What does Heaven smell like?

This afternoon I was mudding along on my Carrera up the mountain in the spring rain (after church and a great lunch with the AoG missionaries here in Skopje at a local dive known as Lutsz), and the SMELL was heavenly, like totally intoxicating. Everything is in bloom and turning green and I have never had such a sweaty ride that smelled so good. And I was praying as I usually do up on the mountain, because I can see most of the city from up there and the thought that these 1 million people are eternally lost drives even an old salty dog like me to prayer. And while praying the thought suddenly grabbed me that heaven must smell like this! That was a rocking thought.

This is not a usual smell for my part of the world, and even this trip had its moments when garbage smells ruled the moment and sewer smells intruded, and please, let us not forget the farm smells that overpowered us at moments, but those smells only made the heavenly smells of Spring even better. The mud did not bother me, the rain did not bother me nor did the occasionally smelly smell bother me . . . the smells of heaven were all around me and I enjoyed God.

Well I have seen some humbling things in life

. . . but this video is amazing! The wave alone is higher than most of the mountains in the Eastern USA! This helps us landlubbers understand the tsunami devastation better.



Can you imagine what the rush would be like for the surfer? I mean I like living on the edge . . . and I generally do, but the size and weight of all that water behind you and potentially ON you is heartstopping.

Thank goodness that wave is like . . . tiny . . . compared to the mercy of God! I feel better knowing God is God and I don't have to be, and all of my troubles and struggles are but a single drop of water out of that humongo wave . . . be at peace David.

If everything is mission then nothing is mission

It seems to be the term de rigeur for all things ministry-focused in our churches today.  I think Stephen Neill had the story right, "If everything is mission then nothing is mission."  I don't know if the pattern of calling all ministry mission is a lowering of Missions or a raising of Ministry?  Can either one of those actually be accomplished?  Who ever intimated that Missions was "higher" than other ministry?  Though I must admit I have heard missionaries relegate ministry other than missions to a "lower" status, . . . but what a crock of butter that is . . . no serious theologian worth his or her collective weight in Mrs. Lot can seriously think that missions is more or less important than other ministry.  As I heard said once, "different is different, not better or worse."

It seems that all our collective ministry is located in one wholistic mission known as the Kingdom of God.  Unfortunately we try to separate ministry out into different parts, assigning some a higher status than others.  

We do the same with evangelism and social justice.  To Evangelicals evangelism is primary and social involvement is something we leave to the liberals.  That is an easy stance to take if you get a regular paycheck and know that you can for certain purchase your next loaf of bread.  But what if you didn't and couldn't?

I find it interesting that Jesus did not use a Romans Road formula to lead people to salvation nor any "pray after me" prayers over them.  (I wonder why He did not endorse the magic words modus operandi?) It seems to me in my simple reading of the Gospels that He spent an inordinate time feeding people!  (Did the liberals get it right and we miss something important??)  Early in the gospels He feeds a couple of villages-worth of folks and at the end of the gospels He is cooking fish on hot coals for the empty-net disciples.  Maybe I should have taken more cooking classes and less theology classes?  Ministry is to people -- there is no higher or lower.  Go to it!

Why beggars at the church?

It was a strange sight to see . . . police at the church! In this culture, the only police you are likely to see at church are those spies who want to disrupt, disturb and destroy the peace. But these police were in their uniforms and clearly there to keep the peace. Now you might ask why were policemen required to keep the peace? Well because while there are always beggars hanging out at the Orthodox church, this was Orthodox Easter Sunday and the beggars were out in droves! They were clearly aware that many more people than normal were going to be attending church on this given Sunday.

Now why do you have beggars hanging out at Orthodox churches? Why do you have beggars coming into the muslim barber shop where I get my hair cut? Why do you have beggars at most street corners? It's because in Orthodoxy and Islam, good works are the only way one has to gain favor with God. And even then there is no confidence that their actions actually gained them anything. As my muslim barber told, "I can only hope that Allah is watching and will grant me favor." When I suggested that God already loved him as much as was divinely possible, that He had given His very life to show the depth of His love, Riki was not sure all my cards were firmly in my deck!

