White

The positional freedom
rests at the end
of personal struggles
to redeem time
which hasn't yet been recognized
as lost.
sitting blindly in a cylinder of
lazy living
comfortable complacency
and the blatant scent of mediocrity,
finding no relief, no rescue,
and no rest
in my self made kingdom.
the knowledge of it's impermanence
echoes round my mind.
still blissful ignorance remains
my stead.

wisdom raises her
pretty head
beckons my time, my heart,
my home,
lustful entrances interrupt
my thoughts
seeping through citadels
I've built
crashing gates of self
preservation made from
decisiveness, determination,
fortitude.

humanity cries as only it can -
barely heard
barely cared
barely there
It whispers its
hiding place,
its secret place.
I shove it back.
Embarrassed that you
might know I even
have such a place

Sin creeps in
in disguise of pride
-is a good thing,
it boasts
keeps you in front, adored,
revered

I should have known.
True Goodness never needs
to boast.

Proverbs 8

A Benediction

May all of your expectations be frustrated,
May all of your plans be thwarted,
May all of your desires be withered into nothingness,
That you may experience the powerlessness and poverty of a child
And can sing and dance in the love of God,
Who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Have been reading today about poverty and simplicity as communicated by C.S. Lewis.

One of the real dangers of having a lot of money is that you may be quite satisfied with the kinds of happiness money can give and so fail to realize your need for God. If everything seems to come simply by signing checks, you may forget that you are at every moment totally dependant on God.

And so I realize that my dependency, my sole desire for provision and the peace that accompanies being taken care of is the thing that captures my selfishness and keeps it at the forefront. My world tells me that I need and I should need and should be provided for, my culture tells me that I need and should need to be provided for, my heart tells me that to desire for provision is to desire to be submissive. That my dependency on the material is good.

It's all lies.

Lies as long as the root of them, as long as the provider, as long as the substance of it all is not my God. Until then they're all just little self proclaimed gods who clamor to take over the rightful position of Someone I've pushed to the far corner of my desire pit.

The snow falls in Northern New York, [Yes, there is life above Syracuse. Only it spends nine months a year preparing for it and only three months living it.] and I am once again confronted with the rare feeling of discontentedness in my home town. Don't get me wrong, I love it here, but I hate cold and I hate the depressing aura that accompanies it. Sure, the wool sweaters, wassil and woodsmoke makes it all a bit more tolerable, but overall the effect is short lived and the snow keeps it's place until April at least. Before moving here I was told by a local that the North County boasts two seasons; Winter and the fourth of July. Eternal optimist I am not, but I sincerely never thought it could be all that bad. It is.

So, into the world of snow shovels, fourth gear driving, drenched mittens and an occasional too wet snowball thrown by a well meaning boy from church [no names of course], I come. And I come not fighting, but in hibernation mode. You'll see me next Spring.

In the Meantime, and there certainly is enough of that, I'll find some other things to do with my time. I have a job. Didn't even need a resume but thanks for your help. Call me a traitor to The Fields, but I don't think the coffee really cares. I'll be working at the Partridge Den in Canton, so come see me sometime.

I also have all those new books and other reading material to keep me busy if I happen to have spare time. And of course there are always brothers to make snowmen with. Or rather making snowmen with brothers. Or hmmm, playing in the snow with the boys? There will be plenty of people here to celebrate the holidays with: The Bergey's, Michael, Matthew, Jax, Liz and whomever else sees the tree in the big window and notices the urge to come in for a quick cup of tea. The door is always open, my mum always says. Thank goodness for colloquialisms. Otherwise it would be bitter cold in here.

Cause you know what they say about the North Country: Only two seasons up here, Winter and Fourth Of July.

Impassioned with, what is it? A sense of duty? I wish for things to just be right? And why shouldn't they be? Aren't we supposed to living a victorious life? Aren't we supposed to knowing grace? Aren't we supposed to living life fully centric on Christ and His desire for us? And isn't His desire to give good and perfect gifts to His children? So why are those who live fully immersed in growth and a passionate pursuit of Him so surrounded by pain?

