It Is What It Is

I know this is usually used in a negative context: a phrase of resignation, surrender, or disappointment. I am not using this phrase in that context.

It is what it is...only I don't know what it is. God knows what it is. What do I mean? I can't keep track of my own life. I certainly can't plan it.

Right now I feel like I am just along for the ride. I never expected this job, or this life. And yet this is where God brought me. He has a plan for it. I am trying to understand it. Until then I just say humbly: it is what it is.

The speed of my life has increased threefold. I think it is good for me. I find myself always on the go, working and investing in relationships, and taking time for personal interests. But I wonder how I got here overnight. It will take some time to adjust to the new schedule, to distribute the new burdens in a healthy manner.

Somehow whenever I'm busy I feel like I can never catch up. I think my soul is a quiet pond in the mountains. When I'm forced down stream, it gets uncomfortable until I reach the next large body of water.

But it's good for me. I just need to find the balance of prayer, and rational detachment with my new job, and still having hopes and dreams on the side.

I feel a little guilty that this blog is so vague...but I think I'll need some more time to adjust to my new schedule and see my new life from a different perspective. There is a lot to process. Right now I am just getting up every morning (with hope and joy) and tackling whatever comes that day.

And God continues to give me promises:

Isaiah

60 Arise, shine;
For your light has come!
And the glory of the Lord is risen upon you.
2 For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth,
And deep darkness the people;
But the Lord will arise over you,
And His glory will be seen upon you.
3 The Gentiles shall come to your light,
And kings to the brightness of your rising.

What a beautiful promise. 

My Bitterness, God's Faithfulness

When you read through the Bible, there are many different responses to God's callings. Gideon asked for confirmation...over and over again. Moses put forth his doubts. When the angel came to Mary and told her God's plan for her life, her response was faithful submission. What about me? What is my response to the Lord's calling on my life?

I think it varies depending on the situation. Some times I respond quickly and with joy. Sometimes I surrender in humility. Sometimes I fight back. But this most recent change in my life shed a lot of light on who I am and how God speaks to me. The truth is that all the major decisions in my life, the major steps of faith God has called me to have a certain pattern to them.

I was offered a job recently--one that I didn't expect; one that I wasn't sure fit into my plans. And in my process of bringing it before the Lord in prayer, He spoke some very clear things to me:

"But you, son of man, hear what I say to you. Do not be rebellious like that rebellious house; open your mouth and eat what I give you.' Now when I looked, there was a hand stretched out to me; and behold, a scroll of a book was in it. Then He spread it before me; and there was writing on the inside and on the outsdie, and written on it were lamentations and mourning and woe...So I opened my mouth, and He caused me to eat that scroll..." Ezekiel 2:8- 3:2

"So the Spirit lifted me up and took me away, and I went in bitterness, in the heat of my spirit; but the hand of the Lord was strong upon me." Ezekiel 3:14

Every major step of my life I have met with bitterness, in the heat of my spirit. I have cried and I have struggled, but always the hand of the Lord has been strong upon me. The peace found in obedience only comes afterward. But every time the Lord has moved me where He needed me to be.

It's a humbling thing to admit that I have a pattern of resisting God's plans for my life. Ezekiel was told what his ministry would be: lamentations, woe, and mourning. A rebellious people who would not listen to him. A people who would bind him with ropes. Jeremiah is known as the weeping prophet, but Ezekiel's ministry wasn't a piece of cake, either. He laid on his side for a year, and didn't have much choice in the matter! His wife died and he wasn't allowed to mourn her. He had a tough ministry ahead of him, and God was straightforward about it from the beginning.

God knew Ezekiel would have a hard time with a few things. God also knew Ezekiel's name before he was born: "God strengthens." Even during his calling, every time Ezekiel falls on his face, the Spirit lifts him up to his feet.

I am Ezekiel. God is patient with my bitter spirit and my resistance. He restrains me at times in my life, in order to empower me to do His will and keep integrity. He allows loss in my life and uses it to teach other people. He has sent me to a rebellious mission field where there are a lot of hard hearts that may not listen to me, and yet I am a watchman declaring truth to them.

I took the job. And God has arranged everything in my life. And even through the changes, the challenge, the frustrations, I feel so incredibly known. I am learning to do ministry in a new fashion, under a very different leadership team than I am used to. But I feel so confident that God knows my strengths and experience and I am accountable to Him. He has plans for me here.

God is faithful, and He is truly the author of my life. I want to change so that I submit like Mary when God presents me with a step of faith, but I am confident and secure that He loves me anyway, and He will gently get me where I need to go. He makes no mistakes with me.

Reunion with the Mountains

It is 4:39 pm. Google says the temperature is 38 outside. I step out of my room to get a glass of water and peer out the kitchen window again. It's all still there: the Payette river has turned a darker color from the turquoise it was earlier. The mountains are still there, their peaks enshrouded in the fog and clouds hovering over the whole valley. The trickles of white snow on top are just the beginning for the winter.

Now tiny flakes of snow are dancing madly through the air as the wind whips around the valley and the herd of elk that used to be chilling in the large field behind my house are now grazing down by the river. Mountains, rivers, snow, fog, elk. Heaven.

Yes, friends, life has changed for me. I live in the mountains now. As excited as I am about that fact, I will need your prayers for the winter that is coming!!

The light is fading now. I set up my room as much as possible. There were nails already in two walls and I was so glad I brought two of my paintings. Two of my sarongs are serving as curtains for now. The mountains out my window are farther away, but still gorgeous. I just turned on the mattress cover heater that my dad got me (spoiled ;) ). And I'm already thinking: I can't wait until I wake up in the morning and get to see the views again!!!

Here I am. How long will I be here? Will I survive the winter? We will see. ;)

Kindness and Grace- Lessons from Job

A caution sign that I spotted in the shower this morning: CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE

Three words that change the way you handle an object. Three words that should change the way you treat a person. How helpful it would be if we came with warning labels.

I have a confession to make. I am a fixer. Part of this I blame on my "communal-oriented" culture. My personal philosophy is that the group is more important than the individual, thus the group dynamic is more important than the individual, thus if there is an issue with one person, it has to be resolved before the group can return to equilibrium. Fix it. Find a solution. Restore balance. But this isn't always the most helpful approach with people in pain.

I sit down with a girl who starts explaining the issues she's struggling with, and my gift of discernment can't help but start listing off cause and effect. I want to explain to her that A is causing B and producing C and if she stops A, or initiates D, then B and C will be resolved. I want healing for her, resolution, peace, joy. But you know what it feels like to her sometimes? "You are a bunch of moving parts, making bad decisions. You need to replace this part with a new one, and change." True? Maybe. Helpful? Maybe not.

I know what it is like to show people my pain and have them give me directions on how to get out of it. It's the "nail in the forehead" dilemma that drives men up the wall (see the humorous video on youtube). Here's what I think I am communicating to the girl with the nail in her head: I care about you, I want you to be free of pain, I'm going to help you fix this. The funny thing is, saying those words would be a lot better than listing the immediate solution. Because when people give me simple solutions, I feel like I am a box on their checklist. I feel like I just took my car to the mechanic and he's staring at me like I'm an idiot because I haven't changed my oil in years. I feel belittled, condemned, and that everything about me is wrong.

"To him who is afflicted, kindness should be shown by his friend, even though he forsakes the fear of the Almighty." (Job 6:14
This has become one of my favorite verses, especially when doing ministry. Yes, sometimes people need to hear the truth. There is a time and a place for rebuke and difficult exhortation. But read verse 15:

"My brothers have dealt deceitfully like a brook, like the streams of the brooks that pass away, which are dark because of the ice, and into which the snow vanishes."

I don't want to be like ice water. "Your gentleness has made me great." (Psalm 18:35)

My job is not to create repentance, soften a hard heart, or fix the situation. My job is to show compassion. ALWAYS. Always. Always. Always. Gentleness and kindness to the afflicted. The Holy Spirit will do the convicting and the changing.

It hurts to be afflicted and receive stern words from your friends. I don't want to be that person.

