at Aromas cafe for one of our scavenger stops and I met a worker, Muhamed, who I'd like to go back and talk to. Partly because he was one of the few friendly people I actually had significant interaction with, and partly because he spoke English. And also because he could serve me (hopefully) delicious coffee. I've heard it's good from that place.

We also waltzed around the center city, going in a few different shops and getting bearings for a few different things downtown. Afterward, we met up for dinner at Sole Luna, a pizza place near our house. It was yummy.

More soon. It's quite incredible... I hope to upload some pictures that I will take sometime soon.

from earlier today

Well, I made it this far. I'm sitting in the airport at Addis Ababa in Ethiopia after a 13 hour flight. I think I slept a little bit, but for the most part I was reading and writing. It is certainly becoming more real to me that I'm here… maybe not that I'm living here for the next four months, but certainly that I'm here. 

The trip over was good. It really didn't feel like I spent 13 hours in a plane. It felt like I spent maybe six or so. I read from the book Crazy Love by Francis Chan, and it certainly messed with my sense of purpose, my anticipation for the next few months, and is helping me to look seriously at the faith I profess. It really will be an interesting process of transformation. I can't wait to be embarking on this journey… I wrote in my journal how crazy it is that I'm already experiencing profound spiritual questions and inspiration, and I haven't even gotten off the plane yet. 

I am off the plane now though. Our flight to Kigali has been delayed so we're waiting in terminal 1, gate 10 of the airport. I have had some great conversations with the others in the group. I suspect they will be intriguing, engaging, and generally excellent people to live with. And fun too! 

It was truly amazing flying in. I spent last semester working on artwork based on landscapes in Sudan, and to see similar geographical framework coming down from thousands of feet up was inspiring. instead of looking at maps from google, I'm looking at the terrain itself. Instead of imaging the African air, I'm stepping off the plane and breathing deep! It felt good to be off that plane and basking in the sun in open air. 

Fun fact: people smoke in this airport, even though it says no smoking. I love it. I don't smoke, but I think it's funny that people are just like "whatevs man" and lighting up. 

That's all I have for now. I will post again when we've settled into the house after our flight to Kigali.  

packing

I just packed clothes into my yellow duffle bag. I cleared the memory card on my camera. I finished a CV draft. I said goodbye to some friends returning to school yesterday. I cleaned up my computer. I printed directions to the hotel. It's happening so soon.

I made this groove too:
 Groove by Arley Cornell

down time

I've been getting in the habit of emailing people in an attempt to acclimate to different mediums of communication. I think email will have to be my primary means communication during this next semester. I've also been reading a book called "we wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families" by Philip Gourevitch. By no means am I going to be prepared for everything I will perceive and experience next semester, but I feel like I have an inkling of a clue now. And I'm not even finished.

My days at home are so slow! I read, sleep, play Age of Empires, and watch shows with my family. And eat. Oh man, do we eat. There are some fine eatings here at home, especially when I think of the last semester at GC (not to dis the dining commons, but man... home cooked is far superior). Desserts on every countertop. Snacks in every cupboard. Refrigerator bountiful. It's hard with my college student mindset to resist eating all this free food!

I've also been working on some tunes while I've been home. I mentioned it in my last post but here is a link to my new project: Mansa Musa!

I felt restless today. Whenever I'm home, my thoughts don't proceed correctly--instead of a normal, linear progression of thought, my brain tends to scatter and rest on a variety of different things. It really is nothing personal about my family or whatever, but the quietness of this place, the seclusion, the isolation... it changes me. My mind isn't squeezed into its functioning corner. It can flutter about, rest, pick back up. It's nice! But at the same time, it's requiring me to change my patterns of thought. It really is a different structure at home. I suppose I should be thankful for the exercise in changing how I think. I'm about to experience a elemental change in thinking, I hope. If nothing else, I will soon be somewhere with a whole different structure than what I'm familiar with. And I can't wait.

ahh, here we go...

I need to get back into blogging if I'm going to be posting a blog every day or every so often while I'm in Rwanda. 

