Ian Schumann - ... got soul but, yeah, I'm a soldier...

Closing Shop

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Friends,
In case you haven't heard, this season is coming to a close and I'll be stepping into something new very soon. I've finished the World Race, I've been initiated, I've rested, I've reflected, I've listened to the Lord for the next thing, and now I'm eager to go get after it. My Race support account is officially closed, and there are other non-AIM challenges appearing on my horizon.

So: if this blog or my journey has ever been any encouragement to you; if my stories have challenged or inspired you; if you want to continue supporting me in prayer or provision; if you want to follow my tracks through more life and adventure . . .

Then I invite you now over to my new home on the web:

Kingdom Dreams

Kingdom Dreams will be my new blog--a platform for continued life updates, philosophical thoughts, notes from the field, videos, photo essays, cultural observations, backpacking musings, support raising, and chapter stubs for the book that I may (still) one day write. Yep, it'll all happen there, folks.

It looks a little different from this blog, but will still behave responsibly for you un-web-savvy people. It'll play nice with any of your RSS readers, or if you just want simple email updates, use the link on the right sidebar. You'll see it.

(email alerts will come through an intermediate service called Feedburner; nothing to worry about, just a head's up for the uninformed)

So, everybody -- the shop is closing down here. Thanks once again for all the wonderful comments and memories, the support, and the prayers. If you want to keep coming along, head over to my new place!

Answering the Call

Mon, 9 Nov 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Well folks, I've got big news.

Through a wonderful hookup from my teammate Liz, I've made contact with a guy named Britt Jones, and he's presented me with a great opportunity. Britt runs his one-man video production company, Global Reality, from Colorado Springs: "To support my family by traveling the globe, filming stories of hope, communicating how God is working. Therefore, encourage and move God's people, to pray, to give, to go."

We discovered on the phone that we share the same two passions--media and discipleship--and the latter shows in his drive to mentor young Christian filmmakers. Cool, huh?! So I've been invited to join him in CO Springs as his apprentice for several months, learning everything he can teach me, and getting paid for whatever real work I do. There's a good chance that after the internship, I could have longer-term work with him or one of his many local connections.

Obviously, a fantastic opportunity for me. Free training from an expert and a Christian, in a field of potential that I can't allow myself to ignore, with compensation immediately accessible. And it's in Colorado!

In spite of how jaw-dropping this is, I did have to go through a confusing week of deliberation and prayer about this decision. In some ways, this move could be bigger than my choice to do the Race in the first place. This time there's no program, and no timetable to count on. I'm basically just going, and I have no idea when, or if, I'll return to Austin.

Beyond that, there have been apparent beginnings that the Lord has been working here in Austin during the past 2 months, and to head off to CO would be, in essence, to abandon those. Things like new church, new community, and that calling for college ministry that I wrote about weeks ago. I had to search hard for clarity on all that, but I believe that I now have it. If you want more details, you can ask me.

So friends, that's the size of it! I'll head up to Colorado Springs, CO, sometime around the new year, to join Britt Jones as an apprentice, and take a first big step toward a (potential) calling using media to inspire, encourage, and connect this generation with Kingdom work!

I need to again ask for your help. In an amusing coincidence of events, my computer's logic board fried itself on the same day that I received the call from Britt, so I'm unexpectedly without a workstation once I get up there. I've received some generous support from local friends in recent days, which is an immense blessing, but the expense to re-equip myself for video editing will still be very steep. On top of that, I still don't have a car, which could make the move up there, and subsequent life up there, uh, inconvenient at best.

So, please lend your prayers my way! Pray that the Lord would make the way clear for me to buy whatever I need for this new move in my life. Pray that the Lord would even miraculously provide a car for me, or that the donors the Lord has in mind will be inspired to give in due timing. Could you be one of those donors? I have one more week before my support account is closed, which means you have one more week to click here, if you feel moved to help commission me for this next mission! (or if it's later than that, you can email me)

Thanks everyone, and be blessed. Your prayers are appreciated.

This Transformation Thing [Part 2]

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 00:00:00 GMT

So in Wednesday's blog I presented this question: how did I get from (A) to (B)? Let's review.

At point (A), I'm a little cynical, a little spiritually dull. I have some friends who really care about international issues, with hearts for the poor / broken / lost, and are eager to intercede / sacrifice / give of themselves. I yearn to live like that myself, but I have almost no heart connection at all to the things that stir and compel them. I don't get it, and I feel self-centered.

At point (B), I feel alive. I'm eager to bring freedom and joy and healing to others. My heart quietly breaks when I intercede for people. I carry (a little of) God's love for His children. Though some days I still wander into self-absorption, it's now easy / quick / natural for me to refocus outward, to care for others and forget myself. I feel ready for Kingdom ministry.

The above positions aren't hypotheticals, they're basically true for my life, if maybe (a little) simplified. So, what happened in the meantime? Well . . . hold on a sec.

So when I first hit training last year, I heard talk of getting "wrecked." The thing was so interesting that I wrote a blog about it. Basically "getting wrecked" sounded like a cathartic episode wherein God just blows up your heart for, I dunno, orphans in India, or whoever. And then after that, selfishness fades away and you've got purpose and determination and sacrifice lined up for you, and God's right there, and you'll probably be canonized later. That's how it seemed: a perfect answer to my stubborn selfishness. So, for a chunk of the Race, that's what I was looking for.

Well, it didn't quite go that way. Nobody's surprised, I know. Obviously, I misinterpreted things a little.

Instead, slowly but surely, gingerly, in periodic increments, in tender quiet moments of the spirit, by supernatural inches at a time . . . I began to be transformed. Most of it happened so silently, under the engine hum of Race life, under the hood of team dynamics, that I hardly noticed it was happening. So what was the force behind this creeping renewal? I'm convinced that the simplest explanation for what God did out on the Race is . . .

. . . exposure.

And by that I mean: exposure to the heart of God. And by that I mean: getting out into the thick of the Kenyan desert, the Indian sex trade, the Ukrainian hopelessness; subjecting ourselves day after day to the embarassing dissonance of this broken world; slowly intaking the reality that there is an unimaginable amount of work to be done, and that your own hands are feeble answers without the supernatural blessing of the Lord; putting ourselves into the myriad arenas of hurt and healing, shame and restoration, into the battlegrounds of Kingdom ministry; and doing it all day, day after day after day after day, even when we didn't feel it, even when we didn't care, even when we didn't connect, didn't know, didn't want to know or feel or cry or remember; doing it all in faith, even when we just wanted to check out and get lunch.

And there's nothing magical or heroic at all about any of that. We simply showed up, and continued to show up, because the Lord called us to a year of showing up. And bit by bit, in the forge of that beautiful attrition . . . God slowly, powerfully changed what we're about. And the results can be surprising.

So, take-home lesson for the day. If you find yourself in a posture remotely like Point (A) above, well . . . there are a thousand good answers for you. My answer, for today, is that you find a place to expose yourself to the heart of God, and keep doing it, even when you don't feel it. You don't have to go to Africa, just walk out the front door. In your faith and persistence, God will wake up something profound inside of you. Amen.

This Transformation Thing [Part 1]

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 00:00:00 GMT

So I'm beginning to more intensively pick apart what happened to me out there. It's a big question.

Today I'm curious about why my heart changed on the Race. I've heard lately from people here that I'm "so on fire," and "all activated," etc. People say the words with wonder and sometimes envy, they report. Such compliments are a little disconcerting for me because right now I feel so adrift and challenged. I'm yearning for the presence of God in my life while begging desperately for direction, calling, and opportunity, amidst a chapter where, to date, I've found little. If I've made this season sound easy so far, well, that's been my mistake.

But of course, I understand why people might say these things. They're on the front end, and I'm on the back end. I've been initiated, I've been transformed. I'm not making this up.