Painting Hope

Confession: driving at nighttime turns me into the best of contemplatives. Or maybe the worst? I think it has something to do with how dark it is in Idaho. And when the fall weather comes creeping in, it fuels my brain like manure.

Sometimes in the half hour drive home I see my life in an entirely different light. As if I've been walking around with poor eyesight and I finally put glasses on.

Life is not a formula. There are no twelve easy steps to success and happiness. Sometimes I think life is not even chronological. Life is a painting, full of color and strokes, shadows and blurred lines and brilliant representation.

So what does my painting look like? It sure looks a lot different than I thought it would. I think I've been painting in grays and blues for the past ten months. I've been building layer upon layer but nothing is taking shape. But that doesn't mean that my painting is not advancing. The most important thing I have learned about painting is that sometimes it takes a lot of muddling to achieve my vision.

When I don't paint, it is because I don't have hope. And in my life I can't move forward if I don't have hope.

Fall

October 9th. Fall swept in like a chalkboard eraser, cleaning the slate that was summer. I had been preparing myself: making lists of the joys of fall, pulling out my fall wardrobe, and entering those enthusiastic conversations with 'fall fan clubs.' Can't wait for fall!

But fall played dirty this year, and I don't appreciate that seeing as I am a newcomer and all. It hit like a sledgehammer with a storm system from the west coast, making me shiver, catch cold, and cry for the death of the fairy tale that was summer. Okay, maybe summer wasn't a fairy tale. Those last few weeks of perfect weather sort of were. Bad form, fall. Bad form.

October 9th. The sun came back out on October 5th, as if repentant for its inconsiderate behavior and my heart has slowly begun to recover hope. The trees are definitely turning now--glorious shades of yellow, red, and hot orange. I don't mind a chill in the evening. And after the storm system and bout of sickness, I am counting my blessings. I think it was all intentional: douse the new girl with icy water so she's grateful for the tepid shower. I don't like tricks like that.

I'm reminded of a story I read in middle school about the wind and the sun. They made a bet about who could get the little boy to take his jacket off. The wind howled and blew and the boy just hugged his jacket closer. The sun warmed him with gentle rays and there was no more need for the jacket.

Expediency and force aren't all they are cracked up to be. It is so easy to want control. It is so easy to try and bend things to my will. Sometimes I feel like my culture is handing out free hammers and raising its children to use it as their favorite tool. No one answering your knock? Keep hammering until you get their attention. Did that nail go crooked? Bang it back into place. Can't get the pearl out of the oyster shell? Smash it into pieces. But you can't make anything grow by hammering the earth. And no hammer can mend a wounded heart.

It is my conviction that gentleness and patience are far more powerful than the force of a hammer. No matter what I do, I cannot change the weather. But the weather is here to change my life. I can resist it and be miserable, or be patient with it and learn.

Fall always gives me the feeling that death is approaching. Not all seasons are seasons of rebirth. But I think sometimes that the four seasons give one of the clearest parallels to life. If we could choose one season and dispose of the rest, how many people would choose spring? Or summer? We want success in our lives. We want newness, rebirth, growth, and sunshine. We can deny pain in our lives. We can deny failure and cover it up. We can control what others see of our lives. But we can't control the seasons. Up here, in this world, everyone is passing through fall. It's a change in life that we all have to deal with, whether we love it or not.

Hello fall.

Hope For a Tree

I step on grass, I root out weeds
Smog and dust and war and peace
Branches grow, spreading leaves that fall in the snow
Where do they get their hope?

Eyes of greed, and stomachs of need
Axes and fires and pain that bleeds
Do roots so deep smell water
It doesn't flow but it seeps

Seeping water can you find your way
to this broken tree so bruised and bent out of shape
Someone once told me that at the scent of water
old roots that'd gone dry will sprout leaves
That's why I believe there is hope for a tree

I know a life, it might be mine
It laughed and it cried and it broke and it tried
But the water was sucked outside
And I thought that hope died

Someone once told me that at the scent of water
old roots that'd gone dry will sprout leaves
That's why I believe there is hope for a tree

The Nature of Fear

I read a book once where these people wanted to master their fears so they would go into a simulation and face them. The only way to get out of the simulation was to "conquer" the fear, or get your heart rate down. I think most people had fifteen or sixteen fears. Some had less. All I could think about was that if I lived in that world, I would spend hours in that simulation. Because I am afraid of almost everything: spiders, lions, monsters, bigfoot, rejection, abandonment, snakes, drowning, social interaction, public speaking, you name it. They are all things that have haunted my nightmares since I was a child. You may think I'm being dramatic. I'm pretty sure that I'm really afraid of all those things. And more. But I also happen to be something of a masochist.

When I was younger two of my biggest fears were falling to the earth, and falling into the sky. I used to have dreams that I was floating up into the sky and couldn't stop myself. I would float up past the swing set, past the trees, past the airplanes, desperately trying to grab hold of something. Then I would wake up. The funny thing is that one of my favorite things to do was fly with my dad. Oddly enough, an airplane seems to balance between those two forces of gravity and upward pressure.

My dad would give me the controls and have me climb to 5000 feet. I would pull the nose back, everything inside me screaming that this was the end of the world and I would never be able to get back down again. It was worse was when he told me to level off and I would push that yoke forward and watch with a sick stomach as the nose tilted forward. Even worse was when he told me to descend at 1000ft/min and I had to push that nose even further down, toward the ground thousands of feet below us. But what was worst of all was when he decided we should do a little stall. Cut the engine. Point the nose down. Recover. Do CPR on Beth because she stopped breathing.

But I kept going back for more. Because I was determined to love flying, in spite of the fears. I was determined to face the fears.

And of course my dad never had to do CPR on me. I don't think he ever knew how afraid I was. Because when I am afraid--really, truly, desperately afraid--I don't cry, or scream, or grimace. I stare, blank faced and catch my breath. It's like my ultimate defense mechanism. Maybe I think that if Fear doesn't know that I am afraid, everything will be okay. The downside is that no one else ever knows I'm afraid, either. Well, that's not entirely true. I switch it up a bit, and sometimes I do react a little bit. But on the big fears, I usually don't.

It's a strange way to live life: forever walking a line between deadly fears. Never retreating for long. Only hiding to catch my breath before charging forward again. I don't know if it makes me brave, or stupid, or masochistic. I do think it makes me stronger.

And sometimes it just makes me tired...

Put That in the Textbooks

Perma-phobia. The innate and subconscious fear of permanence.

Yes, I'm fairly confident I just made that word up. Yes I believe it is a legitimate fear, not only in my life, but in others. Yes, I believe the naming and defining of this fear can bring healing and awareness. What am I talking about?

There are several nights from my short college experience that I remember very vividly. There was certainly a sense of adventure and 'newness' when I first moved into my college dorm. I was entering a new chapter in my life- a new subculture, surrounded by young people my age, all living and studying together. There were new skills to learn, new experiences, new people. I whole-heartedly embraced the new academic style: different classes several times a week, attendance at my discretion, scheduling at my discretion (in general). I jumped in and began the adapting process. But I remember it wasn't long until that feeling came back. There would be these nights, maybe every couple of months, or even weeks, when I would feel the indescribably, almost undeniable urge to run for Mexico. I had no particular attachment to Mexico. I had been there before, and enjoyed my visit. But I didn't speak Spanish. What I wanted was a third world country. What I wanted was change.

It didn't stop there. Even when God called me away from college to serve in a ministry that I loved, I still experienced these fits of passion that told my subconscious, "You need to leave. It's time to move on. You need to get out of here." These episodes might last anywhere between a few hours, to an entire week. Symptoms included: melancholy, googling foreign exchange schools or mission agencies, looking up ticket prices, and or looking up old friends.

I moved to Idaho about seven months ago now. And despite the change and newness, I have passed through several of these "episodes." The most recent occurred just a few weeks ago. A great and terrible feeling gripped my soul, telling me with urgency, "It is time to move on. Take a leap of faith." Sometimes it makes me want to lash out at my environment in anger--I feel like a trapped and caged animal. But this time, as I was talking to God about everything in my life--the calling He has for me and the circumstances He's placed me in, I finally felt like I received illumination. I know that TCKs (Third Culture Kids) often experience restlessness, and the desire to move. I know this about myself. But this was deeper. That is when I came up with the word "permaphobia." Because the truth is that it is more than just a "desire to move." There is this deep, innate, subconscious part of me that kicks in and directs my decision making--sometimes without me even realizing it. It is when the status-quo stays consistent for too long. It is when people make statements about my life in terms of "six months from now." It is when my life looks stagnant.