Let me start by saying that I am immensely excited to depart for Rwanda. I cant wait to meet all the people from go ed, students and staff. i cant wait to really get a feel for the program, academically, spiritually, culturally-- to dive into this thing wholeheartedly. I don't know the journey that I'm about to embark on, but i know it's going to be epic. I can already tell I'm going to look back on these words and say "wow, he never knew what was coming."

I think I still have a lot of preparation to do before I leave. I very much want to pour over this thing in prayer, devour the reading list they recommend, as well as seek out the heart of god in his word on a lot of different issues before I leave. 

My Christmas was excellent. It was just a beautiful day to relax, spend time with my family, and make some music absentmindedly. I've been working hard on a track to release and figure out what my limits are for when I'm in Africa as far as music goes… my metal jams have been spinning. Anyway, I went and saw the new Sherlock Holmes movie with the family, and it was good. My dad got me this mission impossible season from 1988 for Christmas, so we watched an episode of that too once we got back, accompanied by some chocolate panda paws and Christmas cookies. Mmmm. 

One of the things I am most looking forward to is being thrust into a foreign, completely different lifestyle than the one I have right now. The one I have now is pretty mundane-- I sleep, I eat, I read, I play my guitar, I see a few people… that's it essentially. When I get to Rwanda, not only will it be a vastly different cultural framework, but I will be cast back into a sense of academia that I've tingled for in recent days too. I'm also pumped about getting rid of my phone for a semester, only using it when it matters. And pumped to not be around the din of American consumerism constantly. But what am I saying? How can I possibly prepare or anticipate the growth, change, joy, and love that I am hopefully going to experience and understand? I can't, really. 

God is so good and beautiful. I have cherished him today and last week for how good he is to me and my family. 

Perlin Smoke

Transcribed from my journal this evening:

I write this outside my house on a quiet, cool summer evening. I am taking my time, because I have all the night. I write by candlelight because I want my thoughts and my writing experience to be real, raw, physical, organic. The cigar I am smoking tastes good in my mouth, feels right in my hands, and smells like tobacco that is rich but delicate. I want to share my thoughts of late. I will take my time this summer evening, a dull moonlight glow, a few of the boldest stars, and the murmur of the night critters.

My movie ticket cost me $7.50 tonight. My ice cream last night cost me $3.75. It might have been more, I don't remember. The intermittent, random bursts of green, quiet light from fireflies reminds me how of these things don't really register in my mind that well. I don't really need to remember how much things cost or where I'll obtain what I want next, because it never is really a concern. Just like right now, I don't really care about much other than sitting here, quietly, listening to the night, the crackle of the candle, and my own breath. But I've been thinking about that lately--I've never really counted the cost, because I've never really had a cost. I have made little to no sacrifice. With my money, but also with my time and heart. The cost to me has always been paid without much thought. I can't help but think about others when I think about that. I read recently that almost half the world lives on $2 or less per day. The cigar that I am smoking costs about $1.50. Garcia y Vega, imported from the D.R.. It is a beautiful thing. A treat for me, really. But some people don't have this luxury. Some people don't have enough food every day.

I shouldn't say "some" people. That makes it sound like just a few. 2.7 Billion people is not some. I can't say most, because it's not [technically] a majority. But think about that--almost half the of everyone won't ever even think about a luxury, a treat, like ice crea, or going to a theater, or enjoying a cigar, because they can't. What an amazing thought. That I am among the luxurious minority of people who can sit down, with no worry about my next meal, my only worry about how chilly my legs are, and write about my thoughts by pleasant candlelight. I live in privilege.

In my programming class last semester we covered a concept called Perlin noise. Perlin noise is a mathematical something used to express what you could call a "smooth random". Instead of just random integers, for example between 1 and 10, being expressed one after anohter in random order, Perlin noise, I don't know how or by what actual mathematical expression, creates randomness but flowing from the values before it. The result is values like 1,2,1,2,3,3,2,2,3,4,3,2,1,1,0,1,2,3,3,3,4,3,2,1,2,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,7,6,7,5,6,5,4,3,2,2,1 etc... instead of just random numbers thrown out there, they follow each other.