I remember that 14 months ago I too felt distant and dull, half-hearted in my faith and love, and deeply frustrated by the few people I'd known who had "natural" intercessory hearts or deep passion for the hurting of the earth. I felt like I'd never be one of those people.

So today I just want to offer that simple dissonance for public consumption. Most of us, I suspect, have confronted half-heartedness or stagnation in our hearts. Most of us have felt insulated (or guilty) from the suffering of the third world, or the suffering of the drunk bum outside our car windows. Most of us, at one time or still today, look at those that have "hearts for the nations" and imagine that we'll never have that kind of sacrificial passion, or look at those who give to and serve the unloveable, and suspect that we'll never have that sort of faith and love.

Am I right? Be honest.

So the question is: what's the truth here? When we confront this dissonance (especially from the front end), what's our answer? Are some called to radical, sacrificial lives and others to "normal" lives? Are only some gifted with love and intercession, and others need not try to be something they're not?

And if the answers are no (I believe they are), then what can we do, pray, or hope for in response? I hope to see conjectures and personal experiences in the comments field below, and then tomorrow I'll present mine.

Things I Care About: Fight Club

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 00:00:00 GMT

So I want to start a series on things the Lord's laid on my heart. The first is my group of boys, Fight Club.

When I began my semester of internship with the Texas Wesley in January 08, I hadn't yet been a Christian for a year. I had a lot of passion and energy, and not a lot of Biblical grounding, practical understanding, or experience in a life of faith. But for whatever reason, these 7 guys went for the hazy, optimistic vision I cast out for a brotherhood under Christ--energetic, committed, clandestine, and radical. I didn't know what those words much meant yet, and I hardly understood anything at all about discipleship, brokenness, sharing life, or what have you . . . but we all bought in together. When I cited Fight Club as one of our inspirational examples of brotherhood, well--I couldn't convince them otherwise, and the name stuck for good. I was handing out weekly assignments in envelopes within a couple of weeks.

Here are the guys:

Greg Smith:
Greg is cheerful and tends to be disarming. He's a tech geek, and talkative, and pretty endearing. He's gifted as a servant, and helps build houses for Habitat for Humanity. He's driven in an analytic, die-hard pursuit of the Lord, and fear of the unknown doesn't tend to slow him down much. I think he's on a fast track toward radical life with the Lord, although he may not see that coming yet. His heart is unusually tender. He lends vulnerability and humility to the group. I've seen him grow immensely since I got back. He gets rich prophetic images when he asks for them. I'm convinced he might be a fantastic comforter / counselor dude one day, maybe after he gets some panoramic experiences of the human condition--the Race maybe?

Jeff Reed:
Jeff is usually quiet and rock-solid in his faith and conviction. I'm pretty sure he loves the church more than any of us, and that love is evident in his time and effort. When Jeff does make noise in our meetings, half the time it's a hilarious deadpan joke (like his face here)--the other half seems to be for making stands on what he believes. He brings orthodoxy and moderation to the group (and we need it), and when we worship together, he's the one leading with the guitar. It wouldn't surprise me if he ended up in an apostolic role in the church one day.

Jordan Treuter:
Besides me, Jordan seems to be the loud extrovert of the group. People seem drawn to him almost by accident, a fact that I suspect will make outreach and community a natural part of his life forever. Jordan isn't afraid of confrontation, which is helpful. I see a prophetic anointing settling in on him in the next months and years, but for a long time his mouth has been closed at key times due to old wounds, threats of judgment, lies and shame. We've witnessed brave confession and vulnerability from him as he's begun walking through deliverance from that stuff, and in the meantime I've seen the Lord grow him as an encourager and supporter. I believe his words and energy will bring freedom to many people in his life.

Justin Su:
Justin has redefined boldness for us. He's long been one of the quietest among us, yet he has a vibrant heart for active, intentional, missional life. He eagerly desires the things of the Spirit, and has eaten up every crazy story I've brought home from the field. As his confidence with words has been growing while we've known him, he hasn't waited around--in faith he's pressed on and been an example to many in his heart for evangelism, his prayer life, and his warrior-like mindset for the Kingdom's advance. He wouldn't say those things about himself, of course . . . but we can all see the Spirit on him.

Michael Brase:
If I had to choose, I'd say Mike is the smart one. Also a quiet one, but brilliant and articulate when you press him to answer the right questions. Mike matches Greg's heart for pure loving service, which is fantastic. Mike also has started dancing as a channel of worship, which to me is even more fantastic. I'm eager for him to really get to the good juicy intimacy with the Lord, and I can see it coming soon. If you ever give Mike a compliment that hits home, he'll squirm nervously, which is cute. I'm almost certain of Mike's inborn gift as a teacher. What he'll teach, I don't know exactly. I do know that his mind and his words have unusual stopping power, and after this season of sloughing off old lies from the enemy and growing into the coming closeness with God, I think he'll burst forth with a passion and acuity that will really change lives.

Nick Shives:
Nick's the most likely to be a guerilla warfare specialist for God. He's the one who pushed for Fight Club's name and it's early clandestine energy, who's always showing his excitement for depth or community or brotherhood or risk with the same big stupid grin on his face, which I recognize and have come to love. I feel God's given me special authority over his life, mostly because we've suffered so many of the same abuses, thrown up so many similar walls, and shared so many of the same joys and mistakes. We're on a similar road. When made aware of sin or dysfunction in his life, he always seems to choose into God, however painfully. That's Grace working in him powerfully. He's experiencing brokenness and vulnerability firsthand right now as he asks us into his current healing in ways that are truly new and unknown for him. Along with Jordan, Nick has started a new discipleship group among the current Wesley freshmen, and I see that leadership being a key conduit to lead Nick (and Jordan) toward God.

Robert Weibel:
Bob, as I call him, is older by a year than the rest of the group, and was the interim leader while I was gone on the Race. To me he seems solid both physically and spiritually. He's sometimes not yet responsible in the normal sense of the word, and yet I know that ultimately he's reliable in a way that goes much deeper. When Fight Club prays, he's the one going "Uh huh" with each line. He tries hard to support and love the guys at every moment. He quickly admits his mistakes and failures, usually with a slight grin and a big shrug. He's easy to love and difficult to dismiss. Because he's already been humbled before the Lord a great deal, I feel like he really gets it in a way that most guys his age don't. He knows how to fall on his face. He brings confession and grace to the group. He's going to be a fantastic father one day.

Together again since I've returned, we journey forward together. I recently went public about relinquishing silly pride in, and ownership of, Fight Club's "progress." Ultimately now, my hope is that these guys would grow together as men into a brotherhood that's autonomous, that doesn't need me at all, that will continue to impact and guide their lives and turn them toward God for years and years. And it's happening! I'm seeing it happen in their faces and their hearts and their spirits.

Pretty beautiful stuff. Pretty beautiful God.

This is one of the things I care about.

Month 12+: Missional Living

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Well, it's been a while.

My hope is to start writing again fairly regularly. In these intervening 6 weeks I've had ample time to rest, to rejoin old friends and plug back into life and relationships here, to begin investing in a new church home, to play ultimate frisbee, to listen and pray about the future and explore options, reflect on what the Lord's done and what He's in the process of doing. It's been a very full time, and mostly, it's been very good.

In this update I just want to lay out two major threads in my life that I've been watching, praying, and hoping about: vocation and passion. My big hope is that the Lord is guiding these two lines to rise up and meet at a point of new, clear calling on my life for this next season. That's my hope. But of course, life and God haven't worked so neatly, or not yet. Ahem:

1) Vocation
In these 6 weeks I've looked, pursued, and prayed into a lot of options. I've cold-called area churches, talked with after-school programs, pursued on-campus openings at UT, talked to media studios and copywriters and a half-dozen nearby restaurants. I even came close to a full-time post at a promising artificial intelligence startup where I'd get to actually use my linguistics degree. I've submitted dozens of resumes. All leads have continued to fall through completely.