I brought this up to a good friend and she gave me this advice: I think it is one of the best things about you. You just need to learn to channel it. When you get that feeling, seek out new experiences where you are at.

And I know that she is absolutely right. I feel a sense of freedom, now that I have defined this wild part of myself. And I want to be proactive about taking her advice: being wise with where I am at, and what I am involved in. I can find newness and change where I am at.

I am not ashamed of my permaphobia, but nor do I think it is something to be envious of. It may be something I always struggle with, but it is definitely a part of who I am. I think it gives me the strength to cope with change. It's funny though...I have always considered myself able to roll with the punches. Super flexible. But there is a kind of change that I love and a kind of change that I am afraid of. I am afraid of permanent change-like when my childhood home changes beyond recognition leaving my memories the only proof of my early life. But with God's grace, I will learn how to handle both with grace.

Love and Loyalty

“The evil of the pessimist is, then, not that he chastises gods and men, but that he does not love what he chastises—he has not this primary and supernatural loyalty to things.” -G.K.Chesterton 

In one of my favorite books (which I will not name, but many of you will probably guess what it is) the discussion of leadership comes up a lot. The main character finds that much of his strength is rooted in love. It is his love for his enemy that allows him to destroy him. It is his love for those under his command that makes him such a good leader. 

I just took a trip back to a place I used to love. I described it to a friend as looking at a part of me that had been cut off and had died. A bit morbid, yes. But the place was both foreign and familiar. I felt as if I could find my way around with my eyes closed. And yet everything had changed. It got me thinking about my life-the way I go through my life. 

I'm sure I have no right to define myself with G.K. Chesterton's words...and yet they resonate with me in a special way. I have a "primary and supernatural loyalty to things." Usually, my first instinct is to understand: people, places, words, images, thoughts. If something holds any interest for me at all (a.k.a. most of the world) I won't stop at looking at it, or even interacting with it. I need to understand. In order to understand, I have to meld with it. Think of putting different shaped plastic containers in the sink and watching the water slowly consume it. 

That's what my heart does. That's why loss and change can throw me off balance for a while. I've been on the fence with whether this is a strength or weakness. But Chesterton is convincing me of the good aspects. 

“Love is not blind; that is the last thing that it is. Love is bound; and the more it is bound the less it is blind…before any cosmic act of reform we must have a cosmic oath of allegiance. A man must be interested in life, then he could be disinterested in his views of it...

“What we need is not the cold acceptance of the world as a compromise, but some way in which we can heartily hate and heartily love it. We do not want joy and anger to neutralize each other and produce a surly contentment; we want a fiercer delight and a fiercer discontent." (G.K. Chesterton)

“This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends." John 15:12-13

It takes sacrifice to love in this way. In the few years that I have been involved in discipleship, I have been wounded many times. I no longer have the fear of being betrayed or hurt--my heart is safely rooted in Christ. 

It is passionate, selfless, sacrificial love that will change this world. 

 "Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, [and] coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to [the point of] death, even the death of the cross.  Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, ... Yes, and if I am being poured out as a drink offering on the sacrifice and service of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all.  For the same reason you also be glad and rejoice with me. [Phl 2:5-9, 17-18 NKJV]

Selfless service and commitment: loyalty and love. The kind of loyalty that won't give up. The kind of love that perseveres and pours out to the dregs. 

Value vs Success

"Try not to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of value." -Albert Einstein

I liked this quote so much that it found a place among my G.K. Chesterton slideshow. :) Because far too often I find myself trying to be successful. After all, what's wrong with success? Isn't it desirable? I don't think the problem lies in becoming successful, but in all the times that I fail. Because if life only has two options: win or lose, than all the times that I lose just add up to make me a failure.

But if life isn't about win or lose, than the equation changes. Suddenly my failures don't just constitute a lack of success, but life altering experiences that I can learn from. My experiences, my failures, my victories, and all the subtleties of my life suddenly become an intricately woven fabric. And I realize that every moment in my life can have value, while clearly not every moment can be "successful."

If I strive merely to be "successful" than I become a very different person: one who discards big chunks of her life. I can't fit into the mold of "successful." To be of value is much more eternal.

Modern Social Demographics?

Last night in my CORE group (a church small group) we were discussing spheres of influence--basically that group of people that is around you, who you interact with on a regular basis. With the social media frenzy that has stormed the globe, we now have the ability to keep in contact with more people than ever before. High school classmates who you would never talk to post their major life events on Facebook. But even though you may have more knowledge about long lost friends and relatives than ever before, that doesn't necessarily mean that you are a part of their life, or are obligated to minister to them.

John, one of our group members, brought up how your sphere of influence changes when events in your life change: you switch jobs, you move states etc. I guess I've known this subconsciously, but it's very easy for me to try and hold onto my past "spheres of influence." It's easy to think, "I used to be very involved in that person's life...I am still responsible for them..." and I don't think that is always the case.

The truth is that in this day and age more people have changing "spheres of influence" than ever before. Think of the days when a telephone was the primary form of communication. You grew up in a community, maybe went off to college in another community, then got a job in a third community and started your adult life. Look at us today: I haven't studied this, but I don't think it's a stretch to say that people are more likely to move today than in the past. We move for better job opportunities, lower cost of living, family etc. And travel has become more accessible and almost socially necessary. Young people are encouraged to study abroad, do internships, mission trips, travel the world. No wonder we are all a little socially confused sometimes. For when you have relationships with people in three countries and six states, how do you maintain them?

When people here my story, they usually tell me I'm privileged to live such a unique life. But my "unique life" seems to be coming more of a norm these days. And I don't know that it is a privilege. I don't know that more friendships in more places is a benefit when few of them have the chance to develop into consistent relationships. Isn't quality better than quantity? I could go on traveling and meeting people the rest of my life...but how many of them will I impact? And to how many of them will I be just a memory?

Thoughts?

An Immigrant in America...

I grew up between cultures. We lived in Indonesia, but traveled to the U.S. every couple of years, and even in Indonesia there were several different cultural circles: the local people, the missionary community, and the Indonesian people. And of course the missionaries were from all over the world, from Canada to Holland to South Korea. Being the youngest of four children, an introvert, and a thinker, I developed a "watch and imitate" sort of defense mechanism. I was reflecting the other day on social confidence and how I have rarely experienced it. In fact, I think I developed something of a social relativism. It certainly helped me to adapt to the shifting behavioral patterns around me, but sometimes it was completely insufficient and circumstances would come up, exposing gaping holes in my defense mechanism. Well, for one thing there was a troubling inability to predict peoples' actions that often left me in a state of caution or even fearful apprehension. I felt like a chameleon in a constant state of fight or flight. The general plan was to camouflage, but should something go wrong, I was prepared to flee should there be bodily assault on the outsider, like white blood cells attacking intruders. It's a miracle I didn't have high blood pressure.

In seventh grade, I had the opportunity to go to Catalina Island for the weekend with my school. It was virtually a marine ecosystem science camp. We went on a boat ride to view the cliffs, talk about seals and spot an eagle's nest. We touched rays and small sharks in the aquarium. We participated in fun activities and contests relating to the senses, sea creatures, and who knows what else. And we went snorkeling. At this point I had been living in the U.S. for a year and a half, with a solid background in American cultural activities such as eating spaghetti, watching Toy Story, and playing Star Wars. I was with my own kind, right? Well, here we were at camp, a very American thing. And it was going to be fun.

