Fast-Forward

It's been much too long, hasn't it? Fast-forward to today. I feel as though I've woken up from a very long dream, or am I now dreaming? Being back home is sort of disorienting, especially because everything is different. New classes. New circles of friends. New church situation. Concerns about jobs. About the future. About not knowing. I suppose this is what's called Faith Part Three. Things don't end just because I'm not traveling anymore. Or am I just now beginning the journey? ~M~

Faith Leaps

I learned from one of the sisters at the Mother House in Calcutta that Pope Benedict has declared this the "Year of Faith," believing that the Church as a whole is facing a particular cultural crisis that will especially require the gift of faith. Calcutta, India. Land of horn honks and lingering curry smells. Three powerful religions--Hinduism, Islam, Sikhism--cohabitate uncomfortably, each trying to call out above the din in their own way. In Islam's case, this was literal: an imam chanted Qur'anic verses over a loudspeaker 5 times a day. There is no rest on the streets of Calcutta. Salespeople call for a perusal of their wares, interpreting "no, thanks" as an invitation to follow and talk more. Beggars call for the gift of a rupee or two, so certain in their profession that no other way seems sane for them. Entering Mother House means entering a sanctuary of silence, the only place in Calcutta where no one is clamoring for your attention. I had looked forward to a full week of working in this place, of restfully seeking to show love to the sick and dying. The first day worked out pretty much as I had expected: I felt very nervous walking into Prem Dan, unsure if I could face the new challenges, but God was there and provided me that restful peace I'd sought as I wrung out plaid laundry and carried trays of steaming curry. The next day, however, I discovered that the week would not progress as I'd expected it to. A burning pain in my throat and a heavy cloud in my sinuses signaled the beginning of a completely different week. One after another, team member after team member fell prey to the ravages of a mystery bacteria, "coming out at both ends," in the words of some. Somebody joked that the Hotel Maria had become a new Missionaries of Charity House. I don't think they were too far from the truth, as whoever was able did everything they could to serve their fellow sick: doing laundry, making Gatorade/rehydration salt runs, sharing cold meds, sharing company in the tiny cafe two steps away. I learned that week that faith requires a complete surrender of your circumstances to God. During that time, He held me close, like an infant, telling me bedtime stories. He emphasized over and over how prayer is as much of a good work as serving the sick. I learned that I didn't have to expect anything of myself, that He would work what He would if I only follow and let Him. So, when the last day rolled around and I could finally return to Prem Dan, I knew a new kind of peace. It didn't seem like the supernatural peace of the first day, in which the Holy Spirit had invaded to provide strength for that one day. This peace felt native to my being. I will never forget how one woman stared at me; I wasn't sure why she looked at me with an expression of such wonder, until she grabbed my hand and motioned, "God bless you." I realized that the Holy Spirit had begun to work in a new way, a way that would bring me closer to spiritual maturity. Which brings us to Ethiopia. Faith Part Two. One ten-hour bus ride involving thirty-seven people attempting to sleep on top of each other equals one very exhausted crew. When all of us crabby Americans pulled in at one am, however, a small army of Ethiopian medical students were waiting there to greet us, cheerily grabbing 40-pound bags from the weary girls (despite many futile protests) and trucking them up to our rooms. This moment described very well the energy we discovered in the Ethiopian church, and the fervor with which they sought to do what God desired. We joined forces with them to head off into the countryside with the Gospel. Nobody really knew what to expect, but our new friends continued to remind us, "We just preach the Gospel. God does the rest." My favorite story from these days is this one, which describes very well how this kind of faith worked out practically: We approached a small knot of people, and our new friends asked them in Amharic whether or not they'd be willing to hear about how God had worked in our lives. Initially, they said no, we don't need a new religion. But then my partner, Nick, pulled out his family photo album and began to show the children his pictures. I followed his lead, and soon the whole group had gathered around the both of us. Using the opportunity, Nick pulled out our Gospel-sharing tool, the Evangecube, to show pictures of the Gospel. Our friends translated as he told the story. They listened with interest for a while, then one said, "We've heard the name of Jesus. But we don't know Him personally in any way." This opened the way for me to build on Nick's foundation, using Hebrews 10:19-22 as my text. That Scripture God graciously provided that morning; I hadn't prepared to use it at all, yet every time it seemed applicable. I learned in Ethiopia that the kind of faith I'd seen in Calcutta, that abandonment of circumstances to God's control, spurred action. God offers Himself for the present trials, not the ones we fear for the future. And now, being back in the Western world, here in Europe, I feel like I can do anything. I don't feel afraid for what kinds of things will happen now that we're beginning our time of teaching in Hungary. The beauty, the sheer beauty of the place, fills my heart to the brim and reminds me of the things I learned last time I was in Europe and points me to my future. I hope that God will continue to mature me as I enter the next section of the curriculum: Faith Part Three? We'll see what He'll do. In the meantime... keep praying. <3 Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut, ~M~