My life feels like Perlin noise sometimes. One random night with friends segways into the next, into the next, into a nice evening by myself, into rest, into something else. It's random, it's randomly chosen, but the events follow the last, like a never ending train, twisting and winding into some destination. The smoke from my cigar looks the same. Ceaseless grey pouring up and out and into whatever, the welcoming night sky. That's my life. On and on, money thrown here, fun thrown here, work and play and rest and cycle and whatever whirling up and out and down and around back to the beginning.

I wish I was more calculated. I wish everything I did was purposeful. It's not enough to have a decent moral code, then to dream about justice and dream about setting the world to rights. A dream is like smoke to me now. It's pleasant, but passes. I want my dreams to be plans. I want my lofty to desires to be my lifestyle. I'm tired of the smooth random.

I'm going to give away my clothes. I have a lot that I don't need. I'm going to let them be used for a better purpose. I'm going to stop throwing away my money. I've talked [about it] before, but if I get money, I'm going to save it or give it away. I don't think I've ever really experienced generosity. More than anything, I think I'd rather experience that right now. I don't want to piss away 4 and 5 dollars on my sensations. I want to [do] what is in my power to reduce the waste in my heart and habit.

I've never really experienced what I envision. I think I've really missed out. I think there's a whole bit of being a human that involves engaging others through utter self sacrifice and generosity. I've lived in total luxury for a few years. I really do want to sample real giving, real generosity. I pray that I can do so. I plan to start right now.

The cigars always get really strong near the end because there is less tobacco to filter the smoke. As time goes on, there is less filter [in] life and more beautiful, maybe a little more bitter experience, expression, and truth comes. I love Jesus more than I ever have.

This ends my journal entry. I think about the time I spent outdoors and wonder what's wrong with the world. I think about now, as I write this out, how wrong I really am, how deeply I need to be transformed.

late night poem

my fingers are pungent with the leafy aroma of tobacco
and the corroded metal of nickel wound six strings
my lips are dry with the ended sweetness of a browned cigar
and the dried perspiration from hours of flame
my abode is a catacomb; grounds of arabica scattered carefree
light is dim, earth is nearby. i taste it so sweetly and serenely.
perhaps only at this hour, when all but a few birds are resting completely.
my eyes at rest, my fingers at rest, my body at rest, my soul at rest.
my god is my rest, always. oh how in love with him i am.

This has been a reoccurring sentiment for some time.

The Conference - part 1

I knew would have to do this sometime. Today's the day! I'm going to document everything (or at least some for now) I received at the Faith and International Development Conference last weekend. All while sipping Maxwell House with a touch of CoffeeMate French Vanilla, and listening to some brutal, face-pummeling, hardcore. The band's name is Belie My Burial, you should look them up and buy their EP. My favorite song is "Paper Idol"; it has a sick video too. Their music is, for lack of more appropriate terms, destructive, inspiring, and beautiful. Yes.

Now to the conference. I loved it! I went in with only a few expectations, simply because I didn't know what to expect. I suppose what I expected most was to be inspired by what was said, to be informed about the state of the world, and to gain some understanding and direction for the path of my life. Thank my Jesus, all three were fulfilled.

The opening song would set the tone for the rest of the conference:

This is my father's world, oh let me never forget.

That though the wrong seems oft' so strong, God is the ruler yet.

This is my father's world, why should my heart be sad?

The Lord is King; let the heavens ring! God reigns, let the earth be glad!

After singing, the conference began with Ron Sider, author of Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger. He led our devotions by outlining God's care for the poor--he lifts them up. He has acted in history to lift them out of their condition, like in Exodus when Israel was lifted out of slavery. Sider noted that the poor and the oppressed are the only people that God singled out (see Luke 4, verses 16 through 20). He then moved on to discuss how God defending the poor and oppressed is just as important as God being the creator and the Almighty. He mentioned the classic verse, Matthew 25:40, where Jesus says "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." Those who oppress, oppress the Maker, and those who assist are giving to the Father. Sider voiced the fact that Jesus came to a poor peasant family, a seemingly insignificant way to enter into the world as our Savior; all the more evidence that God empathizes and is tremendously on the side of the poor in our world.