The snorkeling was pretty much the highlight of the trip--the thing most anticipated by all of us students. And so of course they talked about it the first afternoon, even though we weren't to go out until tomorrow. They summarized some of the procedures and cautions to expect, elaborating on one point: "Does anyone here have asthma?" Me and another kid raised our hands. I wasn't particularly ashamed of this medical condition. They went on to explain the unique protocol, regarding asthma. Those with asthma were to keep their inhaler on them at all times, in a ziploc bag, tucked in their wetsuit. The camp counselor began to illuminate how important this was. "At any time, one of the instructors may come up to you and ask if you have your inhaler on you! If you don't, there will be consequences!" My socially relative, cultural interpreting skills were telling me I should start to be alarmed. I had left my inhaler at home. The counselor told us blithely what those consequences would be. He began to explain how the 'perpetrator' would be forced to do cartwheels through the middle of camp, naked, while singing Old McDonald Had a Farm.

My fight or flight was ready to go by now and my heart was pumping blood to all the limbs required for instant action. I asked myself if I knew the words to 'Old McDonald Had a Farm.' I asked myself what would happen if I refused to take my clothes off. Would they shut me up in a room? Throw me in the ocean? Flunk me from the seventh grade? I asked myself what the odds were that the instructors just wouldn't actually ask me if I had my inhaler...There was that tiny part of my mind that thought, "Surely they aren't serious. They are joking." But I really had no substantial social reference that could make me sure. I remember passing a very anxious night. And somewhere between that evening and the next morning I convinced myself that it would be better to be upfront about the whole thing and get it over with. So I confessed my trespass: that I had left my inhaler. And in my little culturally confused heart, I pleaded for mercy from God! I was graciously let off the hook. But I remember making a mental note of my merciful counselor's name so that, should another instructor sentence me to doom and demise, I could brandish my protector's name like a weapon.

You may think that this was just a funny incident in the life of a shy teenager trying to adjust to American life. But I started thinking about all of this the other day, because I realized that I still do it. My life is pretty evenly split half and half between countries now. That seems enough time to adjust and become socially confident, right? But the truth is that those socially relative, culture switching days of early on laid a solid foundation of uncertainty that will never quite be removed. My default mode in any new environment is still "watch and imitate." And though I've grown in my ability to predict and understand motive, when there is any uncertainty in the situation, since I am unable to predict an outcome, my mind formulates the absolute worst: it usually involves social shame and/or prison (whether it's an issue of legality or not has nothing to do with it!).

It may sound ridiculous, but it is true. :) I suppose I might be a psychological mess if it weren't for my reassurance that I have citizenship in heaven, and will one day fit in there perfectly. Thankfully, the more my faith grows, the less concerned I become about this issue. But not in the way you might think. I haven't become less convinced that I'll be thrown in prison in these situations, but I have become most convinced that should I be thrown in prison, it would be the Sovereign Will of God, and He would work all things for my good. So, as you can see, I am growing :)

Dead Things Finding Life

Three weeks away allows for a clear study of the changing seasons. When you live in it, the gradual evolution can blind you for weeks until it suddenly overtakes you. But now I have a unique opportunity to look at this world with fresh eyes.

I have a secret to tell you. Spring isn't beautiful from the start.

At first it is simply a lack of snow.

I woke up to a gray morning. The streets are bare. The grass is bare. The trees are bare. There is a thin layer of glistening moisture everywhere and I know it has rained. I look at the thermostat that reads 43 and suddenly the picture out my window is extremely beautiful. It's funny how temperature can do that.

The soil is brown. The grass is still brown. And a few dead leaves still cling to the tree from last fall, like waxy paper bags that have somehow survived the winter. I watch the puddle on our back patio to see the invisible falling drops of rain-so slow and spread out that I can barely tell it is sprinkling. And then a sudden burst from the sky and it is raining everywhere-just for twenty seconds or so.

Spring. It is not inherently beautiful right now. It appears much the same as a snowless winter.

But to the keen observer, there is so much more beneath the surface. My eyes, tirelessly tracing the outdoor world begin to notice things: a faint green moss growing on the neighbor's tree, small sprouts coming up in my  mother's back garden, and is the grass a little bit greener than it was over winter?

The world outside is still rather dead and damp. But to me it is beautiful. Because it is full of promise. For I know that the absence of snow, and the absence of frozen ground means the beginning of growth. I've seen Idaho in spring once before. Everything is green and lush and flowers spring forth from the ground wherever they have room to grow. I know that is all coming. It is just the beginning. My heart grows excited and wants to speed up time. But as my brother said, Idaho is in the wee hours before the dawn of the year. It does remind me of the chilly dawn before the sun rises on a beautiful day.

But this is all a new lesson for me: even spring begins in the cold, dirt. So I take heart.

The Traveler (excerpt)

The Traveler

EPISODE 1

Anissa awoke to the gentle sound of rain slapping the small window pane in her room. It took a moment for her thoughts to clear. She seemed caught between the worlds of sleep and consciousness, but the feeling was not uncomfortable. It seemed to wrap its warm arms around her. She lay still, not wanting to shake the moment off. But slowly the morning came into focus around her. What had she been dreaming? She couldn't remember now, but the smell of smoke-saturated wood seemed to linger in the air, along with the quiet mutterings of pleasant voices. She took a deep breath, then glanced at her clock. 0600. She should get up soon. It was her first day as Apprentice, and she knew tardiness was not acceptable.

Anissa breathed out slowly and then sat up and swung her feet out of bed. Then she began the morning routine that would prepare her for the day. Pull the sheets up to three inches below the top of the mattress. Pull taught, smooth the wrinkles. Pull blanket up to the lip, fold over. Smooth out. Replace pillows. Then she turned to her dressing table where her clothes had been set out the night before.

She entered the kitchen and hit three buttons, then marked her diet choice on a chart. Now she had ten minutes to gather her personal items for the day: pre-made lunch, miniComp, water bottle. Then she retrieved her breakfast, took it to the table, and sat staring at the blank wall in front of her as she ate. She was starting her apprenticeship today. Apprentice Political Aid. They made her choose. She had considered Engineer. She had considered Doctor. But she didn't feel that smart. Nor did she feel that selfless. Political Aid- it sounded like paperwork, small tasks, computers. She could do that. She could log data. She could file. But something inside of her felt like her fate was sealed.

Calm down, Anissa. She said to herself. You haven't even started, yet. You can't jump to conclusions. She took another deep breath, then finished her breakfast, put the dishes in the cleaner, and pushed another button. Time to go.

*****

Anissa sat in a cold, hard chair, outside a dark office. She had been given a short orientation followed by a tour. Now Miss Ipkins had assigned her, in that dry, disapproving manner that she had been using all morning, to sit and wait for Mr. Carson. Mr. Carson was to be her Master. For some reason, the thought of being randomly assigned to a Politician was terrifying to her, and so she had put in the request. She knew nothing about Mr. Carson, except for the fact that her father liked him. She had seen him once at a public debate. He was an elderly man with a gentle face and a habit of speaking slowly. She liked that. Everyone else seemed to rattle off words as if speed added value to meaning. He seemed to value a slower pace of life--and perhaps that was why he was late this morning. She would adjust. Perhaps she could be a great benefit to the elderly gentleman, shielding him from the fast-paced world that was always trying to run him over. Anissa smiled slightly. She could empathize with him. The world had always seemed too rushed for her. Just a few feet in front of her was a railing surrounding the large hole that made the Lower Level Commons visible. Anissa had been absent mindedly watching the men and women crossing the large carpeted floor below. But now, a small commotion caught her attention.

Two men seemed to be engaged in a heated argument. One was clearly the Senior, judging by the way he carried himself and the way he spoke to his companion, who followed along hurriedly with a file in his hand. But neither man was particularly old. In fact, the Senior of the two looked quite young. Anissa only got a glimpse of his face as he passed underneath her, but she noted how firm it looked. It reminded her how different this environment was from the one she was used to. Her thoughts drifted off again as she tried to picture herself a couple months in the future: would she have turned into one of these people with their superiority complexes and their specialized vocabulary? Stop it, Anissa. She chided herself. Surely they aren't all like that. Surely Mr. Carson would be different.

Raised voices from the stairwell behind her caught her attention. It took her a moment, but she realized they belonged to the two men from downstairs. Anissa turned slightly to her right to catch sight of them without staring. Their voices were lowered so that she couldn't hear their words, but they both seemed quite passionate about what they were saying. The man with the file caught the other man's elbow in a sort of pleading gesture. The other man gave him a hard look, then leaning in slightly seemed to end the conversation with some hard words. Anissa didn't like the way his eyes lit up with fire. His companion nodded in surrender and then broke off.

