Though my expectations are high that good things will continue to happen through my growing ability to speak Dari, an epoch of life is presenting itself where the linguistic brakes are on. The upcoming months should be devoted to getting closer to God and developing my relationship with Him. The fact that you can only speak English at my school is one thing that has always put the dampers on language learning. But now there are new obstacles, as well.
- Hamroz and I speak English most of the time. This is a time for love, and English is (more often than not) the language of our love.
- I have been convicted about reviewing what I had memorized in the scriptures. There are over 100 chapters (thousands of verses) just in English (more in other languages) that I am in the process of forgetting.
Spring is time for revival, but we are passing through a sort of winter, for now. This is a season for cold consolidation. Now is the time for marital love to congeal. Now is the time to concentrate on drawing near to God. Not that we will forget about serving others, but this is a special season to focus on our relationship with Him. Friends are still dropping by, and we make time for them. We have enough life to share. But our focus is horizontal, not vertical.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Three mitigating circumstances
It’s been an important part of the morning routine for a long time now. From the stairway a melody from a Praise and Worship song wafts in just for a few seconds, sung energetically if poorly, in God knows what language - whenever the sixth grade teacher is passing by. Later, on the playground, everyone is running and jumping and trying to slap at something. Instead of calming the kids down, the 6th grade teacher will be getting them all excited, over nothing in particular.
Seems like it shouldn’t be that way in this town. Here, electricity is a sometimes thing, (making refrigerators a good place for food to rot); here, well water needs to be pumped into a high tank, or there are no showers, no cooking and no washing; here, shopping is a daily international relations conundrum; here there are dust storms and suicide bombers, corrupt cops and criminals posing as corrupt cops. Here, the only traffic law is not to blow yourself up, and the penalty for doing that is supposed to be a ticket to paradise. That sixth grade teaching guy must be on some kind of pollyanna high.
There are three somewhat mitigating circumstances to be offered in my defense. First, my wife and I are in between honeymoons. Again. Yes, we loved each other on the first one, but as we enjoy more time together it just keeps getting better and better. Hour by hour, we look forward to any amount of precious time we can manage to be together. Any joy we share (there have been a few) brings us closer and any loss we share (there are many) brings us closer even more quickly. Home is a good place to be.
Second, I love my work. Here there is such a clarion call to deeply teach the process of logical critical thought. The sixth graders are eager to form their own conceptual maps for the first time in their lives. As those inquiry skills come alive now, they will be difficult, if not impossible to extinguish later. If they are extinguished at this age it will be almost impossible to nurture them back to life later on. They come ready to laugh and expecting to learn. Most of their families have earned my deep respect. They have responded to a call, at considerable risk, to come to a very special place at a very special time. Work is a good place to be.
Third, the world is transforming around me. An incredible metamorphosis has already occurred here between 2001 and 2007; it will likely be even more strikingly different in 2014. Visitors keep dropping by and each one seems hungry with a vision to live out something new. A team of celestial guards hovers above the fence around our house. Here reigns an atmosphere of peace; for many, ducking into our home is like taking a short break from the stark temporal realities of planet earth. There is conceptual space to ponder things as they might be, as they could be, as they should be. When we can’t spend time alone together, we are involved in things of significance, things that make a difference. It is a good feeling, one that makes you want to get out of bed in the morning.
Let the so called Talibs rage in ignorance against Truth. Dust, whether blown in by God or kicked in by man, does not dampen the joy of loving your wife, loving your work and loving your community.
Seems like it shouldn’t be that way in this town. Here, electricity is a sometimes thing, (making refrigerators a good place for food to rot); here, well water needs to be pumped into a high tank, or there are no showers, no cooking and no washing; here, shopping is a daily international relations conundrum; here there are dust storms and suicide bombers, corrupt cops and criminals posing as corrupt cops. Here, the only traffic law is not to blow yourself up, and the penalty for doing that is supposed to be a ticket to paradise. That sixth grade teaching guy must be on some kind of pollyanna high.
There are three somewhat mitigating circumstances to be offered in my defense. First, my wife and I are in between honeymoons. Again. Yes, we loved each other on the first one, but as we enjoy more time together it just keeps getting better and better. Hour by hour, we look forward to any amount of precious time we can manage to be together. Any joy we share (there have been a few) brings us closer and any loss we share (there are many) brings us closer even more quickly. Home is a good place to be.
Second, I love my work. Here there is such a clarion call to deeply teach the process of logical critical thought. The sixth graders are eager to form their own conceptual maps for the first time in their lives. As those inquiry skills come alive now, they will be difficult, if not impossible to extinguish later. If they are extinguished at this age it will be almost impossible to nurture them back to life later on. They come ready to laugh and expecting to learn. Most of their families have earned my deep respect. They have responded to a call, at considerable risk, to come to a very special place at a very special time. Work is a good place to be.