Sider moved on to say that God has acted in history to pull down the rich and powerful. James 5 provides a somber warning to the rich. The people who oppress their workers and gain by their oppression and neglecting will be judged. Sider quoted Jeremiah 5:27-28:

"Like cages full of birds, their houses are full of deceit; they have become rich and powerful and have grown fat and sleek. Their evil deeds have no limit; they do not plead the case of the fatherless to win it, they do not defend the rights of the poor. Should I not punish them for this?" Declares the Lord. "Should I not avenge myself on such a nation as this?"

Neglecting the poor and oppressed is equally as offensive as actively oppressing and exploiting. For instance, Lazarus of Luke 16 was neglected, not oppressed. The rich man who forgot Lazarus was punished like one who was actively involved in oppressing. This point hit me the hardest--as someone who is so capable of helping the poor, my neglecting to do so has been as terrible as someone who is in the business of exploiting and depriving through other means. I picture myself as some corporate CEO, paying workers in Mexico or China basically nothing so that my company can prosper, and I can drive home in a really nice car. Of course, I would never want to do that, but if I take what Luke 16 has to say seriously, that's exactly what I'm doing, but through different modes. Wow. That kicks me in the balls more than the song "Misery Architecture", Belie My Burial's song which is written in like drop B-flat and has about five or six different time signatures and about three different face-melting breakdowns. Nice allegory, huh?

Isaiah 58:

⁶ "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?

¹⁰ and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday."

The rest of the chapter is worth reading. If we claim to be God's people but don't care for the poor, we are not his people. It is God's intention for his people to care for the poor, as noted above. Our faith calls us to action (1 John 3:17-18). I wish that more emphasis was placed on the poor in our churches and communities; the same amount of emphasis found in the Bible.

For the next segment of my blog, I will be listening to Switchfoot, Hello Hurricane. I will stop drinking coffee. I will be missing chapel, but this is far more rewarding. I love Jesus!

There was a dude, pretty sure his name was Milton, or something Milton, who talked about world health, it's improvements and downfalls. He mentioned that many science and political dollars have been spent in the past towards world health. Things like PEPFAR, PMI, The Global Fund, The Gate's Foundation, and the Global Health Initiative have made significant progress against HIV/AIDS, malaria, TB, and malnutrition. However, the work is far from done. Milton had some sad statistics: 36% of all babies born in Bangladesh are low birth weight, 43% of under 5's are stunted because of malnutrition, and 48% of under 5's are underweight. This was just one example of malnutrition and deprivation in the world.

One of the most interesting portions of this presentation was his chart of behavioral determinants: Communities and Societies surround Organizations, which surrounds Social Networks, which surrounds Individuals. It was interesting to see in pictorial form how people are affected. This chart is something that I will remember in the future, simply because it is insightful as to how people are accessed and affected.

Milton showed a few charts; one of them was a chart of GNP, gross national product, with relation to life expectancy. It was surprising to see that life expectancy was very much the same down to a certain point, when GNP fell to terribly low numbers. Essentially, it is not necessary to have a high GNP in order to have equally high life expectancies in the world; the poor can live just as long, provided they have basic health care. The question that Milton posed was this: can the developing world get healthy before it gets wealthy? The missing pieces are you and me. Everyone is in some way responsible for health in the world.

I am always yours. ~Switchfoot, "Always".

One more part of the conference before I run to class. We watched the film Pray the Devil Back to Hell, an inspiring story about a woman in Liberia who rose up with other women to protest war and injustice there. She worked with both Muslims and Christians to end suffering. It was touching and powerful. The film addressed some of my deepest concerns about social justice and evangelism, as to how they work together or contradict each other. I've hesitated in the past to swallow up social justice issues, because it seems like a waste in comparison with the terror of hell--why do these issues matter, when eternal salvation is bigger. However, because of the film, I can now see that Christ won't reach anyone until bullets stop flying; Christ won't reach anyone because bullets don't pick and choose. If people are dying anyway, it would be wrong to reach their souls alone. I will not refuse people justice because they don't accept the truth.