The first man continued walking in her direction. Suddenly a thought entered Anissa's mind. Just then, the man approaching her glanced up. When his eyes met hers she felt an iron hammer pounding her heart into her stomach. No...it couldn't be. His eyes showed no emotion or recognition. He came up beside her and stopped, pulling keys out of his pocket. Anissa stood to her feet anxiously. He entered the office without a word or a second glance. She hesitated a moment, and then followed him in. The state of the office she entered took her by surprise. It was cluttered with books and papers, so unlike the meticulous order of everything else in the building. The man in front of her set his bag down, shed his long coat, and took a seat. He began reading a memo that had been placed on his desk. Only then did he acknowledge her presence by glancing up.

"Who are you?" Anissa now had a very good opportunity to study him. She had noted before how he was young with a hard face. His face was not particularly wide, but only appeared so because of the fullness of his nose. His eyes were deep set, under small, purposed eyebrows. He had an open, square forehead under dark brown hair. His skin was remarkably smooth, except for around his mouth, where the  short-cut hint of a beard was showing. Anissa couldn't help noting that the proportions of his face seemed perfectly aligned, but it was his green eyes that held her captivated and terrified at the same time. They seemed to see right through her and completely disregard her at the same time. The intensity with which he looked at the world overwhelmed her.

She stuttered for words to answer him, trying to understand the mistake, but her roving eyes caught sight of the name plate on his desk. Carson. How could that be? She had seen Mr. Carson at the debate.

"I'm Anissa Robson...Miss Ipkins told me to wait for you here...I...I'm your new Apprentice." His eyes came up quickly and stared at her dubiously.

"I didn't request an Apprentice." Anissa felt guilty, as if she'd done something wrong.

"Well, I requested you...I guess, although I didn't expect you to be so...young." His eyes glanced away a moment and then settled back on her, as if he suddenly understood.

"You must have requested my uncle," he stood to his feet and Anissa felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Come with me." She followed his brisk pace out the door, to the stairwell, up the stairs and to the door of another office. He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door for mere ceremony and then opened it with familiarity, interrupting the conversation inside. Anissa peered timidly from behind him. With relief she spotted the Mr. Carson she had been expecting. Across from him sat a middle aged man who Anissa did not recognize. They both looked at the intruders expectantly.

"John, I have your new Apprentice. It seems Miss Ipkins brought her to me by mistake."

"But I don't have a new Apprentice," Mr. John Carson interjected quickly, before his nephew could leave. The young Mr. Carson looked back at him slowly. "I'm still working with Roe and mentoring two Juniors." The young Carson glanced back at Anissa who was trying to appear as unconcerned as possible. He then turned his attention to the other man in his father's office.

"Mr. Murdock, perhaps you can clear this up for me. Miss Robson here is a new Apprentice, but there seems to be some confusion as to who she belongs to."

"She's yours, Carson."

"I didn't request an Apprentice."

"No. But you were assigned one." This time Carson purposefully did not look at Anissa. She felt the awkwardness of the situation and gracefully took a step back, turning to look over the railing and pretending not to overhear.

"I was not consulted."

"No, you were not."

"With all due respect, Mr. Murdock, I don't have time or interest for babysitting--"

"Mr. Carson," Anissa heard Mr. Murdock's voice become firm, "this Party is getting a little tired of hearing what you do and do not have time for. In the last two years you have managed to acquire two strikes--a remarkable achievement for such an inexperienced politician. If you obtain a third, we will have no choice but to suspend you for a twelve month. I suggest that you try a little harder to accommodate the minor requests of the Director." Anissa was cringing inwardly. What a great start to her first day. The office was silent behind her. Then she heard Mr. Carson's quiet reply.

"I apologize for taking up your time." He closed the office door behind him and headed back for the stairwell without so much as a glance at Anissa. She hurriedly followed, uncertain of what else to do. He didn't speak again until after he had been reseated in his chair for some time.

"Miss Robson, was it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am sorry to inform you that although you may have requested my uncle, you are stuck with me." Anissa felt uncertain of how she should answer that, but apparently silence was the wrong answer because he looked up at her sharply. "Are you disappointed?"

"I hardly know--" she stammered honestly, but his reply nearly cut her off.

"Well, so am I. This is the last thing I need right now." Anissa felt her embarrassment subsiding as indignation rose inside of her.

"I apologize, sir, for the inconvenience, but perhaps I might even be of some help to you." He didn't even look up at her.

"We'll see. Do you have any experience with filing, Miss Robson?" Anissa was beginning to resent the way he said her name.

"I can file, sir."

"Good," Carson stood to his feet and began gathering small piles of paper from all over his desk and compiling them into a single stack. He then pushed it toward her, "I assume you've been shown your workspace," and with that he dismissed her. Anissa reached for the large stack and left the office, trying to keep her pride intact. This was what she signed up for? She sighed and headed for her small desk, ten feet from the office door, just to the right of the railing. At least he was letting her work in peace. A bright thought occurred to her-maybe her entire Apprenticeship would be like this: him giving assignments and her working on them in peace. That wouldn't be so bad. After all, he seemed to want little to do with her. Maybe they could come to a mutually distant working relationship. She set her papers down and then surveyed her desk. She would need to get some files from Miss Ipkins.

The next hour and a half passed peacefully. Anissa found mild satisfaction in organizing the chaos that Mr. Carson had been living with. Everything could be logically categorized and easily obtained if necessary. But more than that, in order to file the papers, Anissa had to read them, and in reading them, she was learning. Mr. Carson was supposed to be her Master. He was supposed to instruct her and train her in the workings of this Political Party so that one day she could be a Political Aid, or even a Politician herself. But the way things were going, she secretly doubted that Mr. Carson had much interest in training her in anything. It didn't matter. She would find a way to learn.

Three-fourths of the way through the process, Carson re-emerged from his office with a note in his hand. Anissa dropped her work and turned her attention to him.

"Go to this link and you'll find the electoral stats from the past three years. I need them organized and graphed, focusing on these three factors. I have a meeting at 13:30. I expect this to be ready by then."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll leave you to it. I'll expect you at that meeting in an hour," Mr. Carson walked briskly toward the stairs. Anissa sighed. She was going to miss her lunch. She glanced around her absent mindedly. The office around her was functioning like a clock. Everyone wore similar clothing. Everyone walked around doodling on their miniComps. Everyone stepped in sync. It was like the internal parts of a clock. But Anissa didn't feel like a piece of machinery. Her mind wandered back to a story she had heard when she was a child.

It was called "Thumbelina," and it was about a tiny girl who was born into a world she didn't belong in. She kept getting taken by creatures who wanted something from her, and she was too small to resist them: a frog, a beetle, a mouse, a mole. Finally, she flew away on the back of a bird to the land of the fairies where she married the prince and they gave her a pair of wings. It was a silly story, and the Educator who told it to her was removed soon afterwards. The Education Department had concluded that his views of education were not in line with their own, much to the approval of many applauding parents who had been horrified that their children's education was being thus wasted. Even now, some fourteen years later, a feeling of shame rose up inside Anissa and she glanced around her, as if afraid someone was reading her thoughts. She had been captivated with the story of Thumbelina, and when the Education Department stamped it as frivolous, she felt as if her very soul had been similarly rejected. But as a child, it was her soul that had rejected the world around her. Her father had laughed at her in delight when she put into words the thoughts in her head, but her mother had always disapproved. And now Anissa knew why. There was no place for that here. She was an adult, and she had to conform to society or be rejected. How much easier it would have been if she had started young.

