After months of struggling about whether to continue on the Race, I have decided to leave the mission field and return home.The decision was not easy and does not come without sacrifice.Some may see this as a cop out; a decision to quit when things got tough, but this is not the reason I have decided to leave.
I recently made a list of reasons why I went on the Race; goals that I realized were not and would not be fulfilled by the Race.While trying to uphold the proper respect for all involved, I will explain the changes in thought that brought about the decision to leave.
The Race turned out to be drastically different than what I had thought I signed up for.From the first day at training camp, I knew that I did not agree with the theology or practices of the World Race.I thought that I could maintain an open mind and tolerance for the organization’s beliefs, while holding my own opinions and beliefs.This turned out to be an optimistic, but unrealistic assertion.
After being forced to participate in such practices as “prophesying over others” as well as operating under what I see as spiritual mysticism and being told that I could not speak to my teammates about my disagreements about the organization while finding out that weekly reports were being given as to what I “was going through” and how I was feeling without my knowledge, I became very bitter and angry with the organization.An unhealthy mistrust grew which gave me more reason not to believe what I was being told.With this mistrust also came a rejection of the “authority given by God” to those making the decisions for me.While outwardly denying any set theology or denominational ties, I understood the organization to work under a set system within a strict theological doctrine that I do not agree with.This being understood, I knew I could not continue within this system, as it put a serious damper on my faith and trust of people.
Along with this acknowledgment, I also had to be honest with myself.Since my freshman year in high school, I have wrestled with doubts and questions that have lead me down a dark road of depression and existential defeat.For the past 3 years I have been lying to myself and others; claiming to have found peace in the tenets of Christianity while deep down knowing that the answers given do not squelch the burning pursuit of truth.Honesty is the first step towards reality, and in order to dispel the illusion I had set for myself, I had to give in to the fact that I have not found what I am searching for and would not find it under the confines of the Race.In servitude to the Truth and God, I decided to give up the chance to see the world; the chance to meet amazing people and experience cultures, in order to follow where I felt God leading me.
These are two of the three main reasons for my departure.The third comes in the everyday life on the Race.I signed up and ventured out in the world in order to serve people; to love in the way that Christ loved by actions outstripping mere words.This turned out to be a misrepresentation.The vast majority of “work” done on the Race is strictly evangelical.This means door-to-door preaching without first getting to know the people or what they believed or felt.To me, this is disrespectful and arrogant.It in no way expresses the love and understanding that I thought I would be expressing on the Race; instead expressing an imperialistic mindset where saving souls outweighs loving others.
This does not in the least explain all the reasons for my departure and if you have any further questions for me, I am happy to answer.
Thank you for all your support, and I apologize for being unable to fulfill my commitment.
I’ll leave you with a Bible verse that I feel is very applicable in my scenario:
“And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell.”
They line up in a circle. There are 7 of them, all facing towards the center. Their eyes are closed and mouthes moving on their own accord, but never forming words. Without pretense, one starts speaking aloud. "The sky is blue. Grass is green. Animals move and trees stay in place. Water is wet and can make things wet. When I am happy it is good. When I am sad, I am not happy...." When one finishes, another starts, and the utterances continue in this manner around the circle.
The seven do not notice a small boy on the outskirts of the circle. He faces away from them and wanders with his eyes moving in every direction. He is the eighth. This boy does not speak. He does not flap his mouth. The boy walks, farther and farther from the group. He hears the crunch of the grass beneath his feet with each step. Feels the wind hug him. Sees what the sun shows to him. With each sensation, the boy's mind is unable to form words for what it feels. The boy is no longer walking, but running. Without knowing why, he is smiling and laughing, running without purpose or direction. He does not realize, but he crosses a hill and leaves eyesight of the circle.
Eyes snap open. Utterings cease. 7 heads turn in the direction the boy has followed.
The boy runs along the side of a cornfield - hand outstreached touching each stalk as he passes. He turns the corner and stops. Blocking his sight of the field are the seven, standing in a line. One steps forward. "Why do you not join us? Do you not believe? Do you not wish to connect with the One? What are you doing?"
The boy is frightened. He will not meet the eyes of the seven. His lips begin to move, uttering wordlessly. His eyelids begin to fall. Just before they close, they notice something on his hand. A butterfly. His lips stop. His eyes spring open. No longer afraid, he defiantly returns the gazes of the seven and whispers,
Yesterday we went to our first gypsy village here in Romania. The long walk to the village - some 5 km away (possible exageration, I still have yet to master the metric system) from where we started ended in a .5 km climb straight up a long steep road lined with gypsy homes. The stretch passed gypsy men women and children sitting outside, trying to escape the baking sun in the shade. Some children were washing in the neighborhood faucet (some completely naked - a sight that's become common when entering gypsy villages) others ran up to us yelling "goodbye" which they understood to mean our greetings and held hands with the women of our group. We finally made it to the peak where a playground that had seen better days was waiting for us. The objective of the day was to play with the kids at the playground. The team knew we would be doing this, so we rehearsed skits and planned to play some games that seemed successful in the past gypsy villages we visited. But this gypsy village was not anything like we'd experienced before...
As we tried our first game, I noticed a group of young boys off a little ways watching us in a huddled group. They were probably 6-10 years old and to my surprise were all taking pulls from a bottle of beer. After they polished off one bottle, another appeared and they left us drinking heartily. The games only interested about 5 children so we decided the "hokey kokey" might fair better. The boy who stood next to me had to put his fake cigarette away - which he had been "smoking" (quite realistically) since we got there - in order to hold my hand.