Sing it out, sing out loud. I can't find the words to sing. You be my remedy, my song. I see you with what's left of me. ~Switchfoot, "Sing It Out".

More soon.

Some conference thoughts

Man, the conference was frickin sweet! In addition to stimulating my thoughts, there are a few things that I would like to change about my lifestyle. These are a few preliminary thoughts:

I would like to eat less food. I realize how many people have no food whatsoever to eat, and often the food they do eat is insufficient. I think about the meal that we ate collectively at the conference when we ate porridge that World Vision provides for people in malnourished areas of the world, and it opened my eyes; to taste what so many people consume every day, to know and experience for a moment in time the nothing that people have was powerful. When I think about that food, and consider the food I eat every day, I am saddened. I no longer want to consume as much as I do. Maybe it won’t make a tangible difference for them, but it will remind me how much I have, and remind me that I have so much more than so many. When I want to reach for more food that I don’t need, I will instead pray to the Lord for the people that couldn’t eat in the first place. God hears my prayers. He loves his people; whether they have food or not. Especially those with nothing: “Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of God.” So, I will eat only what I need. This is easier said than done, but right now I refuse to consume that which I do not need; it is so sad to think that I can eat whatever, whenever I want, when some would give up anything for a bite for one day.

Another thing that I want to change is how much water I use. Often, sometimes I use a crapload of water in the shower and for other random stuff that I don’t need. Again, it wont make much difference for people who don’t have water in this world, but it will continually remind me of the need in this world for water. It’s sad to think about how I can run the shower for minutes and minutes, and absolutely nothing will come of it, when people elsewhere travel miles everyday for water that isn’t even clean for drinking. So, I will remember the people in this world who suffer by lack of water. I can pray and God will act. He is faithful!

I’m not going to buy anything unless I really really need it. Maybe this seems prudish or snobby or stuck up or something, but think about how much money I’ll save, think about how much money won’t be wasted. I’ve already spent a lot of money this semester, some on books that I need, some on items that I kind of need, like a coffee maker so I can wake up in the morning for devotions and my morning classes, and some items that I don’t need at all. My point is that I don’t want to give money away to places that don’t really do anything positive for me or for anyone but themselves. It would be nice to not support companies that I don’t know how they treat their workers. It’ll save me money, and be morally safe, eh? Oh yeah.

Along with that, I want to steer clear of institutions that treat workers unfairly, perpetuate poverty, and oppress the poor further. I’m going to do some research on this, but I’m pretty dang sure that companies like American Eagle don’t pay their workers in Indonesia the same wages their store employees get. I’m pretty dang sure that the shirt I’m wearing was stitched and assembled and printed by someone or some people that didn’t get paid much more than $20 for their day. Maybe that’s being generous. Maybe they do get paid well. All I’m saying is that I’d rather know and make a decision based on that rather than buy whatever for too much and have that overly expensive item have been made by someone stuck in a cycle of abject poverty. It’s not my place to buy that shirt, especially if I don’t know who made it. It’ll be a lot easier if I just don’t buy stuff in the first place, eh? Yumsaboss.

Again, this is easier said than done. I just ate a handful of Swedish fish without thinking. I didn’t need those fish. Yeah they were tasty, chewy, and delicious. In the end, however, it’s likely just going to rot my teeth and make a little chubbier. As pleasant as it was to throw those little red suckers into my hungry, salivating mouth, I didn’t need them. It’ll be small choices like this, to just live better, to just treat my body better, to be a little more careful about who I support with my dollars. I encourage anyone who reads this to keep me accountable—this really is how I’d rather live my life, knowing that I am doing everything, absolutely everything, in my power to follow Jesus. Not just in my social and spiritual realms, but also in my physical, consumptive, and private ones too.

Living for Christ, because of this conference, has become more than an outward lifestyle, and is now far more of a holistic, balanced approach to taking up my cross. One of the most impacting things that I realized at this conference was that participation in sinful structures, socially unjust systems, and essentially evil establishments is just as sinful as committing devastating personal sins. In the west, it’s often stressed about how terrible things like murder, lust, covetousness, greed, and other sins are. However, I have never heard a word about social sin in church, when in fact, the Father despises it just as much. I wouldn’t support an adulterous marriage, so why would I support a company that exploits children workers or keeps workers suffering in poverty? I hope it doesn’t sound like I’ve gone off the deep end, but shouldn’t it be a little more offensive that structural evil affects many many more people than just myself and my personal sin? I think I need to be more mindful of that kind of thing.