The rest of the day passed in similar fashion. Carson only spoke to her to give orders or clarification, although he was busy throughout the day, on the phone, reading reports, or having meetings. Anissa meticulously made her way through filing and other small office tasks. And then the day was over. She stepped outside for the first time since she had entered and felt instant gratification as a cold stormy wind assaulted her. She looked at the sky and in spite of the threat of rain, eagerly began her walk home. One day down. How many more before her Apprenticeship was over? How many more...for the rest of her life? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. After all, life wasn't as much about what you did for work as what you did outside of work, right? She could still have control over her life. The quiet solitude quickly surrounded her. Very few people chose to walk home anymore. Public transportation easily accommodated any location. But Anissa never liked public transportation. There were too many vacant eyes trying to forget the day, too many self-important people who shoved you out of the way, too many over-friendly strangers trying to make conversation when all she wanted to do was think.

When she reached home she wasn't surprised to find her mother just inside the door.

"And how is our Apprentice PA?!" she asked enthusiastically. Anissa managed a smile. "How was your first day, sweetheart?"

"It was...different," Anissa wasn't sure how else to begin.

"Did you get the assignment you wanted?" her father asked calmly from the Commons where he was reading the Paper.

"Uh--" her father looked up at her hesitation.

"You didn't get Mr. Carson?"

"Well, they put me with his nephew."

"His nephew? I don't think he has a nephew."

"He has a nephew."

"Love, even if he had a nephew, he wouldn't be old enough to be a Politician. He can't be more than thirty." Anissa stared at her father with a sinking feeling.

"We're talking about Mr. John Carson, right?" her father looked up with a question in his eyes.

"Mr. John Carson? Oh, you mean his uncle! I almost forget he had an uncle in the same Party." Anissa felt dejected.

"Because the Mr. Carson you've been talking about all this time, the 'only true progressive and hope for change' is the young Mr. Carson?"

"Of course. Did you think differently?"

"He's just...much different than I expected," Anissa remembered the man's hard eyes and gruff tone. How could her father idolize such an angry man? He must not know his true character.

"How so?"

"Well, honestly, he comes off a bit...rude." Anissa was surprised to see her father grin slightly.

"I'm sure he's not so bad when you get to know him." Anissa was not so sure, nor so interested in getting to know him.

Her parents held a meal with her and then returned to their Residence, leaving Anissa in the solitude she had been longing for all day. She turned on the Television and the evening passed mindlessly, and then it was off to bed. She considered staying up later, but what was the point? It would only make her tired in the morning, so she got in bed reluctantly. But the rain pounding on her window comforted her. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so bad. Her mind focused on the soothing sound, and she soon drifted off to sleep.

Anissa slowly became aware of sounds around her--the gentle mutterings of soft voices, the sound of rushing water, the quiet crackling of a fire. Smoke saturated wood filled her nostrils. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at a thatched roof, but instead of alarm, all she felt was familiarity. Somehow this was familiar. She sat up slowly and surveyed her surroundings. She lay on a thin bed of dried grasses inside a round structure. In the center, a small fire was dying. Its smoke drifted up and through the thatched roofing. The walls were not solid. They were uneven planks of wood, roughly bound together with twine. The sunlight filtered in through these cracks. The voices she had heard were coming from outside. Anissa stood to her feet instinctively and stepped outside, knowing that this was what she was supposed to do. Cold morning air greeted her. The land sloped away from her feet in a thrilling fashion, finally landing down below at a rushing river before sweeping up again on the other side. Luscious green trees and plants which could have no name filled the landscape, only slightly hidden from view by the thick fog that was rising from the river. Anissa felt a thrill of fear and excitement run down her spine, but it was the excitement that won out. And then she remembered, vaguely. She had been here before. This was the dream that she couldn't remember the other day. How many times before had she dreamt it? Anissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn't care. She was happy to be back.

She turned away from the view, a little reluctantly, to find the source of the voices. They weren't far. There were three of them, crouching around a hot open flame in the most peculiar fashion. She smiled, remembering how she had forgotten how strange they looked. They were short people, with a fascinating shade of skin that seemed to be a brownish purple. Their hair was black and purple and woolly. Their noses were flat. Their feet were wide. Their bodies were thin and muscular, and they rarely wore much to cover themselves. They spoke quietly among themselves in a soft, guttural language that Anissa could not understand. They were so different, and yet...familiar.

One of the women looked up and saw her, motioning with her hand for Anissa to join them. But when she motioned, she didn't pull her fingers up and over her hand. She held her hand palm down and pulled her fingers under, as if dusting something off. But Anissa understood the motion and she came and sat down beside the women. They continued to talk. One of them made a clicking noise with her tongue and the others giggled softly. Anissa couldn't help but smile. One of them used sticks to retrieve a small bundle out of a pile of coals. She unwrapped what turned out to be a very long, thick leaf and then offered the contents to Anissa. Anissa gratefully accepted it. It looked similar to a potato, but much larger. She hesitated, watching the other women to learn how to eat it. They used their fingers, tearing off a chunk of potato and then using their thumb to shovel it into their mouth. Anissa smiled to herself. Her mother never let her eat with her fingers. Her mother would never have to know.

Anissa woke with a start to the sound of her alarm. She looked around her for a moment, expecting to see the green foliage and sloped earth, the small, round structures, and dark skinned people. But they were all gone. She was in her room again. She hit the alarm, and then tuned her ears to listen for the rain. Nothing. It must have stopped. But the wind had not stopped. She could hear its haunting howl assaulting her window. She got up and began her morning routine.

Pull the sheets up to three inches below the top of the mattress. Pull taught, smooth the wrinkles. Pull blanket up to the lip, fold over. Smooth out. Replace pillows. Then she turned to her dressing table where her clothes had been set out the night before.

She entered the kitchen and hit three buttons, then marked her diet choice on a chart. Now she had ten minutes to gather her personal items for the day: pre-made lunch, miniComp, water bottle. Then she retrieved her breakfast, took it to the table, and sat staring at the blank wall in front of her as she ate. But she couldn't shake her dream. It was such a strange dream, and now she could remember having it several times before. Her father said that it was a gift to be able to dream. Only 10% of the population of Erikam had dreams. An Educator had once told her that dreams were fragments of the subconscious: emotions, memories, facts. She said that the mind was trying to process the day. But what part of her subconscious mind had dreamed up last night? Maybe she needed to adjust her diet. Now it was time to leave for work.

Anissa pulled her coat more tightly around her as she began her walk. She gazed at the concrete sidewalk beneath her feet, thinking back to the soft grass that had covered the ground. She stopped abruptly when she reached the Tree beside the local Merchandise Store. It was surrounded by a protective fence. It was tall and scraggly, thin and crooked. It didn't have leaves, it had dark green needles. Why weren't there more trees here? The trees had covered the land in her dream. Anissa looked about her at the dull grey of cement, the bright white of skyscrapers, the reflective black of windows. She shook herself and continued forward. She didn't want to be late.

As soon as she arrived, Carson called her in to his office. She entered, expecting a new assignment. He looked across the desk at her for a moment without saying anything. It was impossible to read that face.

"I saw you walking home yesterday. Did you get a misdemeanor on the Rail?"

"No," Anissa responded quickly in surprise, "No, I...I just enjoy walking." The answer sounded stupid. His hard eyes squinted at her. Great. He was going to find fault with everything she did.

"When the rains are coming?"

"You can look at my record, sir. I'm sure you'd find the means to access it."

"What are you insinuating?" he asked sharply. Anissa was taken aback. She hadn't meant to imply he used illegal methods to access information. She sighed.

"I apologize...I didn't mean to insinuate anything." He was studying her face.

"You're pretty passionate about politics?" It was an assuming question. Anissa knew she didn't have an answer. He noted her silence. She cringed inside. She was doing everything wrong today. "Are you at least a United Republican?" he asked a bit sarcastically. Anissa knew she had to answer honestly.

"I uh...I try to vote on the issue individually, rather than vote by affiliation. But yes, the majority of the time I agree with the United Republic Party."

"But you don't feel enough loyalty to the URP to affiliate yourself with them?" Anissa wanted to punch herself. Her second day as Apprentice and she was going to get benched. She couldn't change her answers. She couldn't lie.

"I don't feel I can extend my loyalty to any Party that hasn't earned my respect, sir."

"And the URP hasn't earned your respect?"

"I'm afraid I can't condone several of their policies, most recently the new healthcare reform."