But I am getting off the subject again, the point here is that all good Orthodox Christians and all Muslims give alms to the poor, e.g. money to the beggars. Now us Evangelicals think that to be generally bad stewardship. You lose control of the money once you give it to a beggar and you are just certain that they are going to buy booze or cigarettes with your money. And none of us want to stand before God and have Him tell us that we should be ashamed for letting His blessings to us be spent on beer or cigarettes!!

Actually . . . I think the point that He will make is that the pagans are much more generous than we are. The beggars prove my point . . . they don't hang out around our churches . . . because experience has taught them that they will get nothing. I wonder what Jesus thinks about that?

Knowledge Work vs. Manual Labor

I can still recall the disdain my blue collar father had for the whole concept of working with your brain rather than your hands. For him it was the old country's mantra that you need to physically make something with your work . . . and also I suspect firmly rooted in suspicion that knowledge-work was simply not work at all . . . it was a life of leisure from where his aching back stood. I endured these slants on my character and snide remarks about working only one day a week for years. When my folks came to visit us once where I was pastoring a church in northeastern PA, I made it a point to take my father with me for a day in the office. That day started at 8:00 am at the local hospital . . . ran wide open all day in people-intensive situations . . . and ended at 9:30 pm that evening after finishing the Wednesday evening prayer/discipleship time and people hanging around talking until finally the last straggler eager for pastoral attention had gone home. Dad and I walk over to the parsonage, he fell into my favorite recliner and said, "I am exhausted!" Not surprisingly, I have never heard another snide comment about the ease and leisure of knowledge-work since.

David Allen, the guru of relaxed super productivity said some really important things about knowledge work vs. manual labor:

"Work no longer has clear boundaries. A major factor in the mounting stress level is that the actual nature of our jobs has changed much more rapidly than have our training for and our ability to deal with work." He goes on and gives some extensive commentary on how our work, is "knowledge work" (a Peter Drucker phrase) and that it is never done. You can find this section of his book on page 33-34 in the ebook version. (Also Jeff Singfiel on his "Missionary Geek" blog has written about Allen's work, you can click a link to his website above and to the right)

I write this as I am trying to find margin in life . . . a sustainable pace for the long haul that is functional . . . and with the twin pressures of an urgent task and leaders over me who want more production of a variety that fits their understanding of the task. I do not think I am having much success in finding this illusive margin. But at least my dad doesn't rag me about this being an easy job any longer.

Don't encourage the taxi drivers!

Let me tell you, it's a big mistake to express appreciation for any action that a taxi driver may make . . . even if it's a sigh of deep thankfulness that the hole you just shot through with fax paper thin room to spare on both sides did not actually close up and hasten a very painful death. I was reminded of this as I hopped a taxi from the center of town to our home this morning. When I have business in the center I often take a taxi because there is utterly no place to park in the center and it just proves much easier to take a taxi there and back rather than drive around for a hour trying to find a place to wedge the Peugeot into.

So on the way home, by chance I got Michael Schumacher's brother-want-to-be as my driver. He was determined to reach Taftalige 1 in record time. He was swerving and darting here and there, slamming on the brakes, stomping the gas, and then I made the mistake of letting a long gust of air out of my lungs all at once, that I had been holding for several blocks because of the stark terror I was experiencing. The Schmacher evil twin took that as a sign of admiration, when in fact it was a sign of desparately needing oxygen after holding my breath through three blocks of near misses. So consequently he doubles his efforts to reach my neighborhood at a new world record pace.

