Killing the potato

I am micro-waving a small red potato. Sounds coming from the potato in the microwave sound like screams of pain. It is actually a little disconcerting.

But I don't think it will stop me from eating it.

Just a joke?

I read this joke on a widget I have on my computer. I found myself laughing, quite amused by the joke, delivered by Jay Leno.

Beijing skies are so polluted that Chinese authorities are planning emergency measures for the Olympics. For example, protesters will now only be run over with hybrid tanks.

I was going to print it up and put it on my door to share with others at work. I was going to put a picture of one of the dissidents standing in front of a row of tanks he was staring down along with the joke. As I was finding the picture of that in Google, other pictures of the dead bodies of dissidents who had paid for their protest with their life emerged as well. 

As I saw those pictures, the joke stopped being funny. I was sick to my stomach at the cruelty of a government that would run over demonstrators who were protesting the lack of freedom that others in other countries have. It felt like it cheapened the lives of those students.

There is nothing funny about repressive governments. I think Jay Leno was attempting to show that not much has changed in the Chinese government other than public relations. I think we do a disservice to the dissidents when we reduce the cost of their lives to a punch line.

When we make a joke of of this are we helping call attention to the plight of many in the world? Or are we creating humor out of horror, so we don't have to be so appalled by it?

Ain't I special...NOT

I was talking with a student in my office. While we were talking the lights flickered and then went out...in the hall. All the electrical equipment was still operational in my room! I looked out into the darkened corridor and I started feeling special, maybe even blessed. Here I was in the only office spared the indignity of a power outage. 

I stood up and went out into the hall. While the halls were dark, many other classrooms and offices were lit up. I started feeling the pain of let-down, that I wasn't THAT special. I found out that only half of the power in the building had been affected. I was forced to see myself more realistically. I may need therapy.

Being there

This weekend we had a party celebrating my wife's 50th birthday. Unbeknownst to her many of her good friends were invited. (A few were missed, because of her husband's poor attention to detail). As people kept showing up, my wife's jaw would drop and she would become a little teary, and she would express "Oh my goodness!" She stated at the end of the night that she had had a WONDERFUL time, and that it was so good to see all who were able to come over.

The internet has been a wonderful connection tool, but there is one thing it really can't do. It can't create presence. We can get stuff, but even the nicest stuff pales in comparison to relationship.

I think we only have a limited understanding of how powerful our presence is. Every person's presence for the party indicated that they were there sacrificially to celebrate the life of a person. They weren't there for gain or advantage. They were there simply to celebrate. And more than words, it was communicated by physically walking through the door. 

In showing up communication transcended words, which are so clumsy anyway.

The gift and the curse!

One thing I noticed in Mexico is, all a person had to do to gain some friends was drop a soccer ball on the ground. Before the second bounce it would be whisked away and chasing ensued. Boys and sometimes girls would kick and dribble the ball around with their feet. You could tell the ones that worked on moves. They had skills.

Games were played in the convention center, at a local stadium, or anywhere there were people, a soccer ball and a little room. What amazed me is that a stray ball would land in a pile or a project. Items would go flying everywhere, but no one seemed really bothered by it. They just threw the ball back where a foot stopped it and redirected down the field toward the other team's delineated goal. Middle aged men with sizable guts on them, their shirts sweat-soaked ran like 15 year olds.

I commented to someone that it seems like soccer naturally brings people together. I got an odd look from him and he proceeded to share with me, the dark side of the sport. He talked about assassinations that occurred for errors in the game, and the fierce rivalry that surrounded the game.

I guess it brings people together and then as the competition heats up, makes enemies of people. It may be said that there is no friendly game of soccer after a certain amount of playing time has elapsed. It's rivalry.

Home is where the stove is

We stayed at a convention center for the week we were in Valle Hermosa. It was a bare floor and a lot of leaks when it rained. There were no cooking facilities so adaptation was critical. The most important need was a stove and oven.

And what stove was brought? The stove right out of the missionary's house. It was a kitchen stove they bought from Ikea in Dallas a year and a half before. A propane tank was hooked up to it and it served up the grub, just like at home. 

Not quite the portability of the camp stoves that many use camping in our northern climes, but when you have more time than money, willing manpower, and some ingenuity, anything is possible. 

And where there is willingness to be flexible, love and memories to share, it can feel just like home.

The wonder of southern lights

One thing I have longed for in my life is a chance to see the Northern Lights. I have looked with wonder at the pictures of the phenomenon.  Hopefully one day I will be able to see them.