"So you leave the backdoor open, just in case, so you can slip out and disassociate yourself if things go wrong."

"No," Anissa refuted him a little angrily, "I leave myself the option to disagree with men and women who I elected to office. Surely you don't claim yourselves to be perfect. And don't I have the freedom to vote how I see fit?" He looked a little amused at her frustration. She didn't like being an object of amusement to him.

"So you decided to enter politics in order to have your voice heard more effectively?" Anissa was a little taken aback. The thought had never really occurred to her. "But if you use your power to force your opinions on others, Miss Robson, you'll become exactly what you despise. And don't expect to represent this Party and advertise your own opinions." The last statement was said a little bitterly.

"Maybe I entered politics, Mr. Carson, because I would rather help to change the way things are than simply criticize them."

"An optimist?" he scoffed at her. "Great. Not only do I have an Apprentice, but I have an Optimist Apprentice."

“The evil of the pessimist is not that he chastises gods and men, but that he does not love what he chastises—he has no primary and supernatural loyalty to things. What we need is not the cold acceptance of the world as a compromise, but some way in which we can heartily hate and heartily love it. We do not want joy and anger to neutralize each other and produce a surly contentment; we want a fiercer delight and a fiercer discontent," it came out before she could think about it, but now she nearly regretted it. When she had started speaking, he nearly did a double take and then he stared at her intently, his face dropping from amusement, to unreadable. She felt he must know that she was quoting Old Literature, and like everything else, he did not approve.

"Miss Robson, I couldn't help but notice your age in your file."

"I'm still within the limit for Apprenticeship."

"Yes, but you're cutting it kind of close, aren't you? Why did it take you four years to decide?" Anissa chafed at the question.

"With all due respect, Mr. Carson...that's none of your concern," she felt the words burn on the way out and wished she could retract them. But what else could she say. He stared evenly at her for a moment, apparently affronted by her disrespect, then spoke quietly.

"You're dismissed." Anissa left the office trying to answer his question in her own mind. Why had it taken four years for her to decide on an Apprenticeship? She had worked the first two years in General Services, as was common. But the last two years? Why had she delayed? But those weren’t questions that she was prepared to answer just now.

 The rest of the week passed in similar fashion. Carson gave her monotonous, mindless tasks, and then seemed to watch her every movement in disapproval--that is, when he wasn't rushing around between meetings. Anissa settled into a routine of long days of paperwork, broken up by awkward moments of conversation. Then she would go home to her solitary Residence. Some nights she returned to her green dream where dark skinned people crouched around a fire. Other nights, she did not. And so she made it to Friday. It was coming upon the lunch hour when Carson emerged from his office, heading off to another meeting.

"Robson, did you get that form filled out?"

"No, sir. Not yet. I was working on the research you requested." He simply stared at her. Anissa felt her frustration rising inside again. How could he give her two assignments and expect them both done within an hour?

"I need it sent to Miss Ipkins by 13:30 for the meeting."

"Yes, sir." And then he was gone. Anissa sighed. There went her lunch hour...again. From the corner of her eye, Anissa spotted a Junior PA approaching from the left. She had met him briefly during her tour, and run into him frequently over the past week. She supposed they were becoming friends. Now he came and shamelessly peered over her shoulder.

"Robson, you have lunch yet?"

"I have to finish this form by 13:30."

"Is that the novel-length form that the Party is demanding now for Committee Progress? "

"Yes."

"Carson's making you do it?" he smirked.

"Yes."

"As long as you get it in by 17:00, you should be fine."

"But he asked me to have it finished by his meeting at 13:30."

The Junior PA waved his hand in dismissal of the thought, "Please. Carson's off to lunch at the District with Mr. Hawthorne. I guarantee he won't be back until 14:30."

"Mr. Hawthorne? I thought Mr. Hawthorne was of the People's Party." Mr. Hawthorne was one of the wealthiest men in all of Erikam.

"He is. But the UPR holds the house this year. Mr. Hawthorne is going to need a few more votes to keep the Legislature voting in his favor."

"I don't think he'll convince Mr. Carson," Anissa spoke as if the thought were ridiculous. She pictured Carson's piercing eyes and his stony face. Then she noticed the Junior PA's condescending look and attempted to defend herself. "Mr. Carson has consistently promoted a return to Classical Capitalism with a strong central government, opposing the Market-Oriented Corporate Capitalism--"

"Yes, I think we're all aware of Carson's socialist tendencies."

"It's not socialism--"

"But how much easier would Mr. Hawthorne's victory be if he won Carson's vote?"

"You really think he can convince Carson?" Anissa scoffed at the idea. The Junior PA gave her an amused look.

"I'd say Mr. Hawthorne has enough money in the bank to convince anyone."

"You think he'll try and bribe him?"

"Look, I know you're new here Robson, but don't be so naïve. You live on the West side, right? Have you ever known anyone elected to the House?"

"No, but what--"

"It's all blood and money, Robson. You don't get elected without the right combination of either."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? You'll learn soon enough. Even our "principled" Carson gets his funding from somewhere. Ever wonder where that funding comes from?" Anissa didn't reply as his words sunk in. "Come on, let's get lunch."

"I have to have this form filled by 13:30," Anissa set her jaw firmly. Her friend shook his head as he prepared to leave.

"What fortitude," he said sarcastically, "Carson doesn't deserve you." Anissa focused on the task in front of her. She didn’t know why she felt disappointed inside. It wasn't as if Carson had shown any real moral fortitude. Hadn't he looked disgusted when he called her an optimist? Perhaps she had been optimistic. Perhaps she had been naïve. But she hadn't ever considered that Carson might be taking bribes. What did it matter? She was finding out more and more every day that the whole system was corrupt. All people cared about was money. What did money have to do with anything? Her thoughts turned to a green landscape, sloping away from her feet--to quiet, gentle voices and smoke saturated wood.

Judges

What an interesting book in Scripture. I remember very vividly when I asked one of my good friends what his favorite verse was and he pointed me to Judges 21:25 "In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes." I was a little taken aback, but then he explained. It is the true state of humanity. We are not basically good, and without a King over our lives, we do what is right in our own eyes. He said it was a constant reminder to him, to submit himself to the rule of the Lord.

I've always had this bittersweet impression of the book of Judges. It is, at the very least, an unstable book. When you read it, you see mistake after mistake, and even the victories seem short lived. And of course toward the end of the book, some pretty nasty events take place. I think in the past I never felt that the good stories outweighed the bad, and so I just avoided the book in general.

But more recently, my interest has been piqued. It really started with Ehud. Two summers ago I was challenged to do a study on integrity throughout the Bible. I didn't quite know where to start, but I started compiling a list of names. Honestly, I am not entirely sure how Ehud ended up on my list. It wasn't a story I was very familiar with at the time. But as I studied this man, and how God used him to deliver Israel, I was captivated. Ehud, the left handed man whom God used to deliver Israel by His right hand. It has constantly served as a reminder to me of the way God works.

And then there was Gideon. Dear Gideon--I had very often heard him preached, but I had seldom understood the scope of his story. He taught me the grace of the Lord. I had heard repeatedly that "sign seekers" lack faith and that the true disciples of God depend only on His Word. But then there's Gideon. He was a man instilled with fear and doubt, but the Lord called him a man of valor! His first step of faith was to tear down the altar of Baal, but he was so afraid, and he so little trusted the Lord, that he did it at night. When God called him to fight the Midianites, he asked for two signs! And God gave them to him! More than that, one of my favorite parts of the story is when God tells him, "I will deliver the camp into your hands, but if you are afraid, then go down with your servant and you will hear a sign." And Gideon, rather shamelessly, goes down to the camp to hear the sign! God is so patient with him! He never discarded Gideon, saying, "You lack faith in me!" He knew who Gideon was. He chose Gideon, and then gently led him.

Now I am reading through the book of Judges for devotions and what I see is a battle--a battle between flesh and grace. God had done so much for His people Israel. He had brought them up out of captivity, driven out their enemies before them, and now given them this land! And yet we see their hearts constantly straying. The flesh kicks in: with fear, or pride, with a lack of faith, or disobedience, with compromise, and idolatry, with a lust for power, or simply misunderstanding the character of God! But none of these things intimidate our Lord. Throughout the book He seeks out those He has chosen (worthy or unworthy) to be vessels of His grace! Ehud, Deborah, Gideon, Jair, Jephthah, Manoah and his wife, and Samson.