Now I have already been having a really bad week . . . nothing is going the way that is should, everything is taking three times as long to complete as it should, and those who are supposed to be assistaing me in various capacities, seem to have decided that I am public enemy number one and are seemingly doing all that they can to foil me, rather than facilitate me. Ever had a week like that? I have them so often it must be a spiritual gifting of some type, but I digress. As the taxi-F14 driver-pilot screamed down the highway narrowly missing a grandmother on a bicycle on one side and a Lada on the other, it occurred to me that this would be a perfect way to die this week. It would be the capstone of a week gone mad with distractions from hell and everywhere in between.

But then I relaxed and thought, no my life is in His hands, and not even the lunatic driving this car can change that. What can separate us from the love of Christ? Nothing, nothing at all.

"delivery system" mentality - The Western need for results

Us westerners carry a "delivery system" mentality according to Muriel and Duane Elmer. We are simply task-driven period, end of discussion. Our eyes are fixed on results, programs and systems; and external pressures reinforce these needs.

We talk about "outcomes" and "indicators" and we plan and strategize our lives away. I wonder how Jesus managed 12 disciples without a Palm pilot or a laptop? I wonder how often He stopped and had an FLT (Field Leadership Team) meeting to defend the budget? This result-orientation from the West works in direct opposition to dialogue and genuine cooperation with national workers and other mission groups. The fact is that a "delivery system" mentality has none of the patience required for dialogue - for dialogue takes time - and the results are often "foreign" looking. Missions is no longer about delivering somthing, it is about dialoguing and engaging together to achieve an objective together. The delivery system reeks of typical Western superiority attitudes.

Were we able to take the "West" out of our mission and denominational leaders, I think that ultimately they would all agree that changed lives is the overriding hope of missions and evangelism. Frankly all development requires change, a change in thinking, a change in habits, a change in lifestyle. Sustainable changes starts within. And outside of the West (and I would venture ALSO in the West) this never occurs without dialogue.

Dialogue allows people to speak of their world, dream about how to change it. It is a reciprocal address and response mechanism that permits people to think their thoughts and make connections between realities and dreams -- which leads directly to change. Dialogue helps people wrestle with their realities, to search for solutions and develop some confidence.

And that is why we are here. So you young missionary bucks . . . as you come to the mission field . . . leave your Westernism behind, and frankly that will be incredibly difficult to do since you have been training for so many years to get here. But please remember what Daniel Fountain said, "Our propensity to pass out information is almost useless in bringing about change." (Fountain, Christian Health and Healing into the 21st Century, page 4) Instead hone your dialogue skills and remember that Dialoguing is an art that takes a lifetime to refine. That is Dr. D's Diagnosis of the day.

broken glass in life and on a bike

There are two banes to every cyclist in Macedonia - broken glass and dogs.  Now that is for those who bike on the roads.  If you get offroad, then the banes of cycling are broken glass and thorns.

This morning as I was treking up Mt. Vodno, I came out of a turn in the Tsrnichi region and right there in the road was tons of broken glass!  Yike's!!  Now bikers are connoisseurs of broken glass . . . there are all different types.  There is the "big chunk" broken glass that you most often see near trash bins where people have tossed a beer bottle at the bin, missed or hit it and the glass breaks and falls all over - but in large chunks.  Those are easy for the cyclist to avoid.  Then you have car window/windshield glass which is everwhere and generally gets pushed to the edge of the road unless you are unfortunate enough to come upon a recent accident where the traffic has yet to push the glass off the road . . . beware this type of broken glass, it will slice your tires to ribbons!  But the worst kind of broken glass is that glass which is from bottles, yet has been run over by cars and trucks a number of times and it finely ground up.  This is the most deadly broken glass, because 20 minutes later, you will suddenly find you have two flat tires!  This type of broken glass cuts tiny holes all over your tire and the air seeps out.

Well the important thing to remember about broken glass is that you can only see it easily and avoid it, when you are traveling toward the sun.  The reflection of the sun twinkling on the broken glass reveals it's presence easily.  When you are traveling parallel or away from the sun, glass is generally invisible on the path until you are in the middle of it!  