Eventually we abandoned all our planned structured activities and took to playing with the children. Throughout the next two hours, we witnessed several fights in which the boys and girls would hit and kick each other with full force. For no reason whatsoever 3 boys around 7 years old ganged up on a little girl of the same age. They started kicking her wherever they could make contact; one boy's foot connected with her eye after which she collapsed bawling. If we hadn't have stepped in, they would have continued their attacks. Even with an adult present to comfort the girl, the boys would still run up and hit her in the back until I stood in a foot away from the girl to ward off any others. At another point I had to pull a boy off of another, holding the crying boy down and hitting him.
The time we spent there continued in the collision of two worlds - the world of joyful children running around and playing on the swings to the world of screaming violent monsters drinking and beating each other. The change would come as if someone flipped a switch on the back of the kids' heads. Until now I have merely described what I saw - completely unbiased depictions of what I observed. Now that you all have a vague picture of what i saw, I can add my thoughts to the situation.
Shortly after I witnessed the first fight and consumption I withdrew socially from everything around me. I stood, almost unable to will myself to move, just soaking in reflection. I jumped on a rollercoaster of emotional thoughts. As I watched a little girl naked from the waist down running around with a smile of pure joy on her face, I got angry. The innocence depicted by that little girl - so innocent that she wasn't ashamed of her nakedness - symbolized the natural state of those kids. A state stollen from them. The innocence and joy quickly being stripped off their tiny bodies. The vultures of the world don't give them a chance to find the life flowing through their veins. They rip and tear every inch of flesh they find - leaving walking death where a child once stood. As they grow, they find themselves unable to move in the way they were made to. Without the muscles and skin, they crawl around the floor clutching at anything they can raise themselves even an inch off the floor with. Sooner or later, they find themselves hovering over fresh victims who's skin they can feast off.
So goes the cycle of humanity. Those kids aren't naturally violent. They learn it. The pastor told me that they act in such a way as they see at home - where parents scream and fight, get drunk, smoke, and abuse them. A child is a blank slate and if the only mark you make upon them are deep scratches, it is the only mark they make upon others. This cycle will continue until someone stops the hand that scrathes and gives it a brush.
I doubt i will ever enter that village again, but I pray that one day, a new generation will see a different way. That they will drop the nails they scratch with and start to paint on each other instead.
Rereading this blog, it appears to me unfinished. But thats how I feel, so I will leave you with the song i am listening to as I write this
I've been having a pretty rough time lately. To update y'all, my team and I are now in Targu Mures, Romania - a beautiful college town in the rolling hills of the country. I can tell you that this blog has been culminating for the past month, just waiting for me to finally hammer it out on a computer. Bluntly, my main problem is that I feel like a salesman on this trip.
I've already written my sentiments about door to door evangelizing, and this blog will serve as a sort of part 2 to that one. The whole goal of this mission trip is to share God's love with His children who haven't heard about it. I feel as though it is not love that I am sharing, but a doctrine. A religion. Whenever we approach someone on the street (cringe) I see point blank the foot in the door method used my so many salesman. "Hi, whats your name? How are you doing today? Do you know who Jesus is?" We start off with a vague/fake interest in who the person is and how they have come to the place in life that they are - just to set the precident that we care about them. And not even 5 minutes into meeting them, send them the sales pitch. To me this conveys the message, "I don't care so much about you as a person or what you think or believe. I just want your soul."
That may sound harsh and many may argue with me - "but we honestly do care about these people! Thats why we're sharing the good news with them so that they can be joyful in God!". Sorry nay-sayers, but I don't think thats how Jesus went about things. You never read a story when Jesus walks up to someone who is downtrodden and says, "buck up champ, I'm here to save you" then walk away. Jesus was all about relationship. God could have went about salvation in a ton of other ways without having to come down to earth and get his feet dirty. But by coming down and entering into creation, He was conveying his want for a relationship. The day Jesus was born, God made things personal. It was no longer about sins and sacrifices. No longer about keeping a set of laws. It was about a face to face interaction with God. I believe that the old testament tells the story of what redemption costs - but when Jesus came onto the scene, theres no longer a need to look at the check book. All of this was done through relationship.
JC could have come down, died, rose and peaced out - right back to the clouds within 15 minutes, but he instead spent most of his life hanging out with people. Just chilling with them - being a friend and teacher. He didn't run around looking for people to chill with - people were drawn to him. They heard tell of this man and wanted to come hang out with him.
Thats the problem with christianity today. Its all still a relligion, when the reason for Christ was to take out religion all together. I'll be honest and say i find church, for the most part, completely dull, monotonous, and draining. There is no way God intended for us to cram into a room for 2 hours to be put to sleep by the story He's been telling over the time of our existence. This is the living, breathing God of creation. He is the God of waterfalls. He is the God of supernovas. He is the God of hurricanes. He is the God of the spring wind. This God didn't create us to sit in a room and listen to one man read from a book. He is the God who wants to engage every part of who you are when you worship. To do any differently would be dishonoring to God.
And to spread God's love without relationship would completely underride the reason of Jesus. If we do not take the time to get to know the people we are suppose to be sharing God's love with, then we might as well not even try. We must earn the right to speak, not demand it. If a total stranger came up to you and asked you to change the way you lived your life, you would think them a nutcase and hopefully be offended. But if a friend did so, you would be more likely to listen to what they have to say.