But I did see a phenomenon that occurred the last day of kids camp. And I will never forget it.

The last night of kids camp in Mexico any child who wanted to sleep over could. At the final total we had over 100 children from age 6 to 17. There was a program for the parents who showed up with bedrolls for their child's sleep-over experience. After the program the parents left the auditorium, and the kids lost their interest in the movie that was showing for them. Kicking soccer balls and chasing each other was far more fascinating.

At a certain point the Mexican leaders started the process of getting the children to lay down and go to sleep. Of course only a small handful were complying. One of the leaders was walking around with a bullhorn and requesting that the children start settling down. It was about as effective as starting a fire with a single match in a thunderstorm.

One of the leaders came over and asked us to shut off all the lights so the children could go to bed. We used the "bad idea" argument, but to no avail. We went upstairs and within seconds the entire auditorium was plunged into darkness. From that moment and continuing on for about five minutes was almost deafening shrieking from the children.  It was hard to tell if they were having fun or overcome with terror.

The megaphone continued to bleat out bedtime instructions. We were standing on the balcony peering through the darkness to shapeless forms below.The request came up that we should crack open the glow sticks that we brought with us for the camp children. The rationale was that this would allow the children to have a night-light for falling asleep.

We gave our best "really bad idea" speech, but it went unheeded. We just pushed back our EBT (estimated bed time) from 1:30AM to 3AM.

In the pitch black I could see a blue glow, then orange. Yellow popped up and red arrived. The glowing started magnifying and growing. More colors filled the black void below us. Some of the colors sped across

 the room, others flew through the expanse, to lie still for a minute and then move again. Everywhere below colors moved in random patterns. It tool my breath away. The beauty of the colors, knowing that they each represented a child was stunning.

The scene lasted for about 40 minutes. I stood on the balcony enrapt with wonder at the sight below me.

When the leadership realized that the children were not going to sleep, some one walked around the main floor, collecting them in a shopping bag that leaked glowing light through the plastic.

Soon afterwards it became increasingly quiet and children nestled in their blankets. Many dropped off to sleep. I stood there for a long time, savoring the sight I had just witnessed. The pictures taken of the experience only caught a miniscule fraction of the wonder.

If we had had our way in not allowing the glow sticks, wonder would not have erupted in that place leaving a trail of enraptured witnesses. Color would not have come alive.

Overripe

Yesterday I was going to throw some overripe bananas out. My wife told me to stop, that she was going to make banana bread. I was grateful that they could be used.

When we were in Mexico banana bread was brought as a treat for the Mexican leadership. They were gobbled it down, until someone showed them some of the overripe bananas they had to make the next batch. As soon as the Mexicans saw the bananas, they spit out their mouthfuls of banana bread and tried to trick some unsuspecting Mexicans who didn't know what it was made of to try it. If someone "bit", so to speak, the others would point out with glee the overripe bananas, and they in turn would spit it out.

Several days later, I was invited to eat "barbacoa", which is a meat made out of beef cheek and tongue. They ate it with relish. when I described it to some on the team, there were a few who looked a little disgusted.

It is all what we have been sensitized by our culture to  comprehend what we should put in our mouth and what we shouldn't.

Self portrait

On the last day of camp in Mexico we had to draw a likeness of ourself and place it on a large board that held other children's likeness as well.

I think the one I did looks a lot like me. What do you think?

Mattress competition

I was on the stage of the convention center talking to someone. I heard the sound of cheering and looked up to the area we were sleeping in and saw people running, jumping on the floor and standing up further down the way.

In investigating the phenomenon it turned out that someone had donated their mattress to the cause and they were seeing who could slide the furthest. Of course they had markers (flip-flops) for the farthest male slide and female slide. Even some of the older adults and Mexican leaders got in the action. There were some super-competitors who would not let the activity go, until they had traveled the farthest.

One example in many where we think a crazy thought, perform it and then use it as a measuring tool for determining rank and status among our peers.

Unthinkingly like Jesus

Wednesday night at dinner I took my plate back for seconds, unaware that the cooks had just enough food to go around once. As I showed up at the cooking area, Jovita, one of the ladies who have served us, in Mexico, through the ministry of cooking, looked up, saw me coming, and deftly flicked the beans from her plate back into the pot that had cooked the beans. I attempted to say that I didn’t need a second helping, but seeing as how English doesn’t go so far when the other only speaks Spanish, she smiled at me and spooned that last of the beans onto my plate.