I'm not whining and I don't want pity, I'm just expressing that I haven't sat around. I've searched and will continue, but so far it looks as though God's schedule isn't synced up with mine. I've had to swallow my pride and embrace a little more faith in this season.

And, I'm not taking all this lying down. I've done one-off jobs, mowed lawns and given massages and helped my mom with paperwork and even scrubbed out my friend's bathroom. It's made me a few bucks in the meantime. But of course, I'll need some real income soon. I continue to search, to pray, and to wait on the Lord. I believe He's got something in mind.

2) Passion
Elsewhere, I certainly haven't been waiting--I've been going. For one, I came off the Race field knowing that my heart had grown greatly for discipleship and for the journeys of young guys. Seemingly in response, God has said "Okay, here!" and put me right back in the thick of guiding the brothers of Fight Club, which I introduced to you all a year ago. It's been life-giving, joyful, confusing, at times demanding, and completely worth it. My heart continues to grow for those 7 guys. I spend around 10 hours a week with some or all of them.

Outside of Fight Club, all the passion I've known for a while has been those hazy heart currents that I carried off the Race with me: media, video, writing, hope for my generation to rise up, for Kingdom cultivation, for mentorship, etc. But in recent days, new things have grown in my soul.

Mainly, I've felt the Lord take my Race mindset--the missional mandate to seek out the dirty, poor in spirit, broken, isolated, ashamed and rejected--and repurpose it all for my collegiate home-front. Friends, this truly has been new territory for me. Over the last two weeks I've cried out several times in real pain and grief and longing for my peers who don't know the Lord, who are cut off from community or caught up in sin, stuck in a dry spot or entrapped in judgment or shame . . . and I've never experienced such intercessory passion before. I believe this kind of activation is the Great Commission for all those who believe . . . but for me, this is the first time it's resounded so deeply.

Last week I got to sleep out alone in the woods (campsite pictured), and there I felt like God made it clear what's going on: He's preparing my heart to be in full-time ministry to the UT corpus, to students and friends and drifters here; to live a missional life here at home.

As of this writing, there are two campus ministry options that I'm pursuing and will hash through very soon. They look truly promising and could be medium- or even long-term positions. This could be big.

So, friends, once again I'm giving thanks that you're still coming with me, and again I'm asking for your prayers and your support. Since coming home I've been spending less than $350/month, 90% of which simply covers my portion of rent, food, and utilities. But I simply don't have the money to handle this right now, and despite my best efforts toward self-sufficiency, I do still need your help. I'm just looking to pay down my credit card and handle basic expenses for the next few months, to continue to wait and pray until whatever the Lord is preparing comes to fruition. Every little bit helps. I'm not sitting around in the meantime.

If you'd like to support and commission this missionary, and help him transition to his next calling . . . please click here or send me an email. Thanks, and be blessed.

Homecoming

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 00:00:00 GMT

I've been putting this one off for sure. It's been hard to know where to start. Practical strokes first.

Two days resting with the grandparents in Florida, three more with my own parents in south Austin, and as of Monday I've situated finally in my newest short-term home: a friend's apartment in the center of the city, close to almost everything and everyone that I've really missed about home. I'm resting and enjoying, completely bankrupt, unemployed, and searching soon for work and direction.
(if you want to help me buy groceries--I'm serious--then you know what to do)

In one key way, the Lord's been incredibly tender and generous with me: I still have a ton of great community in this town. My old campus ministry is kicking and growing with lots of familiar faces, and most of my peers have stayed in the area and missed me. On Sunday in the park I was mobbed by a surprise welcome-home party of 30+ people. I never even knew in the first place that there were so many people here that loved me; I had even less clue that so many would celebrate my return. The Lord's given me an incredible crash pad after my global adventure.

Maybe because of all that, or because of sheer grace, the transition's been quick and easy for me. The Race experience feels like it's coasted seamlessly into Month 12, not ended suddenly or painfully. I'll continue to miss my teammates but my family here is so bright and beautiful; I'll continue to tell stories about the Lord's work in the field, but I'm already making new stories here, new sequels. It could be that I haven't mourned my Race or my team properly . . . but I've tried. It could be that there will come a day soon when I'll recoil painfully from the realization of what I've lost . . . but until then, and aside from a few bumps in this short road, it's been joyful so far.

I feel like a new man, enthused and excited, seasoned, wizened, tenderized, more sensitive and loving with these people around me than I've ever been before. I feel so full! A dozen conversations with my old friends have helped me immensely to pin down what exactly happened out there--how I changed, what I learned, and what I truly haven't. I'm trying to remain humble. In the meantime, I've never felt this passionate about anything in my life before, except for girls.

When I wake up in the morning, part of me feels surprised to be back. The rest of me feels ready. After all, training is over, and the Kingdom journey has only just begun.

Breathing Fire [part 1]

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:00:00 GMT

This blog series is graphic. Not gory-detail-graphic. Just graphically honest.

*******

Our story begins with some backstory. I need to introduce The Canadians.

My team finished ministry in La Carpio several days ago. On Sunday we bus 5 hours to Arenal National Park, a neat volcano place with rainforests and resorts and rafting and the kitchen sink for tourists. We're doing a quickie end-of-year team vacation, a single night at a plush resort near the volcano. Sunday afternoon, I join a small group to do a couple hours of canopy tour, a trademark Costa Rica thing where you zipline through hundreds of meters of jungle at high speeds. It was cool.

The six of them are the other half of our canopy group. They strike me as crass, obnoxious, and disrespectful. Our guides are irritated. I would be too. At first Jake figures them for Italians -- robust, vulgar, dark-skinned, roundish men, all with the same indeterminate old-world accent. Turns out they're all Israelis, now living in Toronto. Oddly, they're adamant about claiming their Canadian nationality.

So, these are The Canadians. Whatever judgments I render on them initially, I realize how silly I am, how broken I am, how hypocritical I am. And then I enjoy their machismo and f-bombs and ridiculousness, as entertainment, for the rest of the tour.

************

Lunchtime next day we catch the same 5-hour bus back to San Jos. Wouldn't you know it, The Canadians are there with us, giving some audible flare to the back of the bus. "Ey, it's the zipline guys!" one of them greets us. Should be a fun ride.

It's normal for inter-city buses to pick up people from the side of the road, on the way, carrying them for just a few minutes at a time. Through our 5 hours, at times the bus has empty seats, other times even the center aisle bulges with standing passengers.

This hour was one of the latter kind. I had an aisle seat. As standers rotate through their short trips, they lean over me or sit a leg on my arm rest, trying to find a semi-relaxed position, or bracing themselves against the rough ride. Personal space gets invaded bigtime, but hey, that's normal life outside the US.

[continued in part 2]

Breathing Fire [part 2]

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:00:00 GMT

I had been dozing in and out for half an hour. Several rotations of standers probably pass me. But then I'm semi-lucid for a moment, and one of the standers catches my eye about 10 feet ahead. A girl, probably a native. She's small-ish and looks young, maybe 18, but her face is somehow wise, somehow older and enticing. I'm surprised by how beautiful she is. My eye wants to investigate that beauty and this subtle cunning in her eyes. I linger too long. She meets my accidental stare, surprising me again, and with a mild, dispassionate alarm I re-close my eyes and drift off.

**********

Not more than five minutes pass. When I awake, the girl is standing right next to my seat. I'm surprised for a third time. She braces herself lazily on the seatback in front of me, slender tapered fingers with manicured edges idling a foot in front of my eyes. Her hips brush on my shoulder every time the bus turns right, but with each curve I can't shake the feeling that she's leaning against me just a hair longer than momentum demands.

Still surprised, I'm not sure what to do. This is clearly inappropriate. Maybe if I just sleep for five more minutes, the problem will go away . . .