I have many issues with the idea that God left this message of salvation in our hands, but one way to cope with it is to look at the Kingdom as a family reunion. If God is all about relationship and wants His Kingdom on earth, then it is only the deep everlasting connections we make on this earth that will bring about that society of love. If we are more focused on making another believer than a brother, we will never be a family of Christ.
Its not about what we have to say about JC. Its about what we have to show about Him. Even if the friends we make never understand Jesus, at least we can share love in the way it was meant to be shared - not through words, but interactions. Love is not a message. It is a way of life. Lets start acting like it.
I just realized I have never explained what exactly we are doing here in Bulgaria. Well, now is the time.
We arrived here July 16th by two long train rides from Romania followed by a ride across the river on a cargo ferry taking us the the shores of Bulgaria. After an exhausting day of travel with 80 lbs of gear (50 for most, but I - rather mother - like to pack heavy) we finally set all our stuff down and waited under a sketchy street light right outside the ferry customs. A station wagon speed to a stop (stopping all of our hearts as well) as a long haird man with a beard stepped out and asked, "Jill?". To our relief it was our contact here in Vidin, Bulgaria.
We loaded our gear into two station wagons and drove 10 minutes before getting to the apartment where we were to stay. We slept and woke the next morning to go to church - a joint service with another chruch in Vidin because their pastor was gone.
In summary, this is how the past couple of weeks have looked for our ministry:
Week 1
In the a.m. we meet with members of the church - encouraging them in faith, sharing stories, and praying for them. At noon we meet with pastor Yavor for briefing, then in the afternoon went to villages surrounding Vidin to evangelize and visit orphanages.
Day 1: Marianka and her mother run a small bookshop in a run down shopping strip. They are having a hard time financially with it and think about shutting it down. They sell childrens games, books, and Christian kid's books. We saw Max Lucado and Franklin books in Bulgarian. Marianka has a daughter with newborn baby. The daughter is 19 and newly married.
In the afternoon we went to a local village - Torlachne. Our team split up in the small village that resembled more of a scrap yard than neighborhood. This is where I meet my old grandpa-like atheist artist friend. We talked to him for 2-3 hours where he shared his views on Nature being divine, his dream to visit Multa where his daughter lives, drawings of his children, grandchildren, father (the greatest man who ever lived in his words), various Bulgarian politicians, artists, poets, and of course famous communist leaders. He also showed us the book he'd written about the history of Vidin. The man had a sarcastic and cynical sense of humor. Needless to say, I loved it. After we came across a family of believers who lived in an open concrete shell (it had no glass windows or doors, just openings in the walls). The family was not doing well - unemployed. Everyone seemed to be unclean and flies swarmed around the house. We prayed for prosperity and health over the house.
Day 2: Silvia and Valeri live in a well furnished apartment with their 3 kids. During our visit Silvia told us how its been financially hard due to her husband being recently unemployed. The family has a turtle that has no name.
After briefing, Pastor Yavor took us around the city showing us all the sights as well as a little of its history. Bulgaria used to be under Soviet authority until the end of the 1980's. The atmosphere of post communistic Bulgaria hasn't changed much - the learned helplessness persists in the city. We ended the day with a potluck dinner from the church. Bulgarians know how to cook.
Day 3: Madlen is a single educated middle age woman who had a hard time chasing a career after becoming a believer. Recently she's been at home taking care of her very ill and dieing mother. Its been very hard on her - especially since her mother has been so sick for so long - she could pass away any day. We had a breakfast with Madlen in a park (some sort of egg pastry with delicious cheesy bread) where she asked us all about our dreams. She took a deep interest in us and from then on started coming to briefings just to be with us.
We loaded into a car and drove to a nearby village (Bekovets). It was a gypsy village that seemed out in the country - horse and buggy outnumbered cars on the street and goats are tied to trees near the street. We stopped and prayed over two old women sitting on a bench. Pastor Yavor was very persistant on salvation for one of the women. We then walked down the street and stopped at a house with an old couple living with their 2 grown daughters. They invited us to sit inside their fence - which served as a patio as well as kitchen (they were making bean soup). Here is where we learned how believers witness to gypsies - they are very blunt and seemingly forceful. This is what we witnessed as Pastor Yavor had a lively conversation with the old man about what he thought of Jesus. The reason, Pastor Yavor explained later, was that the gypsy people get caught up in a "poverty mindset" that puts them in an alternate reality. The reason for the abruptness is to make the gypsies face reality - get them out of their egocentric defeatist mindset.
marieta, kalin, poli - prego, mimi john - kid disabled orphanage free will talk
Day 4 - The morning was spent having coffee and cookies (with the always present Bulgarian coke) at the villa (I call it a villa because it was a beautiful hidden harden complete with grape vine shade) behind a fence off a busy street in Vidin. The villa belonged to Marieta who told us the story of how when she and her husband were younger and having a hard time finding a place to live, the villa was gifted to them by the old woman they were looking after (upon her death). Since then she has been living there with her two daughters - Rosie and Poli. Poli and her husband Kalin have a 5 year old son, John, and are expecting another very soon. Kalin plays a mean guitar in the church band (and looks the part with darkly shaded glasses, a bald head and a long gotee). We ate some deliciously home grown apples to compliment the coffe/coke as we spoke about why we came on the race.