I was moved by her testimony of selflessness without even thinking about it. It was embedded into the nature of her service.

God whispers His nature to us through others and if you don’t pay attention, you could miss hearing his voice altogether.

The little things

One of the adventures of Mexico is eating the food and drinking the water. On different days various members of our team would be out of commission with gastro-intestinal issues. The bathrooms which may have been a little disgusting now was the only room one wanted to be in.

It is amazing to me that things that you can't even see can hurt you so badly. As the team members went down, others were analyzing the possible causes.  It was never really known, but one theory was that in pouring ice into the drinking coolers, some of the condensation from the outside of the ice bag poured in as well, contaminating the rest of the water. At other times the outside of the bag was so dirty they sprayed it off from the water hose, and that could have leaked into the water.

Overall, there were many ways the critters could be ingested. It just is, once you had it, even though you couldn't see it, you knew it. 

And you had strong motivation to purge yourself of it.

If they aren't asking...

One thing that I am struggling to learn is a simple concept. "If they aren't asking, they don't want to know.

After my many years as a therapist, I find that I struggle with not attempting to fix what someone else doesn't want fixed or doesn't see a need to fix. As a therapist I was paid, either by the client to confront their reluctance, or confronting a client as a representative of a third party payer. 

I can be prepared to answer questions, but if they aren't asking, it is a pretty clear directive that they don't want to know. It has been a struggle, but I find it freeing when I rest in that statement.

Jesus the super-hero

In our country Jesus is looked at by many as a personal assistant. He may be considered a personal savior, a personal get out of jail free card, a personal financial advisor and personal health care advisor. 

In Valle Hermosa Jesus appeared to be a super-hero tough enough to kick the devil's butt. In the expression of the people we were with in Mexico, Jesus protected them from bullies. We watched through mime how the devil was creeping around to destroy people. When the Jesus figure showed up, he would push the devil away from the person he was delivering. If it got physical, the Jesus actor would get physical back and push the devil around When the devil got pushed around, the audience would cheer and applaud, almost like Jesus had made a move in the WWF.

I think what we see in Jesus is what we think we need help with.

Love is in the coloring

At the camp in Mexico one of the activities we did with the children was snacks. On the second day there was a girl in attendance named "Jama". She had been interacting with the other children just fine. As soon as snack was over, plates were collected and coloring pages an crayons were distributed to the snack tables. 

The children all grabbed for the bowls with the crayons and started working on their sheet. "Jama" attempted to take some color crayons as well but the bowl was pulled away from her. She sat back in her seat and refused to take any crayons. Her eyes became incredibly sad and you could see her spirit leaking out of her, leaving her body deflated.

I tried to get her to take some crayons. She refused. She didn't look angry or spiteful. She looked sad and wounded. It looked like things being pulled away from her was a common occurrence and it was easier for her not to want.

I sat down next to her and started coloring her picture. It took her a minute before she picked up a crayon and started coloring another part of the picture. We completed the picture together. While she colored, you could see her spirit rise and her sadness evaporate. By the time the picture was completed, an energetic glow emanated from her. Later in the day, before she left the camp, she came running up to me and hugged my neck.

Sometimes love has to make the first move to affirm a hurting heart. Sometimes love picks up a crayon and starts to color the picture, until another feels encouraged enough to join in.

5 years and counting!

Today is a great day. It was five years ago that my wife discovered the lump that changed our lives. Today at her oncology physical she was officially declared a 5 year survivor. That is so good to hear.  She was also told that she doesn't have to come back for a year. 

My wife turns 50 this month and it is not a time of dread about getting older. It is a time to celebrate! Each day is a day to celebrate!

Truth in advertising

The last day of kids camp, we ran out of food halfway through feeding everyone in attendance. The churches provided sandwiches for the children who attended the camp, their parents, and the staff that had been working with the kids. There were a few of the staff people who hadn't eaten. We were told that the kitchen staff had gone out and purchased 60 hamburgers that would be arriving shortly. After many days of different food, that sounded appetizing. The bags arrived in medium brown bags with grease stains on the outside. I have to admit I was excited.

I asked for one and I got a hamburger wrapped in paper. I unwrapped it and looked at it. It had a large bun, with lettuce, mayonnaise, ... and a medium width slice of ham. I did a double take. No juices flowing down my chin, no ground beef to chomp into. Ham.  After my initial let down, it tasted fairly good. They were not kidding. It was a hamburger.