I’ll write more about the conference soon, some other great things to think about.

Discomfort

This week during chapel a faith and international development conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan was presented during announcements--I really don’t remember it being all that informational of an announcement, but was intrigued nonetheless. At first I believed it would be another opportunity that I would pass up; usually the announcements during chapel I sort of set aside because I am busy enough with all the random stuff and events I go to outside of Greenville College events. For some reason I didn’t feel like passing this up though. In the process however, I had some discomfort.

I didn’t really want to go; as much as I want there to be justice, equality, and peace in this world, I questioned what going to a conference like this could legitimately do for me. I had and still do have a lot of schoolwork to do. It would be an inconvenience for me to have to do a bunch of projects, essays, and other miscellaneous assignments in the space of two days instead of a full week. To do so would break routine, to do so would take me away from my room, my roommate and friends, et cetera. I would be even more tired than I already am.

However, I looked at the possibilities and opportunities that the conference could present. “Faith and International Development”-- a couple of things that I care deeply about. My faith is who I am, and international development is something that I want to do with my life. I don’t really know what that means, but I’m concerned for the broken, condemned, and suffering. The conference was almost completely paid for by GCSA, so I would only have to pay $10 to go for a couple days. Meals included! So cheap! I decided that I would go. Why wouldn’t I if it was that cheap?

Before I decided for sure, I went through a period of moderate to severe discomfort. The indecision killed me. The not knowing what was right to do killed me. The internal struggle over what I really want to do with my life bubbled hot at the surface of my soul. I’m a digital media major… do DMers go to mission conferences? Do I really want to be a digital media major? Like I said before, the earthquake in Haiti shook my reality-- it’s no longer so cut and dry as to what I am capable of and where God wants me. All these thoughts were so prevalent before I just signed up and got it over with. Maybe it means that going to this conference is a turning point in my priorities. I can’t put my finger on really what God is doing with me right now. Whatever it is, I’m chill with it.

I think that God puts us in places of discomfort to mold us and shape us and to push us forward. Yes, it's really uncomfortable sometimes. Yes, being comfortable is more emotionally desirable at the time of discomfort. However, in the long run God knows that when we are forced to make decisions, when we are forced to do things for Him, when we must trust in Him and do what he is really calling us to do, it is far more beneficial, glorifying, as well as eternally and currently rewarding.

As I write this on the bus toward Grand Rapids, I trust that God will shape me and use me and form me through whatever happens. I want answers, and I trust God to provide them. More to come soon.

Winter break

It's time to reflect on what has happened over this winter break. I came home, saw my friends, saw my brother, saw my parents, saw my dog, experienced whole bunch of familiar sights, sounds, and smells (not so much smells, my olfactory sense has been uncooperative with the onslaught of allergies). I relaxed. I relaxed to the max. I was utterly satisfied with my existence, my plan for the future, and my faith. What an excellent place to be, right? I suppose it was good, but something has changed for me.

Let me back up a bit. The end of my senior year in high school and into the summer of 2009 I had such fantastic motivation--I was ready to make a difference in the world. I was so excited to have a new beginning in a foreign land (Greenville). It was a new place, a new start, a new opportunity to learn who I was supposed to become. Those days were filled with desire to change the world for the better. My focus was on God, and on the world, and how he wanted me to engage and change it for the better. There was so much I could do, and I was so ready to do it. I trusted wholeheartedly that Greenville could help me do these things.

When I arrived at Greenville, I was encouraged by Norm Hall's opening words: "We are world-changers." I was so pleased to hear that the leadership at Greenville desired similar things that I did. I started the semester with high hopes.

I don't think my hopes diminished, but I do think that I gained other interests. My social life, my academics, my entertainment, other things consumed my time and thought. As the semester went on, priorities were added. Priorities that made my original hopes shrink to make space for new ones. At the start of this winter break, I was a person who cared a little bit about a lot of stuff... and a lot of that stuff is not worth caring about.