In the afternoon we visited the disabled orphanage for the first time. This was the first time I had ever experienced mentally disabled children at such a low functioning level. There is another blog coming about my experience, but to sum up, the children are not in very good shape - they are not bathed as frequently as they should be and are not operating at the functionability like they could - all products of the staff who needs to be updated on education of special needs children (this is the opinion of my sister Kelly who is trained and has much experience in working with people with special needs).
Day 5
We walked quite a ways to the top level apartment of Tetska - Acho's mother. The first thing we noticed when entering her victorianistic living room were the two life size dolls each sitting in their own chairs. Tetska took a liking to Blake right away - telling him how adorable and cute he was. Several times during the conversation, she called Blake "little chicken" (a term of endearment in Bulgaria) and "sunshine". Tetska shared with us her tragic love story and how her first marriage ended. She still suffers from her first born daughter's passing.
After lunch, the team followed Pastor Yavor as we walked to an orphanage called Mother Child Orphanage for little tikes. We had an absolute blast playing with a parachute as Pastor Yavor played "Da Da Da" in the background. At one point, the little ones over ran me and tore the leg off of a poor bird puppet. I left with a tug on the ole heart knowing these kids didn't have families.
Day 6 - Sabbath. Pretty uneventful and lazy day. Blake and I went with Bisser (still not sure exactly how to say his name) to swim in the lake. It was disgusting. Floating nasty stuff everywhere. But it was an experience nonetheless.
I gave the sermon at the church here in Vidin last sunday. The church is relatively small - it consists of about 15-20 people on a good day. The services are held in the youth club which is like the headquarters of all of our ministry this month. The night before I had skyped my dad and brother. It had been 3 weeks since I'd seen my dad (the last time being in the airport as I left). Seeing my family keeps me alive. I know its only been a month, but everytime I get an opportunity to talk to them - hear their voice and if possible see their faces - it renews my strength. I'm not just saying this as a cliche. When I see them, it relaxes me and gives me energy. After hanging up with them, I feel like nothing in the world is wrong. That everything's going to be alright.
That is what I spoke about on Sunday. Family. I told the church about my family - showing them pictures and telling them a little bit about each person - including my "brown brother" and "devil dog". The truth of the matter is, they are thousands of miles away. But I have found a Bulgarian family that comforts me when they are unable to. I'd like to share a little with you about my Bulgarian brethren.
Pastor Yavor Kostov
Pastor Yavor is not the typical pastor. He has long untidy hair and a hoop earing - giving the impression more of a pirate than a pastor. Pastor Yavor always speaks what is on his mind. He will not shy away from telling you he wholeheartedly disagrees, but he does it in an almost childlike non threatening way. There is a peace about him which I cannot really find words to describe. When you are in the process of asking a question or making a statement, he often says "Yeah, yeah, yeah" after you finish to show he understood while slightly chuckling, and then giving his response. He is a very easy going man and doesn't concern or worry himself about strict time. We get together every day around 12 for "briefing" which is basically a time for us to discuss anything thats on our mind and pray. Pastor Yavor has a distince way in which he guides where he'd like the conversation to go - for instance, after a long awkward silence (there are many of them during these briefings) he will exclaim, "Is there anything you would like to say?" or "Is there anything God would like you to share today?" or "Would you like to now pray?".
Pastor Yavor is a very passionate man. He wages war against hypocrisy and "phonies" - often when we visit gypsy churches, he sternly tells the crowd to stop their "hallelujahs" and "Amiiins" to quiet their hearts and just listen in peace. The guitar serves as his instrument of worship (worship is a very crucial aspect of the church here - many times Yavor will translate American worship songs and have the congregation sing along during service). You can truly see the passion for worship and connecting with God through music while he plays.
Overall, Pastor Yavor represents the balance between being stern and responsible in love with being compassionate and caring. This plays out rather odd at times - such as when he evangelizes to gypsys and brings up the alternative of hell (a very "scare tactic" approach in my opinion, but as hes explained, the gypsy culture is in an alternate reality where every once in a while they need a kick in the butt to bring them back to the consequences of their actions). But through it all, you can see and feel the love of the message that he wholeheartedly believes in.
Sarah
Sarah just recently turned 16 years old. She serves as our main interpreter - with the best grasp on the English language out of any of our contacts here. Sarah is a very sweet and fun loving young woman. She is strong and independent - holding and sharing her opinions with excitement (she and her brother HATE Justin Bieber - this is one view of hers I refuse to respect). Sarah has been persecuted in school because of her beliefs. Because her church is not Orthodox and does will not register with the government, her classmates think she is strange and keep their distance.
Sarah wishes to be a missionary someday. A group of Welsh missionaries come to Vidin every year and after 2 weeks here, she left to visit them. Sarah exhibits a maturity well beyond her years. She doesn't concern herself much with what other teens get caught up in. Instead she focuses on her faith and bringing hope to others. Sarah has been such a wonderful help and is a true example of a daughter of God.
Phillip "Fiff"
Phillip is 12 years old. He loves playing video games - Xbox when his cousins are in Bulgaria and computer games in solitude. He is an avid futbol fan - Liverpool being his favorite team. He constantly is telling me about all his favorite players and which teams are better than others and showing me his favorite matches on YouTube.
Phillip loves America. Its his favorite country. He asks many questions about arbitrary things in America - such as "Do you know, in America, you can buy a Coke for $1 and keep refilling it?". Anything American puts a light in his eyes. We bond over movies and video games (for his age, hes seen an awful lot of my favorite action movies - Braveheart is his favorite). Coke is his favorite drink followed closely by 3-in-1, an instant coffee drink made by Nestle.