But I have to say I am worried. The night before, we went out for hot dogs.

Sounds the same in any language

Friday night in Mexico we attended a "youth rally" put on by a local church. They had a kickin' band that got the crowds moving. I looked around and noticed that "youth" was a relative word. There were a few youths there,but there were also a lot of older people. 

A quasi-"mime" troop get up and performed a drama where the Devil was trying to get a soul. When Jesus kicks the Devil's butt, the Devil ran out of the auditorium screaming, clipping my left side as he ran by. I have to say it was a little unnerving to almost being run over by the Devil.

A pastor got up and started preaching. He started slow, reasonable, but then he started to pick it up. He went softer and softer, and just when you were straining to hear him he started shouting and wagging his finger at the crowd.

I couldn't understand a word of what he was preaching as it was all in Spanish. But I have sat under preachers like him. The intent of his message crystal clear.

What puzzles me is the belief of these preachers, that the louder one shouts, the greater the impact for God. What I have found through that style of preaching is that it creates "emotions junkies", jonesing for another hit of Jesus passion. It creates an addictive pattern of needing to recreate the feeling one had at the service where the pastor was screaming. 

The cycle consists of an unsustainable Jesus high, followed by a drop in fervor over the next few days, moving to a failure to live up to the high standards set for following Jesus, which then leads to shame, guilt, and fear and a desperate need to get another fix from the screaming pastor. And the pastor seems more than willing to supply it. 

I guess it's nice to be needed.

One hot mike!

The women who were going to lead the singing and dancing at the opening part of the kids camp were waiting around for the sound system to get up and running. One of the men gave her the microphone and another switched the power on. The woman holding the microphone squealed and threw it to the floor. Another person attempted to pick it up. He dropped it as well. He looked around and found an extra shirt lying around and wrapped the mike in it.

She tenuously took the mike from the man's hand and went ahead with the program. At one point she held the mike too close to her lips, her head shot back with a squeal. She kept hold of the mike and the dance step, not missing a beat.

After it was over two men went to look at the system to figure out what was happening. One of the men laid his hands on a part of the sound board, uttered a cry and fell on his back, hands trembling in the air like a drunk with the DTs.

In examining the problem, what was revealed was that they had no grounding of the system. Anytime they attempted to use a component of the sound system they got shocked.

Adding a ground to the wiring solved the problem and we made it through the rest of the week without even one electrocution.

Getting back from Mexico

I'm back. It has been a week of not being able to access my normal communication tools. It is glorious and strange being back. Life was so different where we stayed.

We worked in Valle Hermosa, a town just south of the Texas border not far from Harlingen, Texas. Our job was to assist the local Mexican churches there as they put on a kids camp. The original estimate was 600 kids. We ended up with a little over two hundred which was far more manageable for our staff to handle.

Our group consisted of 17 people who represented Salem Covenant Church in New Brighton. Some in high school, some just out of high school and a few "older" adults.

The trip was amazing. The people there were poor by American standards, and didn't have the amenities we have back here in Minnesota. The area is covered with a fine Mexican dust, that turns to stubborn tightfisted mud in the rain showers. The water and some of the food can make you sick.

But the love, the joy, the graciousness of the Mexican community we served with was overwhelming. Their giving and loving made the hardships inconsequential. It was infectious like a holy disease. All you could do is submit to it, or walk away.

They are not perfect people. Far from it. But the love and the joy expressed covered a lot of imperfections.

I am back at work now. I feel caught between two worlds. There is a sense of a larger picture, an expanding group of friends, and love growing in more than one location. I learned a lot during this trip and the blogs to be forthcoming hopefully will reflect some of the things I learned from this trip.

Missing just one thing

I have been reading a book called "Infidel" by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. In one of the chapters she talked about how the clerics kept people in line by placing the fear of going to hell in them. It was amazingly similar to some of my experiences in the evangelical church.

I have known people who are consumed with passionately making sure that people are "saved" from hell. They make a big show of being concerned about the eternal welfare of others. Their lives are devoted to it.

A definition of Hell that I agree with is "anyplace" that is seperated from God, or devoid of God, and consequently devoid of love.

It has been my observation that those who people I described above are ones that are living in hell. They torture themselves and others. They don't appear loving. They are motivated by fear. They feel fear and they pass it on to others.  You can smell it in them and you can see it in the faces of others around them. Love is not in them.

There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love.