Liminality

Happy two month anniversary!  Between the first and second halves of this around-the-world season, I found myself sitting in a little beach café listening to slow bluegrass and sipping a tall cold yogurty lassi. Koh Tao ("Turtle Island") is surrounded by the bluest of oceans and the sweetest of breezes. The cove is so shallow that you can easily walk from one end to the other, even if far from shore. All the signs are in English, though all the shopkeepers speak Thai. The streets are lined with motorbike rental places, massage parlors, and bars. There are more Western faces on this island than we've seen all month.  It's a far cry from Chiang Mai, our home last week. We drove everywhere, since everything seemed far away from our little huts. We made do with cold showers and innumerable bugs of various (large) sizes, but daily enjoyed the most amazing Thai food cooked especially for us.  It seems that Thailand is the land of butterflies and 7-11s, the place where all of our romantic notions and all of our practical actions are beginning to meld for the first time. We had trouble with this last week. Faced with looming midterms and essays, we struggled to find the rhythm between homework, classes, leading English camp, building a concrete wall (with no experience and two shovels), connecting with the other members of the team, connecting with the local people who supported and guided us, and avoiding getting bit by giant mosquitoes and ants (largely unsuccessfully). Somehow, all of us made it through, managing to work some good by the grace of God. Then, midterm break happened. Suddenly, nothing was the same. Somehow, all the work we did last week clicked into place in the team itself. With no schedule, the family we'd been trying to form since the beginning finally clicked together in a new way, ready to face the next half of the adventure.  I'm not fully sure what to expect from this second half. I know only that it will involve a massive surge in maturity, a lot of intense trials, a lot of intense joys, and the ever-increasing presence of God. As I finish off the last sip of my lassi, I realize that I am stable in the midst of this uncertainty. Liminality has given me the chance to discuss with God what we've learned so far and what to look for in the future. And with the voice of the Holy Spirit to guide me, I need fear no darkness. I will continue on to Bangkok tomorrow, content in the knowledge that we are protected, and we are ready. Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut, ~M~

In the Year of the Dragon

It rained the first day we were here, coming on right in the middle of our work clearing dirt and preparing concrete. No one stopped, though. (Everyone was wet from sweating anyway!)I felt like an image from some propaganda poster with my cone hat and hoe, diligently hacking at the earth. A crowd gathered, staring at us strange mud-streaked foreigners in bemused wonder.

"There are only three reasons anyone can think of that you're here doing this right now," we were told. "One, you're all CIA spies. Two, you're crazy. Three, you're religious."

We made friends with many of the children in that place. We had "student flower wars" in which we'd throw tiny prickly plants at each other; at the end of each day, we'd always have at least two or three still stuck on our shirts. One made it her mission to guide me everywhere, letting go of my hand only when she wanted to ride on my shoulders. Speaking no English, she still managed to be an excellent tour guide, pointing out things that interested her. "Meow," she'd say, and point at the cat skulking in the corner. She'd gesture for my camera, and take pictures of her friends, allowing me to see through her eyes for a time.
I sat on the low porch with her, struggling to weave a basket out of bamboo strands.

"For many of these children, it is their first time interacting with foreigners."

Once we got to Hanoi, everything was different. We were invited to explore the city with some of the university students, and of course I went. My newfound Vietnamese friends and I ended up at the Hoa Lo Prison ("Hanoi Hilton") museum, in which I was particularly surprised to discover a souvenir shop that sold knockoff Tintin merchandise.
How things have changed!
One 3+ hour bus ride later, we ended up in a new place, to help teach English at a brand-new international school. International Culture Night turned out to be a bigger affair than we expected, involving dancing, singing, beatboxing, Vietnamese rapping, and all kinds of exciting madness. We tried traditional "bamboo dancing," which involves artfully dodging rhythmically moving bamboo sticks. A group of us got up there and rocked Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours," to great fanfare. I am wearing a ring that a new friend insisted on giving me; though our conversation could only consist of a few phrases and a bit of Google Translate, we still became friends.

"Listen to the music of the moment, people dance and sing, we're just one big family...!"

Now, I'm back in Hanoi, enjoying the use of a real keyboard instead of my touchscreen. It's strange returning to a "familiar" place... and even stranger to call this street "familiar!"
Ha Long Bay is next on the agenda, a place that is said to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Four days on the ocean in a junk sounds like paradise to me; I'll try to encapsulate it for you as best I can when I return.

I admit, I love hearing tales of adventures from foreign lands. Currently, this means AMERICA! ;D So, tales of adventure from home are always welcome in the comment thread. ^^

As always, your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~

The Land of Expectations

I have officially experienced Mongolia.
Gallopped across the steppes, wind blowing through my hair.
I will miss the lovely people I met there, but I will remember it forever.