"Fiff" is the nickname his family gave him which i have adopted calling him. We play Ninja a lot and just talk about futbol, video games, and the Discovery Channel - another of his favorite things is Bear Grills. He's seen almost every episode and can quote Grills like a true fanboy. One day, we went to the "Grand Canyon" of Bulgaria where we adventured through the rocks in true Bear Grills fashion. Fiff also loves to fish - as do most Bulgarians. He wishes someday to catch a "shark" from the black sea and send me one of its teeth. When telling me about the best Bulgarian foods, Fiff calls things "very nice" if he likes them. Fiff, unlike the rest of the team, enjoys the Tripe Soup and ate the rest of ours with his father. His favorite dish is "bean soup" which I agree is very tasty.
After Sarah left, Fiff became a very valuable translator. He is very good at English - especially for his age. He gets frustrated sometimes when talking to me and being unable to know the word in English he wants to say. Often he turns to his father and says "Kokti blah blah blah" which means "how do you say" in English.
This is the core of the Bulgarian family I've found here. I will Post an extended family Blog at a later time, but as we speak, it is time for Briefing. Ciao!
My father requested an upped quota for blogs, so here comes a bunch.
Missing Pictures
I love my camera. Absolutely love it. Thank you dad for supporting me and helping me buy it. It has been the thing (material that is) that has brought me the most joy on the trip so far. A true photographer is merely an unseen eye; an observer of time and space around them. Without sounding too artsy, taking pictures is an aquired skill - one that I am slowly learning. Its not just pressing a button - it is synchronizing yourself with the world around you. The balance of living in the moment while simultaneously acting as if you are independent of the time in order to capture the split moment in existence that would otherwise vanish or retain itself in memory.
Rant aside, I find myself getting attached to the pictures and video I'm taking. This is unfortunate - especially when one loses 233 pictures from a gypsy village that cannot be relived. Intro story:
Acho is a large Hungarian man that runs a small cell phone shop out of the bottom of the youth center (where church is held and ministry is run out of). Acho, like myself, has an affinity for the art of photography. He and I are always taking pictures at the same time during the same events. We even go so far as to play a little game of "Enemy at the Gates" (if you don't get that reference, I highly suggest going to the nearest video rental store and requesting a copy) in which we stalk each other and try to capture the other in the process of taking a picture. Anyway. The day after we get back from a day trip to a gypsy village, I gesture to him through charades that I have new pictures (communicating without words is also a learned art). As I'm putting the chip into my computer to download my pictures, he pulls me away and down to his computer in his shop where he takes my chip and tries to load the pictures onto his computer. What happened from there is a foggy memory that runs in slow mo when I recall it. The pictures started to download, but a few minutes in, an error message flashes saying that the the photo chip has no pictures on it. I had no idea what had happened and neither had Acho. As he tried and tried to locate any of the pictures on the chip, I sat quiet with a wide range of emotions taking turns with my attitude. First I was mad at Acho - stupid man! I never should have trusted him with my chip! He didn't know what he was doing! Then the anger turned onto myself. Stupid Steve! Why had I not listened to myself and just downloaded my pictures onto my own computer?! It was my fault for giving it to Acho in the first place! I should have known better. After ten minutes of trying to recover the pictures, Acho turned to me and said in his limited English, "Sorry". Still fighting the inner emotions, I gave a weak "Its OK" and went upstairs as he tried some more.
I went to the small kitchen in the back of the youth center and closed the door for some alone time. I sat there thinking about my lose and feeling frustration and heartbreak for a good hour. Now, this may seem over emotional and pathetic to you, but understand where I was coming from. On this trip, I see probably around 200 new faces a day. I can't possibly remember every place I've been and everyone I've meet. Sooner or later, they all mesh into one big experience. That is why the pictures are so important to me. They are the only real proof I have to recollect individual events and places from the mass of meshed memory. If I lose those pictures, its like losing those people from my experiences. They are erased forever to me; lost in the tidal wave of new experiences that replace the old in my mind daily.
So there I sat, soaking in the thought that I had lost those faces and experiences forever. Now, I don't know how well you know me, but the people who know me well know that small instances such as these set me off on deep philosophical meditation sessions that apply to the bigger picture. I reverted to my existential thinking. Just like the pictures, at the end of the day, everything we do in life will be forgotten and erased. Just like the pictures, all memory of what we did and who we are will be lost. There will never be a picture of us. Just like the pictures, we will be erased from existence, wiped from the mind of humanity, becoming the forgotten past as are every people who came before us. Healthy thoughts for a Christ following missionary who is suppose to be bringing hope, huh?
But after a while, I started thinking of my dad. My dad is alot wiser than I usually give him credit (but thats the way it always seems to work - in the words of my father, "the older you get, the smarter your parents seem to be"). He always preaches independence and taking a hold of your destiny. That no matter where you find yourself in life, what situation you are knee deep in, you can always change your attitude towards it. One's attitude is the last of the God given freedoms that no one can take away. So, I started to think. The pictures are gone. They're never coming back. Stop sulking in that fact. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get up and do something. Do not be a victim of life. Own it.
So I bucked up and made the decision not to let the pictures get to me. And of course, these thoughts carried over to my bigger philosophical battle. If at the end of the day, all we are is dust and nothing matters, then I'm gonna make one hell of a dust storm. At the end of the day, those pictures of people don't matter. Its the brief intersection in life that we shared that matters. The pictures may be gone, but those people are still living out their everyday lives today, tomorrow, and hopefully for many more days. I saw them for one day and after that day, they seemingly cease to exist to me because I can't see them. But they are there. And there is possibility that they were influenced today by the one day we came in contact. So I learned that I must make those interactions count. Because like the pictures, i will never get them back.