********

. . . She doesn't go away. When I wake up, she's closer than before. Close enough that her body fills half my field of vision. Her breasts are inches from my eyes. Her other hand is so close that I smell haunting, exquisite traces of her bath soap. I don't ever meet her eyes, or even look directly at her body, but then I don't have to. Even in turning away to face the window, her warmth is still palpable, her smell still obvious, her enchanting proximity inescapable. She takes a pack of gum out from between her breasts, begins chewing noisily. In the midst of my intermittent dreams, my semi-lucidity, this is like waking up to some other person's sultry fantasy. Or my own.

For minutes that seem like hours, I battle with myself silently while this girl hovers over me seductively. I feel like I'm losing. I'm cut off from my teammates seated elsewhere in the bus. I'm boxed in on all sides. I'm too awake now to repeat my feeble escape move. But the hardest part is that a serious chunk of me is enjoying this. I haven't known this kind of physical closeness for more than a year. I've missed it. Now it's being offered freely. Why not enjoy it? In this remote, claustrophobic moment, blocked from the eyes of anyone that knows me, I could choose to be anybody . . .

[continued in part 3]

Breathing Fire [part 3]

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:00:00 GMT

No. No.

I know who I am. I've fought and cried and broken this year to take hold of who I am. I'm an adopted son of the Father, a co-heir with Christ to the whole Kingdom of Heaven, a prophet of the Truth, a vessel for Love. I once was blind and broken, I once was powerless against the temptation now facing me . . . but not anymore. In Christ I've been redeemed.

The intoxication begins to break. My thoughts bend toward nobler questions. How old is she really? Where is she from? Why is she using her body like this? How has she been violated? Is this how she perpetuates that abuse? What scars does she carry in that too-wizened face? Um, what's her name, even?

In the midst of this, suddenly she gives up and moves on, finding a seat among, you guessed it, The Canadians. Their Spanish is pitiful but their voices are loud, and I hear them enthusiastically welcoming her among their seats. They could be more than twice her age, but I hear them joking with her, flirting with her. One says "I think she wants you, man!" and they laugh. I look back and find another with his arm around her. My blood boils quietly.

Over these minutes, those questions and hazy spiritual impressions firm up into a prophetic message. Nothing profound or new, but powerful. She's been taught to find her worth in the desire of men. But she needs to know that she's eagerly, jealously desired by God, that she is His radiant daughter, that she is beautiful and treasured, that all these things are true and real already, without a man's eye or whisper or longing to confirm it. Somehow, she needs to know.

This year, we become the answer to that "somehow." She'll know today.

But wait, I can't do this on the bus, right? My Spanish isn't good enough at conversational speed. The crowd is too thick. The Canadians are hanging all over her. There are natives all around to overhear, too. She would be somehow humiliated, or The Canadians would be offended. It's all wrong.

But I do have my journal below my seat. So I take this revelation to paper. If all my learning over the past two months of broken translation were for nothing but this note, it would be worth it. I'm no wordsmith in this language, but I know enough. The message is simple, direct, and as compassionate as it can be in my amateur Spanish. I pray over the note a lot, fold it up, and wait.

As she exits an hour later, I pass it to her: "Chica, este es para ti."
"Uh, gracias!" she says, and steps off.

*********

In the intervening hour I had learned some more about her from the Canadians' noise. She lives in a neighborhood near San Jose. She speaks a little English. She's only 16. She has a 3-year-old son. She doesn't know where the father is. I never heard her name, either.

I have no idea how my note was received, but I'm sure she must have opened it, puzzled, as soon as she stepped off the bus. I left no name or explanation of who I was, no email address though I heard she had one herself. It's my hope that in the absence of my name, she'll come to see those words as having come more from God than from just another man in this world.

*********

In the AIM circle, there's this vocab word that gets thrown around: fire-breathing. We want to be a fire-breathing tribe. I've never really gotten it. I'm sure it's great, maybe scriptural even . . . but it's never been explained to me.

But maybe yesterday on the bus was a glimpse. Caught at the piercing intersection of my fallen nature and my new life in Christ . . . I chose to act, to speak. And when the Truth is spoken purposefully, that speech has energy and life and heat to it. Lies and deceptions wither and melt. Demonic forces scatter in disarray. Maybe that's what it means to breathe fire.

A year ago, even 6 months ago, this day might have gone very differently. I may have let myself get drawn into that cycle of sin somehow. I may have given in meekly. But my heart is changing, my inner man is changing, and yesterday we won, me and the Lord. Instead of perpetuating this girl's shame, I spoke out aggressively against it. Unapologetically, with certainty in the Truth about her. And with any luck, with any Spirit, with any providence . . . I tore some lies to shreds, and burned them up in the fire.

Oh Wait, Finance Stuff

Thu, 6 Aug 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Almost forgot this part . . . but not quite.

My friends, this will be my final finance brief from the field. Before I say anything else, let me offer this . . .

Thank you.

This font size doesn't go big enough. *shrug*

Thanks for your incredible, unending support. The Lord truly worked a miracle through each of you, and now, for certain, I'm safe and paid up and AIM is all happy with me. Yippee!

Okay, now here's what else you should know about me: I'm just about broke. When I get home I'll have something like $100 to my name, or less. Now, this is fine, and just like every other aspect of the last year of my life, I'm not afraid to put my faith in the Lord to get me through some unusual circumstances. But, just as before, it could be through you that the Lord chooses to provide.

Now, at this point, all excess support $$ that come in for me will have one of three destinies:

1) I can ask AIM to reimburse me for all the third-party fees that weren't covered by the program cost (for me, that means more than $1000 in immunizations, travel insurance, and domestic airfare)

2) The cash will benefit my ongoing ministry with AIM, which right could include flying into GA to help train up new squads, or blazing new trails and next steps for WR-like programs, or doing video for marketing and mobilization.

3) The cash will be seamlessly absorbed by the World Race program and probably help with transit or coaching or training for future squads or something.

So, if you're still paying attention, hopefully you're growing a little interested in options (1) and (2). Hopefully. Do you want to help me get back on my feet once I get home, maybe help me pay some rent for a month while I'm still decompressing? Or maybe you just believe in my calling from the Lord, maybe you want to see this program grow, maybe you want to see my media talent get tapped and developed for the benefit of something bigger. Man, I sure do!

So listen, no pressure at this point, only providence, only grace, only miracles, just like always, right? If you love me and you still want to be a part of my adventure, or you just want to help provide for what will truly be Month 12, then please, take a moment, click the <Support Me!> link on the left one more time, and let the Lord use you.

You've all been better to me than I deserve, and you have my undying thanks. Take care everybody, and fight the good fight.

The Bottom of the 9th

Wed, 5 Aug 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Phew, okay, lots of catch up, not a lot of time for it . . .

Guatemala, overall, was badass. My wonderment from Antigua never really waned. The people here are so freakin' beautiful! I love the language, the culture, the food, the structure of life. Or the lack thereof. It's all so beautiful. God, can I come back to Latin America?

During the last week of our time in Puerto Barrios, me and the boys from our two teams stole off into the mountains to paint some radio towers. Nice, huh? Also, we hung out with a cool local pastor up there, and on the second day one of our Guatemalan bros put a scorpion on Jake while he was sleeping. Heh.

Now, the final leg of this Race for team Fuse is . . . drum roll . . . Costa Rica! The transit from Puerto Barrios, Guatemala, to San Jos, CR, was absolutely ridiculous. Three days on buses. To cover this far on the map! *thumb and forefinger one inch apart*

Anyway, we've been re-couping at our American contact's house in town for a couple of nights, and tomorrow morning at 7 we'll head out to El Carpio, an infamous little squatter community riddled with crime and drugs and abuse and 20,000 immigrants, mostly Nicaraguan. We'll live and work in a major village resource center, taking part in probably a half-dozen different programs and community outreaches.