While dealing with the aftermath of Drew's death Michael said to me, "I will not rob you of your sufferings." I didn't understand the significance of that statement until much later when I knew that is was pain and all that it encompasses that we finally learn to lean on the arms that promise to hold us, and really are the only arms that could. But so often I just want to rob others of their sufferings - forgetting for an instant that that would be robbing them of the chance to choose to grow.

But why is pain such a part of life? Simply rhetorical, but it sure is the cry of my heart.

In the Airport in Tokyo I saw some Hagaan Dazs ice cream; the first real ice cream I'd seen since leaving my home country. I went to the little stand up freezer and went to pick out a little six ounce container of ice cream apparently priced at the exorbitant amount of two dollars to entice Westerners who are feeling the lack. Hoping to find some chocolate, since I figured that Mint Chocolate Chip would be a hard deal to come by, I found myself sadly dismayed at the sight of Vanilla, Strawberry and Green Tea favors only.

Yes. That's right. I said Green Tea. I tilted my head to one side and weighed the cost. I knew that the two dollars were already going to be spent. I'd decided that before I walked over, but here was another whole paradigm to my tunnel vision eyes to my stomach. Green Tea? I love green tea. At home there might as well be a intravenous connection to my insides. But Green Tea Hagaan Dozs? This is a whole new spectrum. I finally decide that once in my lifetime I must try something new, and really, green tea in itself was new to me once too. I spend the two dollars [duty free I might add] and head back to my seat.

As I peeled back the cardboard layer covering it I spied a spinach color not unlike Split Pea Soup. Split Pea Soup, my friends, is quite a good meal. I like a bowl of it occasionally, but Split Pea Soup colored ice cream is not my idea of delicacies. I daringly scooped out a mouthful and distastefully passed the six ounce cup of Split Pea Soup colored ice cream on to almost ever member of our team before disposing of it in the trash can.

The moral of the story is: Don't try anything new, even if is cherry flavored.

And don't eat Green Tea Hagaan Dozs Ice Cream.

Little fills my love tank like books. Today I went to Birch Bark Books and bought:
The Wild Birds - Wendell Berry
New Seeds of Contemplation - Thomas Merton
Sketches From A Life - George Kennen
An Arrow Pointing To Heaven - James Bryan Smith
Many Waters - Madeleine L'engle
The Door In The Wall - Marguerite de Angeli
Hangmans Holiday - Dorothy Sayers
The Five Red Herrings - Dorothy Sayers

Am quite happy with these finds.

[Also found, and this might be of interest to one of you, hordes of Countryside back issues for 25 apiece.]

But it's just too bad that books can't love you back.

Am home. I have so many thoughts, so many experiences, so many stories and all I can say is I'm home. I guess that shows a bit of my heart. Am learning the significance of being an ambassador, someone who represents something to someone else, while still remaining true to the thing they represent. I am home.

China was beyond my expectations and I will never again read or hear about a persecuted Christian, imprisoned or outcast, without a pang in my heart for my brothers and sisters living there. It was a precious time of learning the importance of freedom and the blessing in authority which doesn't dictate, but rules by a standard of morality. Sickened by the state of communism there, by the lack of regard for human life, by the apathy that represents a culture that is headed in the general direction of decline. The things that make my stomach hurt thinking about are the things that seems so far removed from my average American mindset, things that don't affect me directly and any effort I make at protesting them I can do comfortably from my chair. Here they were standing in front of me and staring at me in the face, daring me to make a difference, even if only a prayer. Only a prayer.

What kind of monster am I?

Thought I would be suffering from jet lag, 36 hours of travel tends to wipe out, shouldn't it? But slept about six hours last night and am feeling fine.

Tonight Jax, Danny, Danny and I are going to The Fields to catch up and be friends [and siblings, since we seem to have forgotten that two of actually are.].

I just got a random phone call from someone I'd rather not receive a phone call from. I tried hard to be gracious, but sometime I think graciousness can take second place when my current state of singlehood is being oppressed. It's not that he's not a nice guy, as my mother assured me he was, it's that he's not going to win my heart by trying so darn hard. Of course he probably wouldn't win my heart if he wasn't trying either. But that's beside the point. The point really is, I'm not in the mood to be pursued. Or more specifically, I'm not in the market to be pursued. But I suppose that is all really pretty objective.