Then an earthquake annihilated Haiti. The earthquake shook my reality. It made me question myself, my future, and my existence. It made me reflect and look ahead. I saw the fallacy of my worldly desires-- my wants like: new jeans, to be entertained, to engage in slothful activities, to eat restaurant food, to go shopping, to just have a good time. Maybe these are healthy desires, in their place. But when I saw thousands of Haitians trapped below concrete, and when I saw bodies lining the streets, I felt sick to my stomach. Not because I have a weak stomach and I can't stand to see suffering and people perishing, but because I realized what a bigger world there is around me-- the world that needs every bit of my resources, my time, and my energy, if it is to move away from injustice, poverty, suffering, and damnation. The world needs me. I don't need me. Jesus desires that I be in the world serving him. How could I make this life about me? How narrow! How short-sighted!

My confidence in the future is shaken-- I really don't know now what I'm going to do. I trust that the Lord will direct me. I'm thankful for his use of tragedy to mess with my mind. I loved last semester, I loved break, but I hope and pray to the Lord that this semester can be different. I'm more wary of my self now... I know how easy it is for me to fall into a superficial routine. This semester, I want to make conscious effort to think about the world, to pray about the world, and to remember how much bigger the world is, how infinitely larger the truth of Jesus Christ is than my life. Thank the Lord Jesus for caring about this life and using it for his kingdom; I will not let my worldly cares pollute his work in me and through me. I ask that he make himself my rest, and let no other thing take his place-- not my visions and plans for my future, not my entertainment, not my computer, not my passion, not my dorm room, not my bed. Jesus Christ alone be my constant. This semester is going to rock!

And there you have a couple late night reflections and visions.

Haiti

As everyone knows, a huge earthquake hit Haiti yesterday. When I looked at the images, heard the stories, read the blogs, my heart was broken. On the way to my high school, where I would watch the varsity girls play, I cried out to the Lord. It was the first time in a while that I wept tears of real desire, genuine wanting the Lord to rescue and help people who are in dire need, utter suffering. I begged God to help them, and to have his way with me, send me, keep me, use me, whatever. Today I've been praying a lot, fasting a bit, bringing my requests and broken heart before the Lord.

I want to help.

I was posed with a question though-- why does the tragedy of Haiti sadden me and offend me and frighten me and inspire me more than the thought of the tragedy of hell? I thought about how terrifying situations like these are. Hundreds and thousands of people utterly broken, with everything taken from them. I think about Darfur, about Haiti, about other places in the world with terrible injustices and wrongs. How awful. Then I think about hell. Hell is like the same thing, only it's forever. And worse. Believe me, I do not, in any way, want to minimize the size and importance of issues like these, but I have to wonder about my priorities. Even if I were able to "fix", heal, restore the people of Haiti back to health and the way it was, even if it were possible to end injustice in Sudan right now, even if I could give fair wages end the injustices in all the world, hell would still be there. Souls that are not redeemed by the blood of Jesus Christ would still suffer for all eternity.

I want to heal, restore, and redeem. I want people to live lives of joy. I think it's awful for Haiti. I'm utterly broken by it. But at the same time, I question whether going to rebuild and show love there is absolutely his desire for me. Yes, in the end, "the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me'" (Matthew 25). Yes, by doing so, I would be doing it unto Jesus Christ the Lord. Yet I don't know how effective it would be in saving souls for the kingdom of God.

Why does the thought of human suffering offend and motivate me more than the thought of eternal separation from Christ?

I hope I don't fluster and anger anybody, but I want to approach all things from a godly standpoint. I hope and pray to God that whatever I do, I do to save souls from damnation. I hope to God I don't confuse that idea with the idea of saving people from suffering in this life. Isn't it more glorifying to God to bring people into the saving knowledge of Christ than to bring them into comfort for the rest of their earthly life?

I will be praying and trusting that I will be able to reconcile my desire to help the suffering with my desire for their salvation. I think it's possible to fulfill both.