There is a sweet ending to the story. After a few days of trying different programs to locate the pictures and asking a couple of friends to do the same, the defeated Acho returned my chip to me with a sad sorry. I tried with a last glimmer of hope to try once more on my computer to no avail. So I put the chip back in my camera bag and went about with life. Two weeks later in a gypsy village, I reached into my camera bag for a blank chip since mine had filled up. Plopping the "lost pictures" chip in the camera, I started snapping away. Minutes later, I checked to see how the pictures were turning out and was meet with a "Error - the camera chip might be damaged. Please Replace". I sighed and tried to take one more picture to see if it would work. I have no idea what happened, but almost every single "lost" picture came back on that chip.
I could give you an explanation such that the computer Acho plugged the chip into reformatted the chip and "hid" the files, then once I plugged it back into my camera it automatically reformatted everything. Or you can wonder, like I am now, if getting these pictures back was a little miracle from a God that reminds us that we are never lost pictures.
I've been missing home lately. A LOT. I miss my sweet beautiful mom. I miss my strong and smart dad. I miss my joyful thoughtful little brother. I miss my witty and spunky sister. I miss my carefree, fun, brown brother. And I miss my crazy dog.
But I'm in Bulgaria.
And its my time.
This is perhaps the hardest thing for me to realize. That I will not be going home in a week like I feel. That this is real. Its my new life for the next 11 months. And I'm going to need to learn to put those homesick feelings on hold so that I can embrace the here and now.
Its been hard to find time to write. I really need to start making a habit of it to be more considerate of all those supporting me back in the States. So I apologize and wish I could share every little detail with you all, but time just won't allow it.
The other week we went door to door evangelizing. I absolutely HATE this approach. I think it is quite possibly the worst way to share ideas and beliefs, and to be perfectly honest, disrespectful. I just feel like there's a hidden agenda that drives the conversations and in the end all of the talking is just foot in the door pseudo interest to convey the message.
Just put yourself in their shoes - how would you like it if a total stranger came up to your door and told you that everything you believe is wrong and that they hold the secret of the only truth in all the universe. No matter how selfless the stranger's intent, I would still be offended and turned off completely to what they had to say.
Now, given, I am a Christ follower - I believe in Jesus and the hope He represents, but I am not so bold as to tell another person that what they believe is 100% wrong and that what I believe is 100% right. I am very humble in faith; I have my reasons to believe that what I believe is truth. But that does not mean I have any right to discredit another's beliefs. We could sit down together and talk about the logic, reason, and coherence that each of our world views says about reality, and through give and take discussion, understand each other's view and try to find common truth in them. But that is not the intent of door to door evangelism.
And I don't think Jesus was a door to door evangelist either. Just read the gospels - Jesus exhibits a quiet confidence when speaking about who He is; He only makes declarations a few times, and more commonly speaks in questions and mystery. And many of the times Jesus does proclaim Truth, He does so in enigmatic ways; through stories and parables.
The Gospels tell us there are times that Jesus proved His identity throught miracles. Irrefutable proof that He was who He said He was. But many times Jesus told the people who witnessed the miracles not to tell of them. A very strange way to evangelize indeed.
First generation Christians who witnessed these miracles had very good reason to believe; they were Witnesses to the Glory of God. Now I'm not saying that one must see to believe. I am saying that if one has not witnessed the supernatural proofs of a belief, they should be more humble in the confidence of their faith. That is, they should at least admit that at the end of the day, they might be wrong. And it is in this understanding that I am not comforatable in proclaiming my truth supreme to all others. Of course, this is always open to change. And it is why I am on the race...
I want to become a Witness. I want to have my faith validated in situations that can not be explained by any other way other than in Christ. It is this hope that I find strength in continueing my journey as well as stomaching the door to door evangelizing so common to the race.
So how does all this rambling relate to my experiences out here in Bulgaria? Last week, our team went door to door evangelizing in a small village on the outskirts of Vidin. We walked down a dirt road lined with homes that resembled the conglomeration of a junkyard rather than a house yard. Every house had a metal fence surrounding it, some with barbed wire. We came across an old man fixing something mechanical in his garage. We stopped and asked him if we could pray for him. He responded with a cynical laugh, but invited us into his house nonetheless.
Sitting on his back porch overlooking his small but very well tended garden, my teammates tried to share the gospel to this man. The man was very set in his ways; he was a post communistic athiest who believed more in the wonder of Nature than of a God. As we talked, the man tried to tell us about his ideas, his family and his life, but because of our mission, we always tried to steer the conversation back to Jesus. I became very irritated at this. Here he was, inviting total strangers into his house, in his home village, trying to have a conversation with his fellow humans and us trying to convert him from his beliefs.
Although I disagree with his conclusions in life, I have great respect for him and why he has come to those conclusions. The man had grown up in communism - being preached to everyday on how religion and God had been killed by modern science. It is sad how the pinnacle of human reason, science, can be used as a weapon against its creator. Simply put, this man was conditioned within a society of control - as many of us are in differing ways - to accept beliefs that never made room for the option of God. In a very controversial move, I am going to side with the likes of Rob Bell on this - that maybe, just maybe, God is more understandign than we could ever imagine and given a fair view of the Glory of God, this child has a place with Jesus.