Or it should be.

You said you read these meager ramblings of my mind every night before bed. My meager rambling mind is curious as to who you are. What it is you think about besides my hand-me-down-thoughts? So Molly, who are you? Because somehow, for all the admiration you poured on me for my dissection of beliefs, you've put them into practice more than I can boast. Knowing that you cry and search your soul after reading what I write makes me wonder why I don't cry and search my own soul after reading what I write. It seems like it ought to be that way, and it just isn't.

My black doc's have climbed The Great Wall, walked around Tianaman square, stepped up the mountains of stairs to the White Mountain in Dali, ridden on a boat on Ear Sea, stood by the roaring Yangst River, carried me through the market of Kunming and now they will retire for a few days at Luchi's Shoe Repair in Potsdam while undergoing some tender love and care. They deserve it.

Somehow, while I was gone, the adjunct door between Dan's room and mine was accidentally pulled off it's hinges. It is leaning against my bookshelves. I wonder why. Danny C. promises to put it back, so i suppose it was his doing. But it seems a bit strange that it wasn't just pulled out of it's hinges but that the hinges are actually bent from the pressure that must have been the cause of it's demise. Poor door.

Flying was not all it was cracked up to be. I suppose as all things go, opinions shade any facts presented to one who remains unlearned, so there were those [Liz] who hate flying and let me know in no uncertain terms. Those [Jax] who love flying and describe all the beauty and wonder that accompanies it. Those [Danica] who can think of better things to do in their spare
time, but since it's a necessity to get to do some of those things, it becomes an evil which must be endured. Those [Mom] who have never flown and so cannot even begin to tell me anything about it that I'll believe. And now those [Me] who have neither good nor bad experiences with it and so it becomes a way to get from one place to another and something which couldn't described as either good or bad. Just a lot of hours doing nothing.

A lot a hours doing nothing.

I did listen to every station they offered on the international flights radio. Or rather I listened to every station except the Chinese one and the business one. So after hours of Rodgers and Hammerstein, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Janis somebody on the Jazz station which I liked and more I was relieved to take a break and watch with one half opened eyelid, Men In Black II. One word. Or perhaps better stated in four; Don't Waste Your Time.

Unless of course you have a lot of hours to do nothing with.

Am sitting in an internet cafe somewhere in Dali, China. Can you believe it? What am I doing here? Having a blast, suffering not a lot from jet lag. Missing my brothers. Missing real food [finding chicken feet in my soup is not my idea of real food - but no one ever said that living as a bondservant was always fun. . .exciting though.]. Missing normalacy, but am finding my first real overseas experience more than I could ask for. Will tell more when I get home.

My reflections are so many and I wish I could share all of them. I have written so many things down to tell and think about when i get home, since time here is precious and most of the extra is spent sleeping. I hope I can clearly communicate them when I get home.

I realize the severity of commercialism in America more than ever being here. They see Americans as such consumers and users and try to imitate the western culture in such a way that to see it is baffling and disconcerting to me. I think, "Does my culture really look like this?" It does. And it makes me long even more for a simple life.

Tonight after traveling all day to Dali we took a few hours and shopped [bargined] in the market. I am so delighted with all the finds I will bring home to my friends and family and I think for the first time I actually enjoyed shopping. Here they ask a certain price and you can begin bargining at one third the price so get it to where you want it. Danica and I were blessed to have Jacob, a chinese brother, who speaks no english but can bargin like you wouldn't believe. I am so excited about the minority made items we will bring home. I hope they will serve as reminders of what a great cost living is to the Chinese.

As I walked down the street in front of a buddist temple yesterday in Kunming the street was lined with beggers, blind, crippled, emaciated real people who need to eat too, and my heart constricted and remained so until we passed through. I do not realize the comfort my life holds. I pray that this would not be a temporary state but that I would continually learn the heart of my Father.

Miss you all.