You should know, this final stretch of ministry will be short, intense, and remote. We don't expect to have any internet out there, which means this will be the last time you hear from me before -- second drum roll -- Final Debrief. So, be praying for us as we try to burn through about 15 days of continual ministry, full with the Father's heart for these children of His. I'm psyched, and I'm ready.

Ready? Go!

Culture Shock(s) [Part 1]

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 00:00:00 GMT

So . . . I've been traveling for a little while. I've lived on four-ish continents. I've seen a few things. Today I want to talk about culture shock, or probably we'd better call it . . . comparisons in development.

Actually, first could you read my thoughts on Africa?

My time in Africa was formative for my Race. Lodwar, in particular, showed me the lowest, the simplest, the most modest ways that I'll ever expect humans to live. But even the big cities of Africa feel somehow primitive, somehow like gigantic farmers' markets, as if somebody showed Africans how to do cities a little while ago, but they still don't fit into the cultural DNA of the place. I think, in some vague sociological way, that this is true--Africa is a rich fabric of families and tight little communities, not schedules and development plans, not apartment blocks.

So, having adjusted over the months to that place, Africa would become an anchor, a key data point on a graph that you'll soon see. Come with me further.

After Africa, we flew east again into India. The city of Bangalore, in the south, illustrated well India's current reality--1.1 billion people in a developmental explosion. It was messy, polluted, burgeoning with activity, a little oppressive and incredibly crowded. Life in India may once have resembled Africa's, but in Bangalore, that way is long-gone. Instead you'll find a thoroughly urban people, adapted for work schedules and traffic jams and craving efficiency, eager to get about their day, eager to do their own self-interested part in this unbelievable transformation, and maybe get rich in the process. I had left the African anchor point, and climbed upward on the graph, upward toward development, and toward us.

Then we came to Ukraine. Post-Communist. Years and years of agro-industrial tyranny had left the place a little dark and depressed--many people still seemed to maintain a daily vodka intake, even long after the government stopped rationing it. But, in terms of development and urbanization, I found a lot more that I recognized from home. Here we found high-speed internet cafes, subways, self-contained apartment complexes, cafes with international cuisine, fashions we recognized. The supermarket across the street rivaled my one-stop grocery in Austin. Well-lit, clean, tons of choices, most of them cheap . . . I was almost back in civilization as I knew it.

Finally, in month 9, we arrived in Slovakia, near the geographic center of Europe. A surprising new world awaited me there. Skyscrapers. Underground malls. Fashion. Wi-fi. Neatly-trundling urban trams. Lattes. Tesco. Gelato. $25 shorts--what a deal! This marked the top end of the graph for me. We might as well have been back in the States.

And guess what? Culture shock, all over again.

Culture Shock(s) [Part 2]

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Bratislava, Slovakia. Month 9. For 4 and a half weeks, I readjusted to a life that was startlingly familiar. Basically, I was home, back in the developed West. And it was rough.

Absolutely overstimulating. Too many colors, too many lights, too many constant campaigns for my hair-trigger, Euro-spending attention. The shopping malls hurt my brain. So much to do! Who needs God or even friends when there are so many distractions, so much broadband, night life, cute little never-ending boutiques, tasteful cafs, bistros, sex shops, well-manicured parklands, old-town plazas, movie theaters, ice-skating rinks, climbing walls, squash courts . . .

And keep in mind, these levels I've been describing are not just about things, not just about buildings and restaurants and cars and houses. The deepest consequences of material culture laid in the hearts and minds of the people we found there. That's what was so shocking about coming back to the developed West.

The few moments that we're forced into proximity with strangers, we go into polite survival mode, becoming spatially and verbally invisible and moving on with our day as quickly as possible. In Bratislava, the daily autobus is a ripe sociological experiment. Maybe the Gypsy man in back is drunk and hitting his wife. And? Nobody knows him, nobody wants to. Everyone's got something else to do, somewhere else to be. This, finally, is civilization as we know it.

So . . . some things I missed in the developed world: true wilderness; true solitude; reasons to know my neighbors; noticing the sky; seeing the horizon; easily building relationships.

Things I don't look forward to upon August re-entry: task-oriented life; results mentality; fast-paced schedules; commuting; endless reasons for rain-checks.

Midway through Slovakia, I thought--"Huh, it would be nice to be back in the 3rd world right now." Amid all those electric dreams, all that surplus, I connected with very little, and so sometimes I felt like I was hardly there.

That's the world you and I live in. Take note.

Anyway, I got over the pessimism, or I will. Every place requires adaptation, right? Africa certainly did, and now, for me, so does home. But, if Lodwar and Bratislava are on opposite ends of a continuum, then certainly there must be a happy medium to be found.

As soon as we pulled into Antigua, I thought maybe I'd found it. Now, after a week in Puerto Barrios, I think Latin America could well be my dream theater. Development here has improved the quality of life, and offered all the choices anyone would never need. But it hasn't replaced community. It hasn't overwhelmed family. It hasn't transformed minds into time clocks. Development here has improved life, yeah, but it hasn't become the reason for living. There's still improvisation. Still room, and need, for faith. Still flexibility. Disorder. Irrationality. Hope. Community. I'm fascinated.

************************

At the end of the day, every place on Earth has its tradeoffs. We want to idealize other cultures, or else villanize them, but in both cases we miss the bigger picture. Those of us in affluence, or those of us herding goats, are just at different points on the same continuum. We are not better, nor are we special.

It may be true that, recession or not, most of us are better provided for, materially, than anybody else I've met in this world journey. We have more choices, more information, and more disposable income than any culture in history. But, I don't need to tell you: such affluence has come at a price. That neurotic efficiency has changed your brain. That work week has demanded grave sacrifices elsewhere. That home theater has replaced some of your community. Most of us know, somewhere in our bones, that something is missing.

Anyway, I could go on, but chances are you already know or you'll read a good book about it soon. The question is--can my experience benefit you? Can I give you enough of a bird's eye view of home to show you how you can be more free of its toxins? Has my heart changed enough out here that maybe yours can too?

My deep hope for us is that, having seen just enough of God's provision out here, in the forms of faith, and joy, and true family and community, that we at home can take new steps of faith too; that we might ignore the warning sirens of our culture; that we could make bolder sacrifices to chase after what we know we need. God will provide.

Mesoamerican Bliss

Sat, 4 Jul 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Transit from Slovakia to Guatemala entailed 2 bus rides, 5 flights, and about 50 hours. Mmmm jet lag!

Now we're chillin' in Antigua, a town that looks and feels like a Guatemalan postcard. The place is gorgeous and quaint, foot-accessible, and relaxing. A morning jog shows the city's many faces. Tiny nias walk with schoolbags bigger than they are. Colorful autobuses spew black smoke and noise and say "Dios te bendiga" on the back. Busy open-air markets hum with activity. Subtly-styled coffee shops advertise native blends and imported wifi. Crumbling baroque stonework evokes high romance and history class. Cheerful abuelas squeeze fresh juice from street carts. Three massive volcnes ring the city, hovering, watching patiently. And all the while, smoothly flitting back and forth from native tongues, is a familiar vernacular that I love, that I can actually converse in, if only a little.

This place is fantastic.

The plot twist for the week is the presence of I-Squad, also known as June '09. They just finished month 1, and have the entire Race ahead of them. We just finished month 9, and have only 2 to go. It's a sweet combination. Every minute getting to know these enthusiastic cadets has been engrossing and exciting for me. There are few things that turn my heart on more than seeing personal deliverance, growth, and maturation; and these things are written all over I-Squad's 33 faces.

Last night we had a blow-out joint worship session, something like 85 Racers, staff, and coaches packed into one high-ceilinged room for 2 hours of praise, prayer, activation, prophesy, and wild glorious noise. Man oh man. I was all in. My private experiments on the back side are changing me; my newfound joy in the Lord is bursting through my skin; my heaviness and hesitance are slowly, steadily, leaving for good.