This blog is getting rather long, and I apologize if I offended anyone with any of my views. If this is the case, I advise you not to continue following my blogs; I will not censor my views or beliefs and will keep you with me in my observations and journey to find the Heart of God.
My team and I have been out in the field for the past week now - I can't believe its been a week already. It all is a hazy, lack-of-sleep dreamlike blur. Brief outline of whats happened so far:
Monday (July 11th): Wake up early and get to the Madison airport with the fam and Mr. Benjamin John only to learn that my flight to Chi Town has been cancled. Sweet start.
Don't worry.
It gets better.
After talking to a billion different people (a billion being 5) I eventually was placed on a flight out of Cheekaaaago (which meant, yay! a family drive to O'Hare as well as an unexpected $1,000 plane ticket). Tough goodbye with the family - Ticknor water works show for the International security line. Polish airline LOT complete with Polish entertainment from the 1980's (if you thought the 80s were cheesy in America, catch
Soooooo....apparently the internet where I am doesn't have a very good connection and cut me off literally half way through my thought. Its been a busy couple of days, so I've just had a chance to sit down and finish my cut off blog. My apologies.
Where was I? Ah yes. The 80's....
catch Polish 80's cartoons). I ended up sitting next to a Romanian man (I only know this because we ended up flying to Romania together as well, not that we talked at all during the 8 1/2 hour flight) who didn't seem to understand the concept of personal space. At any rate, 8 1/2 hours whirrled bye in a blur of Big Mamma's House, the Polish Sky Mall (no joke, they advertise a vodka "designed by Bruce Willis") and many failed attempts to catch some z's.
After catching a connecting plane in Warsaw, Poland, I found myself waiting to be picked up at the airport in Bucharest, Romania. Two of my squadmates found me outide (after a poorly confused Romanian man who was convinced he was suppose to pick me up finally gave up and walked away shaking his head) led me back to the hostel the team was staying at.
Launch - as they call the first few days of the Race - was for the most part a blast. During the 4 days we were in Bucharest, we explored the capital city of Romania, had a few training sessions (which in my opinion were repeated Training Camp sessions) and made a video for our individual teams.
I'll write a blog about Bucharest later (hold me to it) but for now, I'll focus on the journey from Bucharest to Vidin, Bulgaria.
Basically the itinerary for our trip was as follows: walk to the metro and take it to the train station where we were to board a train for 4.5 hours taking us to Craiova then catch a different train for 3.5 hours from Craiova to Kalafat where we were to board a ferry to take us across the river seperating Romania and Bulgaria. Then after customs wait for our contact in Bulgaria to pick us up. Sounds like a synch, right?
Things actually worked out as well as they could traveling with 6 other people all carrying a large backpack and smaller day pack with all the possessions they need for 11 months.
Let me take a quick time out to honor mothers all across the world.
Mothers.
Love them.
Respect them.
Listen to everything they have to say.
Unless they are helping you pack your backpack for the World Race. Then, I think its only responsible to ignore their advice. Because if you don't, you'll be carrying 45 lbs more than the rest of your teammates.
Love ya Mom ;)
Anyway, trouble came on the train from Craiova to Kalafat. It started when I stepped off our air conditioned, clean, 21st century train onto the "train platform" in Craiova. This "platform" consisted of a crumbling concrete barrier and a multitude of wild grass/weeds growing every which way (it was also nice enough to give me the experience of rolling my ankle with 80lbs of gear on my back).
We looked around the "train station" (basically a pasture with a building that had seen its fair share of weather and a few train tracks drowning in weeds) and saw one other train; the Ghetto Express. This train was a small rusty and dented 4-car blue-metal. . . . death trap? And our inquisition was soon answered; it was in fact our train. As we approached the conductor lead us to the last car on the train - where he placed us. As more and more passengers boarded, the conductor kept them away from our car. We were very confused by the whole matter - especially when he left only to come back with a "reserved" sign that he placed on our door. There was only one other man in the car with us - an old short plumb man wearing an Italy hat.
The train ride was very boring - the Romanian countryside is extremely repetitive, but does boast an impressive number of sunflower fields as far as the eye can see. Throughout, the old man acted as our bouncer - stopping anyone who got on from sitting in our car. We were all very confused because our team was only taking up 1/2 the seats in the car and we thought it only fair for others to sit in the unused seats instead of have to stand in the other crowded passeger cars. Theories were exchanged and we came to the conclusion that the conductor and this man must think that the "rich Westerners" would give them a big tip for accomodating them in this way.
We learned the truth very soon when we finally asked the man (using sign language an a colorful expression of charades) why the others weren't allowed to come sit by us. He said one word as he reached into his pocket and pretended to steal something from it: "Gypsies".
We saw that man as a guardian angel of sorts. Not the sort of guardian angel you would picture, but a protector nonetheless. He and the conductor knew that a bunch of ignorant Westerners with large packs would be easy targets for pick pockets. The man would eventually try to get us to ride in his car once we arrived in Kalafat to take us to the ferry (a gesture we didn't trust and decided must have been to collect gratitude). But the man was our guardian angel. A short, plump Romanian man with the glint of greed in his eyeand a biggoted distrust of a group of people. But God works in mysterious ways. And that was our first lesson in those ways.