Ulaanbaatar is a clash of worlds, a discombobulated kaleidoscope of country gers overshadowed by crumbling concrete buildings. Driving can often feel like being on the Indiana Jones ride!
It is a world away from the Mongolian countryside: stark green as far as the eye can see, peppered by braying cows, sheep, and horses. I helped our new friend, the young shepherd Tsitsah, herd his sheep down the hills. As we traveled, slowly making our way home to the round tent-like ger, he would throw his red Frisbee high into the air, and we'd run forward to catch it.

Now, I am in Vietnam, and it is like nowhere I've ever been before.
The city of Hanoi is a whirl of colors and smells, with wires strung every which way and vendors carting baskets full of exotic fruits and tasty delights. One of these looks and tastes something like a donut hole, but is squishy and largely hollow, as it is made from rice flour. Motorbikes dominate the streets, but flow magically around you the moment you walk into the street.
Further away from the city, tall skinny buildings teeter next to short grass huts. Bikes cart everything from children to pigs to long sticks of bamboo. Everybody really DOES have a water buffalo. Children stopped in the street to stare at us weird foreigners, then ran forward, excited to play with us. We threw "student flowers" at each other: small, sticky plants that are perfect toys. One small child led me around by the hand, only deciding to let go when I lifted her onto my back.

I'm in a dream. A mesmerizing journey. I am looking forward to sharing stories and continuing the journey when I return home.

Until next time, your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~

Crossing the Dateline

We set off covered in prayers, humbled by the immensity of this thing we were doing.
Feelings of inadequacy and fear pricked around my consciousness, threatening to undermine the courage given me through your prayers.
But the Holy Spirit was, and is, there, allowing me to recognize those thoughts for what they really are: lies.
I'm learning that I don't have to have it all together to do what God wants me to. He'll do it, whether I'm ready or not.
Ollie Ollie oxen-free! Come find me!
Day 1: 12 hour flight to Beijing. All-night layover. This meant only one thing: EXPLORING! And sleeping... eventually.
We took the subway in to Tianamen Square. Bright lights lit up that giant portrait of Mao Tse-Tung, street vendors flew giant strings of hundreds of tiny kites into the air, stoic guards stood by straighter and stiller than I ever thought humanly possible, and I realized: Toto, we ain't in America anymore.
Even more adventurous: we swept in to a little café for dinner. Of course, the entire menu is in Chinese... so we all attempt to order by pointing at the pictures, guessing what might be in them. We ended up ordering a dish that included one of the coolest and strangest foods I've ever tried: wachao, or ash pepper. The Chinese had to invent a special word just to describe the kind of taste sensation you experience when you eat one of these. At first, you think it might be spicy, but your mouth actually goes cold and sort of numb, then, your mouth begins to vibrate. Not tingle, vibrate. So strange, but so yummy.
And this was only the layover to where we were actually headed: Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.
Flying over Mongolia is probably one of the most beautiful sights you can see out of an airplane window. The hills are so incredibly green, and scattered throughout are little houses with brightly colored roofs. The city itself is peppered with mud puddles from the wet climate, and the brightly colored roofs intermingle with multiple construction projects and insane traffic jams... By insane, I don't mean massive... I mean that driving here is an insane affair. The only rule is that there are no rules. People create their own lanes out of the non existent shoulder or from the middle of the road... People sneak around the other cars with only inches to spare, signaling their presence by honking, not blinkers... And the potholes are so massive that driving down the highway feels like being on Indiana Jones at Disneyland.
Again, Toto, we ain't in America anymore.
Today, though, provided me with a very different challenge: teaching English as a foreign language for the first time. No instructions, just two partners, a classroom, and a vague idea that we were supposed to assess conversation skills. Allrighty then.
This, by the grace of God, turned out to be anything but a disaster. We asked various questions, asking for participation, getting more and more confident as time went on. We learned more about how Mongolians and others who live here live their lives, and what their dreams are.
I have great hope for the rest of the week.
After teaching in the morning, we have classes in the afternoon. We're getting background on the history, language, and folklore of Mongolia. Cyrillic makes my head hurt! But I'm still a fan of these classes (Mongols! Yay! :) )

Thank you all for your prayers and love. I miss you all, and wish you could all be here with me!
I'll keep telling you stories when I can, kay? :)

Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~

Adventuring Again

Well, hello again.
It's time to put this blog through its paces again. It's time to rev up its engines and set it going.
I'm headed off on another adventure, and this time it's a doozy... as if my last one wasn't!
Check out this page to see what I mean:
http://blogs.cui.edu/atw/
(You can find my sendoff video under my name in the "Travellers" tab.)

I'll be updating you when I can here on outplanet-aether and on my TripColor (which, if you have an iPhone, you can join for free and follow me there): http://www.tripcolor.com/user/38095 You can also take a peek at my Twitter feed, over there on the right.

Allrighty then. Cheerio, chums. Prayers, thoughts, and well-wishes are much appreciated. I'll miss you friends back in the states, and I'm looking forward to being with you, new friends, around the world!

LAUNCH DATE: August 5, 2012. LAUNCH PREPARATIONS IN PROGRESS. ALL SYSTEMS ARE CLEAR FOR TAKEOFF.

Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~