Third, the world is transforming around me. An incredible metamorphosis has already occurred here between 2001 and 2007; it will likely be even more strikingly different in 2014. Visitors keep dropping by and each one seems hungry with a vision to live out something new. A team of celestial guards hovers above the fence around our house. Here reigns an atmosphere of peace; for many, ducking into our home is like taking a short break from the stark temporal realities of planet earth. There is conceptual space to ponder things as they might be, as they could be, as they should be. When we can’t spend time alone together, we are involved in things of significance, things that make a difference. It is a good feeling, one that makes you want to get out of bed in the morning.
Let the so called Talibs rage in ignorance against Truth. Dust, whether blown in by God or kicked in by man, does not dampen the joy of loving your wife, loving your work and loving your community.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Safety
There is no safer place to be than in the will of God. It’s cliché, but it’s also truth.
Stepping off the airplane was the beginning of a surreal experience for me. I had worked at the language so diligently and dreamed so much of being here. In the US, Dari speakers were hard to find. The poor owners of the Philadelphia area’s only Afg. restaurant had put up with my weekly visits for an entire year. Finally, a part of the world where Dari is the norm was under my feet! Crater pocked roads, people living in destroyed buildings, men with machine guns and armored military convoys everywhere provided the backdrop, not the substance of daily life. Kidnapping is a constant concern; there is always a relentless behind-the-scenes pressure while the pleasures and routines unfold. Occasionally, there is an explosion in town – I try not to let that impact my day, even though there will be extra detours and traffic jams. I try to keep the war somewhere else, beyond the mountains, or on the other side of the TV tube. As far as it depends on me, count me as a non-participant in this war.
It is quite natural to want to be a non-participant in spiritual warfare, as well. No one in their right mind wants to be involved in any type of real war. The Spirit will lead us right into the middle of some confused battle, and incoming shots will be aimed at our soul. At this point, most people refuse to believe that a loving God is directing them. Yet it is the Holy Spirit who, in the Father’s wisdom, positions us in the battle.
During time spent running it has always been important for me to let my mind wander – that is why I do not need vacations. Now, it is always necessary to focus on whoever might be interested in staging an abduction, since I run alone. It is also hard on me that my home is such a center of social activity, (just as in Costa Rica) even though Hamroz joyfully bears the lion’s share of the labor. That some neighbors hate me just for living in freedom wears on my phlegmatic personality. As incredible untold problems, challenges and demands spring up, it appears that they were specifically designed to make me quit. Because they were. Thank you, Holy Spirit.
Our strategy for spiritual warfare is to never worry about how pathetic our capabilities are and to keep firing back with whatever we’ve got. No one fights alone; our isolation is only an illusion. Not only are the heavenly hosts often willing to follow our lead, our successes affect others across the entire field of battle. Our little “unseen” advances (and retreats) force turning points in stories of people we will not meet until after the enemy gates have been reduced to rubble. The gates of hell can never go on the offensive – gates are fixed defensive positions. There is great rejoicing when the church, united with Him, is revealed in new, unexpected positions right up under the enemy gates.
Stepping off the airplane was the beginning of a surreal experience for me. I had worked at the language so diligently and dreamed so much of being here. In the US, Dari speakers were hard to find. The poor owners of the Philadelphia area’s only Afg. restaurant had put up with my weekly visits for an entire year. Finally, a part of the world where Dari is the norm was under my feet! Crater pocked roads, people living in destroyed buildings, men with machine guns and armored military convoys everywhere provided the backdrop, not the substance of daily life. Kidnapping is a constant concern; there is always a relentless behind-the-scenes pressure while the pleasures and routines unfold. Occasionally, there is an explosion in town – I try not to let that impact my day, even though there will be extra detours and traffic jams. I try to keep the war somewhere else, beyond the mountains, or on the other side of the TV tube. As far as it depends on me, count me as a non-participant in this war.
It is quite natural to want to be a non-participant in spiritual warfare, as well. No one in their right mind wants to be involved in any type of real war. The Spirit will lead us right into the middle of some confused battle, and incoming shots will be aimed at our soul. At this point, most people refuse to believe that a loving God is directing them. Yet it is the Holy Spirit who, in the Father’s wisdom, positions us in the battle.
During time spent running it has always been important for me to let my mind wander – that is why I do not need vacations. Now, it is always necessary to focus on whoever might be interested in staging an abduction, since I run alone. It is also hard on me that my home is such a center of social activity, (just as in Costa Rica) even though Hamroz joyfully bears the lion’s share of the labor. That some neighbors hate me just for living in freedom wears on my phlegmatic personality. As incredible untold problems, challenges and demands spring up, it appears that they were specifically designed to make me quit. Because they were. Thank you, Holy Spirit.
Our strategy for spiritual warfare is to never worry about how pathetic our capabilities are and to keep firing back with whatever we’ve got. No one fights alone; our isolation is only an illusion. Not only are the heavenly hosts often willing to follow our lead, our successes affect others across the entire field of battle. Our little “unseen” advances (and retreats) force turning points in stories of people we will not meet until after the enemy gates have been reduced to rubble. The gates of hell can never go on the offensive – gates are fixed defensive positions. There is great rejoicing when the church, united with Him, is revealed in new, unexpected positions right up under the enemy gates.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