We danced and shouted, cheered as worship leaders rotated through the mic, laid hands on brothers known and unknown. We got to invigorate these young Racers. We got to break off heaviness and depression, fear of the unknown, shame and doubt. We got to speak life. We got to impart what the Lord has imparted to us over these months. We got to plant the Kingdom in one another. What a night.

I'm looking forward to this home stretch being the very best leg of the Race. In Jesus' name.

This Passionate Exile (part 1)

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 00:00:00 GMT

"I will be found by you, declares the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and places where I have driven you, declares the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile."

This is Jeremiah 29:14, and it hits home. Because deep in my bones, I've always felt like an exile. Even when I was much younger, I had an existential ache, an ennui, an episodic but persistent melancholy--an undeniable feeling that something is deeply wrong about this place, this Earth. That somehow, it is not our home.

And yeah, that feeling was what finally drove me into God's arms when I was 21. But it didn't go away--in fact I've learned a lot more about it. There is something wrong with this place! There's profound tragedy in being so distant from God in this spectacularly broken world. I feel truly as if, buried in my soul's brain, or buried even in the collective unconscious of our prodigal species . . . somehow we remember what's like to be united with our Creator, with our loving Savior. That must be where the dissonance comes from. Somehow, this world is just not what we expected.

Can one remember something that hasn't happened yet?

I think this memory is what causes me, in particular, to wander. Somehow, the life of a pilgrim seems right in my spirit. Somehow, nomadism seems to line up with what I know about our human condition, and what I know about our Savior, and what He says about what happens when we go looking for Him.

And I've been looking.

*******

So for many of us, one of the great questions for this year has been: how do I connect with God? And, how do I stay connected? How do I make my home there, in His presence?

It's been a long road for me, for all of us. There are many obstacles. Some of mine were shame and depression, and their child, cynicism. If Satan can convince me to give up the search before I've begun it, he wins the battle without firing a shot.

But this month yielded deliverance from that garbage, and what's followed has been joy, faith, hope, and love. And yesterday, my last day in Slovakia, some pieces came together in new ways . . .

This Passionate Exile (part 2)

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 00:00:00 GMT

It's a free day, a Sabbath. I've learned that I need to spend these days out of doors. Load up my pack with a bible, journal, rain jacket, and a borrowed iPod. Head for one of Bratislava's central parks. 1pm. High school kids kicking the futbol. Gypsy family lounging under a tree. English students laughing 30 meters from me. Nice relaxing music in my ears, satisfying grassy earth under my back. The Lord's presence, gentle and slow, or something.

3pm. Hm, this has been nice. But I feel like doing more, though, God. I feel like bursting out of my skin, getting up and moving with You or something. It would sure be nice if there was a park nearby that was less crowded . . .

330pm. A different park, quieter here. Shielded from the downtown bustle by concrete walls and a good treeline. Journal for a few minutes. Scattered thoughts. Wondering what to do with myself. And then, a thunderclap in the distance. A storm front moving in. Drizzle and lightning steadily wash over the place. The park is empty in a matter of minutes. As the last of them stroll lazily out under umbrellas . . . I realize I am alone with my Maker. In the middle of a city of half a million, reveling in a thunder shower, I have a green worship space of 5 acres, all to myself.

Shoes off, rain jacket on. Headphones in, Enter the Worship Circle on shuffle. Eyes closed. It starts slow. Singing. Pacing. Then the songs pick up. Now I'm shouting, now I'm dancing, now I'm cartwheeling and jumping and diving and moving like an idiot. Screaming, caught up in the harmonies, in the beauty of this worship. The Lord is nearer to me than I can remember Him. His goodness is overwhelming. I'm overcome. This is new. This is different. This is fantastic. His presence is everywhere, and loud.

This lasts for nearly 2 hours. While my eyes are closed, who knows how many poor Slovaks walk past, puzzled or concerned for this weird wild elf man exhorting the very rain?

I don't know what happened here, except that I finally found the space and time I needed to break through. I had no more excuses. No more reasons to procrastinate. I could no longer put off releasing the new joy in my heart.

At the beginning of the year, Gary Black told me he saw the heart of David in me. Whether he's right or wrong, I believe God's shown me the first picture of my own special back side of the desert. I believe He's laid the foundation stones for my new home, the one I've missed for years.

Angels and Demons

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Here's another story for ya.

Since we arrived in Bratislava, I've had an awesome time. Despite a lot of communication difficulties among our team and with our contacts, late-Race emotional fatigue, ministry being somewhat scattered as we've tried to discern our purpose, and everyone's stressful re-entry planning . . . I've had an awesome time.

After our Romania debrief I reported that I'd had some deliverance from "longtime heaviness." This is true. Our coach Mike Hindes helped me recognize that I've been cycling through bouts of shame and depression (I think probably for years). In my mind this is the most basic example of spiritual warfare, and maybe it's also one of the most difficult to spot, because its symptoms are pretty common and accepted in advanced urban socities. That's food for thought for you, by the way.

Anyway, having recognized all that, and having pushed through a lot of the fatigue I was feeling earlier in the month . . . I've been having an awesome run here. One of the best times on the whole Race. Upbeat, engaged, and hopeful. I've felt more like myself than usual. Praise the Lord.

Then on Friday, our last Sabbath, out of the blue, I had a pretty terrible day. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed somehow, and when I got around my teammates my malaise just got worse, so I backed off and went home. As far as I could tell, the feeling of anxiety and oppression was totally causeless, and so, I guess, probably demonic. I spent much of the day worshiping, and praying against what evidently was a fresh barrage of spiritual attack. Around 6 I saw Star Trek, which was a treat, but I ended the day in mostly the same rough state that I'd begun it.

On Saturday we were booked all day--help out at a big outdoor birthday party for the sons of a couple Slovaks at our church. While getting ready in the morning, I still felt rotten, so Jake and Janina prayed for me. One of the petitions from Janina was "let Ian somehow be encouraged by these kids."

The day, surprise, turned out to be pretty fun. Somewhere in the course of throwing the disc, taking hilarious videos of three-legged races, starting a campfire in high winds (yes!), and playing some serious football for an hour (not gridiron), my mood loosened up. I started feeling a little normal again.

And then, near the end, I met Dorota, a tiny Slovak girl whose parents I never identified. She had no English skills, no inhibitions, and evidently no worries. She chased me around the park for more than an hour. When she caught me she'd hang on my shirt or one of my legs, and then we'd wrestle or I'd swing her around or carry her on my back, or whatever. We got really dirty together. When I had to say bye she gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Ha! How could I do anything but smile for the rest of the day?

Dorota was incomprehensibly joyful and giggly. Her happiness was causeless, unremitting, and somehow divine--a stunning opposite to how I'd felt in the past 36 hours. And then, in the course of our mischief together, she imparted that joy to me. Amazing!

So, anyway, moral of the story--I was sad and spiritually oppressed, and then I prayed a lot, and so did my teammates, but I still felt bad. Then I waited, and God rescued me with a 4-year-old angel. Neat! On we go.

Oh Yeah, Um . . .

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Forgive me, it's late in the Race and we're all realizing it takes a good bit of emotional energy to pump out a solid blog. I've had a hard time focusing enough lately to tell a coherent story.

But, my teammate Marisa Banas has done a great job sharing an adventure we had together the other day.

So, take a look at her blog.

Alive and Kicking [video]

Fri, 29 May 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Woops, guess I've been AWOL for awhile, sorry. Here are some quick and dirty updates:

A) Support

Thanks so much guys, the $$ have come in. I'm now no longer in danger on the support front. However, when I get home I'll have no job, no car, and hardly enough money to buy a plane ticket home. SO . . . if you would, please pray that God will yet provide for my season of re-entry . . . or else click here and do it yourself :-D

B) Romania

The last days in Viile Tecii were warm and fun. A Mexican-themed fiesta. One last nighttime Sunday of church. Some great sunsets from the Carpathian foothills. Hugs and tears. We won't soon forget you, you crazy gypsies.