Oh goodness. I've honestly started this blog post three seperate times - giving up mid way through each attempt out of sheer frustration of the fact that I simply stank at being able to express myself in the way I want. This is troublesome for future blog posts regarding THE WORLD since I can't seem to write my thoughts on the 7 day training camp we just had in tiny Copperhill, TN.
But nonetheless, God graciously has given me a 5 hour surprise layover to get my thoughts together and rattled out.
Training camp.
Hmmmmm.....
I like being blunt about things. Especially when I'm typing away on the grody, hard airport ground at O'Hara sharing an outlet with 5 other people.
Training camp in one word: Disturbing.
Nope, I need more words to describe it. Frightening. Draining. Shocking. Discomforting. But in a strange sense, fulfilling.
Although I cannot share the details of camp with you (due to the protection of future Racers' experiences as well as the fact that I still haven't yet wrapped my head around what happened) I can tell you that it left me frightened of The Race.
Now of course I've known the worries of disease, danger, and simplistic living that the Race held before I went to camp. But I gained another disturbing fear: the fear of God.
Flat out, if you would have witnessed some of the things in camp, you would have thought it a cult (the abundance of "when are they gonna pass out the kool-aid" jokes that circulated around camp was testimony of that fact). At any rate.....these people acted strange. Strange in that they don't act like normal people I've encoutered in faith.
Holy Spirit was the word of the day everyday. The training was centered around the power of the interaction between material humans and this mystical, spiritual entity. Now, I believe what the Bible says. I really do. But something about my evidential, rational, science grounded brain refused to allow a "holy ghost" into my faith picture. I always saw the third wheel of the trinity as a metaphorical representation of change in a person's actions upon the conclusion and acceptance of the Gospel.
And thus everytime we listened to a speaker tell us the "holy spirit" will move through us, I sat there trying to analyze the psychological fallacies these people were falling into.
Typical Steve. Relying way too much on his ability to figure it all out. Soon enough, during the highest point of my confidance that everything they were talking about could be merely brushed away by scientific analysis, I got my world shaken up.
As everyone stood outside praying for the spirit to flow through them, I circled the group like a lion about to pounce on the prey it'd been stalking. "Oh these people I'm about to spend 11 months with. How caught in the religious experience they are. If only they could think outside their conservative religious boxes for one moment, they could see the truth of the matter and understand the reality of this "holy interaction" and really be free". (Its ok if right now you're thinking I'm a pompous over inflated donkey - brief side note, there was in fact a literal donkey on the camp sight that woke me up at least 2 times a night -I'd agree with you).
Enter the scene a staffer who I'd never meet. She walked up to me and started talking to me:
"Hey, how are you doing?"
"Oh I'm doing good, thanks. (now please go away)"
"Do you mind if I pray for you? Would that be o.k.?"
"Thank you, but I'm fine. (Nooooooo crazy lady, I'm not falling for it)"
"I really feel a strong impulse to pray for you. Can I? Do you mind? You don't have to do anything."
"......um, ok. Sure...."
I can't figure out what happened when she started to speak. All I know is that she spoke truth that cut through any defense I could put up. She told me things that even someone who knew me wouldn't know how to say. I can't remember what was said during that prayer because I was too busy sobbing (another side note, for anyone who thinks it belittling of a man to cry, I direct them to the shortest sentence in the Bible - "He wept.". If Jesus can get emotional every once in a while, so can I).
The gist of the prayer: God wants you to surrender your mind. Nobody will ever be able to know how He works. Stop fighting Me. Rest in the fact that I AM. Words of prophecy were spoken over me that I will keep to myself, but right then, my defenses were slowly being chipped at.
I remember another staff person comming to see if I was alright (picture a shaking, sobbing, 20 year old guy with both hands covering his face - no wonder he felt the need to check in on me).
"Is God rocking your world, right now Steve?"
" (muffled whisper) yes...."
More strange things were spoken to me by people I'd never meet that could not have been coincidence.
One night, we were to walk up to someone in the room who had their eyes closed and they were to pray for us specifically without knowing who we were. Before we started, the speaker asked if anyone wanted any help from a veteran staffer to connect with the "holy spirit". The gentleman I stood before made a very uncertain and worried face as he slowly raised his hand for help. "Oh great," I thought, "I picked a winner".
Oh how the world seems to flop, rotate, stretch and slide when we think we finally get it.
As the man's expression turned from frustration, to concentration, to confidence, he started telling me what the "holy spirit" was telling him.
Again, I cannot recreate the elegance of what he said, but the flavor tasted like this....
"I feel a deep uncertainty. An uncertainty and worry that is very problematic. But....but also a peace about it. These two things seem to be in direct conflict, but they really aren't. And.....I feel that you are very unique. Very unique. And very special. There aren't many like you. Mmmmmm....hmmmm (smile) and a beaty about you. God is telling me how beautiful and special you are....."
Upon conclusion, I gave the man a huge hug confirming the heart stabbing words he'd spoken over me.
Now, I know how crazy those two stories seem to be.
"Steve, are you really buying into that? I mean, where's your head at?"
I don't know if its real, or just a fanciful creation of the human mind, but I can tell you that what happened to me during training camp shattered all confidence that I knew what God was like and how He operates.
I have no idea. Neither do you. But thats where faith stakes its place. Right in the middle of what we know and what we will never be able to know.
So what did I learn at camp?
The doubting of doubt.
And I know that throughout my experiences on this Race, those doubts about my doubts will only continue to grow. Until all I have is the reliance on an immaterial God I cannot see with my eyes, but just might be able to see work in my heart and life.