Several verses come to mind:

"What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? Certainly not! How shall we who died to sin line any longer in it?...Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life." (Rom 6:1-4)

"I say then: walk in the Spirit, and you shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh." Gal 5:16

"For I delight in the law of God according to the inward man. But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?" Rom 7:22-24

"There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has made me free from the law of sin and death." Rom 8:1-2 

And thus, as I have been walking my own path in a new land, I find the book of Judges encouraging. Because I myself am at war between flesh and grace. But I see such a strand of hope throughout Judges. And it isn't just that the people of Israel can hope in a faithful God! God has hope for His people! He sees the hearts of those who are faithful to Him and He uses them!

"For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to Him." 2 Chronicles 16:9

My God is a god who uses the weak to deliver!

The Gem State

A bit of a blog about the Gem State (Idaho), which has become my state of residence!

It is cold up here, but not oppressively cold, although we did go through a pretty intense six weeks after Christmas in which the temperature dropped below zero and often didn't go above 22. :(

I am proud to say I showed remarkable resilience in the harsh conditions. I believe I am picking up some "winter savvy." It is a truth universally acknowledged (in Idaho) that there is a wrong way to do winter. I am actively avoiding this wrong way and pursuing the right way. Some of the basic principles are getting out of the house (even if it is cold), participating in community events, warm drinks, warm coats, HOT SPRINGS, and exercise. Did I mention hot springs?

Apparently Idaho is pretty volcanic. I didn't realize it at first because I've never heard of any volcanoes in the area. Naive? Maybe. There are several impressive mountain ranges, and apparently beneath these ranges lies secret pockets of magma that heat the local water. Okay, I'm not a geologist. All I know is that there are probably at least a dozen natural hot springs within several hours of me. Surprisingly, I have never been. But Elliot and Ali took me :) It was sublime. You see, I had long heard of these hot springs and had been reluctant to go because of the getting in and getting out part. I don't care if the water is steaming hot! You still have to get out! But I was mistaken. Because as I sat for minutes under a small waterfall of hot shower temperature water and gazed at the snow covered mountains around me, I felt perfectly content. And then as I stepped out of the waterfall and stood in the open air, dressed in only my swim suit, and my body created a  pillar of steam, rising into the winter air, I realized that I didn't feel a bit cold, and it made me feel powerful!!

Of course, you can't stand outside the water and remain warm for too long. But still, I enjoyed spending an hour or two defying the winter in my swimsuit, surrounded by warmth.

But that's only a part of Idaho. :) A large majority of the valley is filled with farmlands and I always marvel how the snow makes the brown furrows of earth look beautiful. But even when the snow melts, Idaho is beautiful. My sister and brother in law took me off-roading down by the Snake River. The deep blue river was contrasted by golden sage brush, red tinted shrubs, and the deep brown of canyon walls.

The people of Idaho are a very interesting sort. You have your legitimate cowboys and farmers who wouldn't venture in to Boise if their lives depended on it. You have a large population of people who used to live in Southern California. You have a good number of hipsters who hang out in the Seattle-Portland influenced coffee shops that are to be found all over. Then there are the outdoorsmen, the migrant workers, and the average local Idahoan who has lived here their whole life and never been on an airplane.

But here are two things that will help you round out the picture in your head: (read carefully)





And finally...

I was informed today that it was a collector in Idaho who bought out all the guns in the Bond family estate!!

Yes. Of course it was. (From Skyfall-which I haven't seen yet)

What I'm learning about E-learning!

I looked at the clock five minutes ago to reassure myself that I was leaving right on time. But then I had to put my coat and boots on, fill up my water bottle, turn the lights out, and grab the keys. Still on schedule. I had hoped to leave a few minutes ago so that I could arrive at my interview  early, but I am still new to winter and I momentarily forgot that it takes longer to bundle up for the cold. I should still make it, if just on time.

I brace myself and then step out into the icy cold, pulling my coat more tightly around me. My boots step carefully over the icy sidewalk, and then I turn the corner and see my car. The windshield is covered in a layer of ice. I am going to be late for my interview. A small knot forms in my stomach as I mentally promise to never make this mistake again.

That strong emotion will help solidify this experience in my mind, hopefully preventing me from ever making the same mistake again. I learned something. I learned that cold temperatures combined with moisture in the air create obstacles of ice between me and my old warm-weather freedom of hopping in the car and flying off to any destination of choice. I learned that in the winter your departures should be scheduled, like the dignified flight plans that used to dictate my father's schedule when I was growing up. Departure: 0900 Pre-flight Check: 0830.

Pre-flight Checklist:

-T  minus 30 minutes: prepare winter attire

-T minus 20 minutes: start wrapping up household affairs.

-T minus 10 minutes: bundle up and make a dash for the car. Turn on engine. Return to house.

-T minus 5 minutes: Check state of snow/ice/frost buildup. De-ice vehicle.  Check state of driveway for departure.

-The clock turns to 0900. Mission Accomplished.

This experience altered my behavior, but for what reason and to what extent? We learn things everyday through study, instruction, or experience. But how much of that knowledge is retained and applied? The sad truth of the matter is that I had learned to de-ice my car two years ago. In a perfect world, that knowledge would have prevented me from ever making the mistake again. And yet, two years later, after moving from a warm climate, I found myself having to "re-learn" proper winter procedures. Why? How does knowledge enter our minds? How can we retain it? And at what point does it alter our behavior?

It has been affirmed for millennia that the acquisition of knowledge is desirable. In the United States we have a well established University model and a very deep rooted cultural belief that these Universities are the best way to instill the knowledge and learning required for a career. It may indeed be the best model for American society, but does this model hold up universally?

What does education look like in Russia? In Thailand? In Lesotho? For that matter, what does learning look like in a small village in Indonesia?

For decades, MAF has existed to overcome barriers in spreading the gospel to all peoples, nations, and tribes. Traditionally, this has looked like flying aircraft over deadly jungles and deserts, to provide efficient, safe transportation to missionaries, nationals, humanitarian organizations, and governments. More recently it has also looked like overcoming barriers of communication and lack of technology. Thanks to countless churches and mission organizations dedicated to Christ's Great Commission, the gospel is going forward. But part of that Great Commission is to make disciples of all nations and to teach them to observe what Christ has commanded. Are these aspects of discipleship being accomplished around the world?

Just as the distribution of wealth is by no means evenly spread across the globe, the distribution of "knowledge" is disproportionate. In some countries, new converts are prayed over and sent out immediately to plant churches and spread the gospel. How are they being equipped? How are they to obtain guidance, discipleship, and resources to feed their churches?

Learning Technologies was launched by MAF to overcome a newly identified set of barriers: those standing between isolated pastors and Christian workers and their learning, growth, and development.

But this poses a new set of questions and problems. Surely there are people willing to purchase and ship a Seminary textbook to a national pastor in a restricted nation. Even after the lengthy process of translation into his local language, will reading a textbook really be the most effective way for him to learn? What if he can't read? How will he teach this material to his congregation who can't read? What if hostile government authorities find this textbook?

Hopefully it is clear that it would be impossible to cookie cutter our well established education and discipleship methods. Now we come back to my story of learning to de-ice my unfortunate car. I did not go to a lecture to learn about the Proper Winter Lifestyle: Tips and Tricks. My real life experience caused me to learn a lesson as I went about my day. But it was as much a learning experience as attending a lecture, just perhaps to a different extent and degree. One of the many challenges that MAF Learning Technologies is tackling is getting numerous resources and content available into a format that is accessible, practical, and culturally acceptable around the globe. 

We, as humans, learn in many different ways. Why can't we take advantage of this and get creative with the resources that we have? In my story, learning to de-ice my car was a natural, hands on experience that engaged me visually and emotionally. What if traditional "classroom learning" could be turned into a visual, emotional experience that might impact the learner to change? Welcome to Learning Technologies!