C) Debrief

Coaches and staff met us in the slick town of Brasov for a week of worship, teaching, relaxation and wild late-night karaoke. I got some deliverance from some major longtime heaviness, and I haven't felt this good in a while.

D) Slovakia

G-Squad is all over Europe this month, and Fuse has ended up in Bratislava, Slovakia. We're shacked up in three separate households, serving under a small gaggle of American and Slovak missionaries, all working toward their own personal callings. So far I've been enormously blessed by our hosts, enchanted by this little big city in the heart of Europe, and delighted by our various ministries.

For instance, yesterday we were having a late-afternoon picnic hangout in the park, intended to be a weekly thing where we'll invite all our new friends and snack and build relationships, throw the disc, kick the futbol, etc.. Our very own Zilker, for you Austinites. Anyway, this dude walked by with a big bamboo-lookin stick, headed toward the next patch of field. Huh, that's odd . . . whatever.

A minute later, incredibly, I hear the sound of a berimbau warming up! Huh, that's what the stick was. Look over, and there's a handful of Slovak 20-somethings playing capoeira on the next field. Nuts! I used to play capoeira just a little bit at UT, and then I've been doing it occasionally to help stay in shape while on the Race. I was nervous about playing with some guys who knew what they were doing, but teammate Abby made me go . . . and what a treat it turned out to be. What a cool God. Here's some footage.

**If you're an email subscriber you'll need to go to the blog itself to view the video**

Ok really this time: help!

Mon, 11 May 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Friends, family, ex-girlfriends, nameless benefactors, archnemeses . . .

I must call on you again. I'm nearing the home stretch of this Race, and I'm indebted to all of you for each and every step. For the encouragement, for the prayers, and yeah, for the financial means to get myself around the world.

But, I'm not done yet.

As of today I have $11,655 in my AIM support account. On May 1st, 10 days ago, according to the graduated support schedule for the year, I needed to be at $12,300. Yeah.

Don't worry, AIM's a beneficent tribe and they're not going to cut my legs out and deport me. However, if I don't get the remainder of this support raised soon, there will certainly be consequences for me. For one, I could come back to the States in August still needing more support, and then I'll be stuck trying to raise funds for an adventure that's no longer happening. That's a situation that previous Racers have found nearly unworkable.

As you might know from previous posts, I still do have some pledges coming in (and I'm grateful), but even with those reliable monthly contributions, I'll still fall a grand or so short of the $14,000 goal. So, please pray, please consider, please meditate on whether you want to continue to invest in this incredible, spirit-filled, transformative, nutso pilgrimage of mine. If you can't give, then please join me in praying that somebody can. As always, click "Support Me!" on the sidebar, or just click here. Thanks, take care, and be blessed.

[I sprayed pictures all over this blog to show you some of the "yield" of your generosity. I guess you could call it that, anyway.]

Spring in the Carpathians

Sun, 10 May 2009 00:00:00 GMT

So, I haven't written in a while.

From Ukraine we trained straight into northern Romania, joining 3 other teams in a tiny gypsy hamlet crouched on the highway between Reghin and Bistrita (look 'em up). The name is Viile Tecii, and I doubt you can find it on a map.

For me, this place is, maybe, a sweet spot on the Race. Green mountains stretch in every direction, families trot by in horse-drawn carts, purple and yellow flowers sparkle in the warm afternoons, and all the men in the village play angry, spirited futbol. We're shacked up with four families, all amusingly related to each other, and I'm finding my heart warming up to mine.

In fact, I'm finding my heart warming up to all the people in this place, more than most any I've known this year. Amidst teaching English, leading Bible studies, chopping wood, throwing the disc with the kiddos, cheering on the local futbol team, and just plain interacting with these people everyday--eating with them, sleeping in their homes, shouldering some of their burdens . . . I feel like I'm getting a more complete picture of this community than I've yet seen this year. The most intimate and interconnected picture of a tribe's inner workings so far. It's neat. And so I find myself, well, caught up in it all.

I wonder if this is the kind of subtle heart current I've been hoping for all year. Eh, whatever. I'm learning to love.

Transylvanian Mother's Day [video]

Sun, 10 May 2009 00:00:00 GMT

This morning our church service honored our mothers in the village and our mothers back home. For some of us, it was tearful. For all of us, it was joyful and heartfelt. Mom, I love you, I miss you, and thanks for your unending, unconditional support. For a heartwarming and hilarious mother's day compilation, directed and produced by my friend Steph Connors and featuring all of us in Viile Tecii . . . check out the video below.

(if you're an email subscriber, you'll need the actual blog page to see the video)

Poost Bogh Blaga Slavit Vas

Mon, 27 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Yesterday was a long, turbulent blur.

Get up early, hop a bus from Lutsk, ride 3 hours into busy Lviv, check in with pre-arranged booking at a neat little hostel tucked into the bustling heart of Lviv's old town. The first few steps went alright. We had to fumble around the city center for a little while with our absurd luggage to find the hostel. And then the plot twist that changed everything--we'd been displaced from the hostel by a group of 50 students, so the staff had arranged for us to be taxi'd out 5 km to a guest house typically reserved for friends and relatives. Neat, I thought, and a little infuriating. But hey, roll with the punches.

The afternoon was fragmented and a little frustrating. Get our bearings at the guest house. Interface with the caretaker, Luda, the mother of the hostel owner. She speaks no English, and we have only some scattered Russian vocab words and a cell phone. Figure out how we get food. Figure out how to get back into the city to enjoy the rest of the day. Get back to the guest house from the city. That last one is harder than you'd think.

Marisa Banas and I draw grocery duty, and wind up on an awkward 1.5-km walk home with 30 lbs of food and water in our hands. So, exhausted, we fall through the doors of the guest house to hear laughter. Turns out we have guests. Luda's friends Vasillio and Katrn, native Poles, are also staying in one of the rooms of the house for several months.

Anyway, somehow in the course of the next 3 hours, a lot of really wonderful things happen. Amidst a flurry of German, Polish, Ukrainian and my terribly broken Russian, A) we procure a corkscrew for our Chateaux Rouge and Katrn tells us not to get hammered, B) communicate that the wine sucked, and Vas says it's because the wine was Moldovan--ha! you should have seen their facial expression; C) have a few wonderful laughs and scheme about how we could get back to the grocery store to buy a good bottle for the evening, D) talk about our ethnic roots via a diagram Katrn draws of a literal tree, with literal roots :-D (turns they're Polish, Luda's Russian, I'm Belarussian and Moldovan, Marisa's Polish and Italian), E) they finally decide to call their friend Nickolai (Nick), who drives a beamer and speaks some English.

Nick shows up and demands to drive us the 2 km back to the grocery store and buy us two bottles of wine and some fine chocolates. The dude co-owns his own construction company and listens to American rap and Italian love songs while he cruises. Hilarious. We return to the guest house, finally now a happy family with the arrival of the rest of the team, enjoy a feast of bread, cheese, wine and chocolate, and Vas makes a gorgeous fire in the front yard for us--"siberian technology," he calls it grinning. This is too perfect.

Honestly, this kind of evening is more of what I imagined for the World Race. Our plans got horribly wrecked and we suffered through some inconvenience and stress for the afternoon, only to be rewarded with a fantastic, cozy evening with some Ukrainian old folks. What a cool God.

Anyway--saying goodbye this morning was warm and heartfelt. I thanked Luda with the phrase I've learned that's become, well, a little anthem for this month: poost bogh baga slavit vas. God bless you.

Maxim, But Not the Magazine

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

For me it's been a much slower month of ministry than I expected. In Africa there's great hunger for God, and so lots of days there featured fire or brimstone, or something. But here the church is much older, and the shadow of the Soviet Union is long, and people are less excitable, or more modern--that is, less naive. And therefore, ultimately, less hopeful.

So most of our month has been quiet relationship-building. I've had to revise my expectations quite a bit. The Kingdom doesn't come only through blazing prophecy and Holy-Spirit fireworks and compelling addresses. It comes, duh, through love, which has many more forms than that. A playmate for an orphan. A house-cleaning for an old widow. An encouraging friend. A reassuring touch. A vibrant mural. A touching hymn.

Language barriers or not. Sound theology or not. Comprehension or not. The Spirit moves. Jesus lives.

Anyway, so Jake and I met Maxim [mock-SEEM] at a gathering of a few dudes who wanted to practice their English with us. "Oh, Maxim like the magazine?" I asked with a grin. "Em . . . mehbee nat so mooch lick zeh mahgahzeen." That sealed our friendship.

Since then we've spent a few evenings in the park around a campfire together. He brought us a cupcake the size of your face for Easter. He's helped us work out transit to Romania, which is fast approaching. We've roasted sausage on sticks and thrown the disc with the kids in our apartment complex and compared our distant lives. And they're not so distant, I've found.

On our nights in the park, he declared "Zeece wahz good--ah nice night wiz some good gahiz!" On going out of his way to translate for us at the bus station, he countered "Yeece, but . . . you chhelp meh too, beecoz I need stahdy engleesh lahnguage!" He's hopelessly endearing.

Maxim studied environmental conservation at university and worked for the government for a while. He lost that job 2 months ago when a superior asked him to cut some ethical corners, and he refused. Since then he's been happily unwinding at his parents' house on the edge of town, reassessing his life's course. He has a great passion for conservation, and a true fondness for his home Ukraine, but he says that for now these two loves cannot be reconciled. He anticipates leaving one or the other in the near future.

Yeah, so that's Maxim, and that's about all for Ukraine, now. Tomorrow morning we jump on a bus to spend one night in dazzling L'viv, a neat touristy hub in western Ukraine, before jumping headfirst into Romania. By Tuesday evening we'll be near Bistrita, in the heart of, yep--Transylvania.

Droid Hunting [video]

Thu, 16 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Last night Michele and Hilary Lind hosted us at their house in the Lutsk suburbs for a nice afternoon and a fantastic dinner. Their 6-year-old son Nika recruited me for an elite Jedi task force, and we ended up skirmishing with a battalion of hostile droids.

Don't worry, we won. The Kingdom advances by force, after all.

*if you're viewing from email you may need to click the link directly to this blog*

Renewal in the Old Country

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Well, here we are. Lutsk, Ukraine. 1000 years old. A quarter-million people. Factories, warehouses, bazaars, internet cafes, coffee shops, cathedrals, and a castle or two. And us.

Home is a warm family apartment in a nice middle-class housing complex, 3 bus stops from the city center. The owners of this place have been feeling the weight of the recession, and so they've relocated to cheaper housing and rented their home out to us for the month. We're immensely blessed, and we hope to be a great blessing in return to this family. Their story could be another blog down the road.

We've partnered with a new YWAM base here, the 4th I've encountered this year. Getting to know this small task force of fellow missionaries has been maybe our biggest ministry here so far. Though, all told, half the time they're the ones ministering to us. There's James, the Washington-born base leader and his Ukrainian wife Volya. They're bold, goofy, and comically argumentative. Oksana, humble, endearing, sarcastic, relies faithfully on the Lord's provision to sustain her mission to her own city. There's Meike, cheeky 19-year-old British transplant, deep and confident in her conviction to give her life's work--or this season of it--for the Kingdom to come in Ukraine. There are plenty more, but these are the ones I've known so far.

And then there's Hillary (a man) and Michelle, a warm and engrossing couple from the states, more than twice my age but spritely and energetic in spirit. I don't know much about their pasts, but today they're passionate and permanently engaged with eastern Europe, have two adopted Ukrainian orphans that are brilliant and animated, and have deep, burning hearts for the Jewish people.

Yep. Jewish people. That's me. As soon as I heard about them from James, I had to talk with them, see what they were about. And yeah, they're wonderful. That's all I can say. I hope to get to know them much better before we leave.

They gave me Your People Shall Be My People--a book that's become their heartfelt anthem. Iit's blown my mind and maybe changed my life. It's maybe woken me up a little more to my roots, my identity, and my destiny. If you're a believer and you have the time, you should read it. If you're not, it may well freak you out.

Details to follow.

Gear Shift

Mon, 6 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

K, so we're out of India, into eastern Europe. I'm psyched out of my mind. We had an awesome debrief. Now I'm writing from the Kiev train station, bound for Lutsk in western Ukraine. I haven't been connected for more than a week, which has been cool because it's given me time to collect some thoughts. My time in India yielded some change, my time at debrief yielded some change. Here we go:

I had become comfortable. I think a lot of us have out here. We were challenged in the beginning, for sure. But it's also for sure that a lot of us are now saying "Is this it? I thought this thing would be harder."

I'm taking that and running with it in a few ways. The biggest one is I'm paring stuff down, even more. I'm dropping down to just one pack. Around 25 lbs. That's it. Everything. And I hope it will be less by the time I'm done.

I also got rid of my computer. It's been by far my biggest, baddest distraction out here, despite how useful it is. I needed to drop it. With 5 months left, I may never allow myself a better opportunity to try to live without it, ever. So I passed it on to squadmate Jill Ruiter for the rest of the year. Nice. That should be a big change for me. The longest I will have lived without a computer since elementary school. (sorry, no more videos)

I feel ready to make some other changes out here. I've come through lots of growth in 6 months, seriously. I've been delivered of some stuff, I've learned a little about who I am. I've been emboldened, and centered, and matured. At least a little. I feel like I no longer need to focus on myself. I might be ready to tell the stories of, finally, some others. Maybe my teammates. Or maybe, hopefully, some of the people we're ministering to. I'm hoping to love more. I'm hoping to connect better. I'm holding my hands wider, more open, and higher, than I've tried before. Carrying less, knowing less, being less--I'm hoping the Lord can do way more.

We'll see.

Hold the Phone: A Finance Emergency !!!

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

So . . . as much as I do (will) need the support from you guys in the coming months, I have a friend out here on the squad who's in much more dire need.

Angi Francesco, in all likelihood, will not continue into eastern Europe unless she gets $600 in support in the next 6 days.

She's called for help from home, but her support base seems to be maxed out, so we're out here trying to do community right and honor our sister who's in need. So--if you were feeling at all charitable toward me, then please redirect all that to her, and click here.

(Racers, please repost this if you haven't yet)

10 Days in Wonderland [video]

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Here's the man-istry everyone was talking about. :-D

Music courtesy of Arcade Fire.

Ian Schumann - ... got soul but, yeah, I'm a soldier...

Closing Shop

Answering the Call

This Transformation Thing [Part 2]

This Transformation Thing [Part 1]

Things I Care About: Fight Club

Month 12+: Missional Living

Homecoming

Breathing Fire [part 1]

Breathing Fire [part 2]

Breathing Fire [part 3]

Oh Wait, Finance Stuff

The Bottom of the 9th

Culture Shock(s) [Part 1]

Culture Shock(s) [Part 2]

Mesoamerican Bliss

This Passionate Exile (part 1)

This Passionate Exile (part 2)

Angels and Demons

Oh Yeah, Um . . .

Alive and Kicking [video]

Ok really this time: help!

Spring in the Carpathians

Transylvanian Mother's Day [video]

Poost Bogh Blaga Slavit Vas

Maxim, But Not the Magazine

Droid Hunting [video]

Renewal in the Old Country

Gear Shift

Hold the Phone: A Finance *Emergency* !!!

10 Days in Wonderland [video]

Hold the Phone: A Finance Emergency !!!