And so it is with my life.  As long as I am heading toward the Son, I can see the danger along the path and avoid it, but let me try to travel parallel or away from the Son, I find I have no warning that I am in trouble until it is too late.  That is Dr. D's diagnosis of the day.

dog pack attacks

Dogs are not my favorite animals in the world . . . I generally prefer cows and chickens because they are tastier than dog, but that is not the point of this post, I will write about eating dog some other time perhaps. As I was saying dogs are not my favorite animal . . . when I was a kid growing up, it seemed the neighbors always had a LARGE dog and those large dogs were always biting me. I developed a phobia about dogs that was grounded in real experience with their teeth. I am man enough to admit it; I am somewhat afraid of dogs even to this day.

I can manage that fear fine though, through years of a finely developed kick that I can employ when necessary and trust me, if one goes jogging in Russia, that kick is a basic requirement of survival. Here in Macedonia there are lots of dogs out roaming about but generally they leave you alone. On the other hand there appear regular stories in the local papers about people being bitten and attacked by packs of dogs. In fact the Deputy US ambassador here in Skopje was relating to me how one of the embassy employees was attacked and bitten on Mt. Vodno.

Most of this information I relegate to my "barely believable" mental file. Frankly I thought these folks were exaggerating a bit, because almost all Macedonians I know have an unreasonable terror of dogs. And remember this is coming from someone who was bitten repeatedly as a kid and has some experience in these matters. But a recent incident changed my perspective in a fairly dramatic way.

I was jogging along the Vardar river which runs through the city of Skopje on a recent Sunday morning and there was not another person in sight. I had just made the curve that brings Alesander's Palace into view, when a group of howling dogs started running and barking. At first I thought they were running from something, and then I thought, "no, they are running after something" and I started looking around me to see if there were some cats, or other dogs nearby, or perhaps maybe a squirrel. Of course this all happened in a flash, but I came to the stunning realization that these 6-8 dogs were heading for me!

Now I usually deal with dogs in a very aggresive manner, which makes 99 out of a 100 turn tail and run . . . but 6-8 of them?? I did not like these odds at all. So I stopped dead in my tracks thinking maybe my jogging was agitating them and they thought I was up for a game of tag or some lunacy like that. No, as they came tearing up the bank and surrounded me, it became clear that I was the object of more potential savagery than a simply friendly game of tag.

I did mention that I was jogging right? Well I unfortunately have found that carrying a Louisville Slugger with me while jogging is really difficult . . . it upsets your balance and all that endomorphine stuff . . . but at that moment I would have given a month's allowance (Ok two month's allowance) for a baseball bat or a whip . . . anything to balance the odds some. So instead I improvised.

The city planners had recently planted young maple trees every 7 meters or so apart on this very path that I was jogging on . . . hmmmm . . . surrounded by 6-8 snarling, barking, salivating teeth-bared and large dogs . . . I grabbed the maple, bent it to dog-head height and used it as a sweep to keep the animals some distance from me. Unfortunately even with my adrenaline running high-test through my system, I ws not able to uproot the tree and use it like the baseball bat I was yearning for . . . so a mexican (or rather macedonian) standoff of sorts emerged. The dogs could not get to me without getting beaned with the sweeping maple, and I could not leave the tree for fear of bleeding.

This went on for about 2-3 minutes, and I can tell you seemed like hours . . . but finally I reached down to the ground to find some rocks to extended the reach of the potential damage I could do to my protagonists . . . and I came up empty. There were no rocks nearby! So I decided to fake it . . . just act like I had rocks in my hand and was going to throw them.

Incredible!! The pack immediately, instantly took off!! Obviously their experience with rock throwing humans was indeed significant. As their tails disappeared around the corner and I began to calm my racing heart, I slowly resumed my jog home . . . and I thought to myself, I need some pepper spray or something to defend myself from the wiles of a dog pack gone wild.

The same applies to my spiritual self . . . satan walks about as a roaring lion seeking someone to devour . . . and that I need to put on the whole armor of God . . . satan and his minions response should be similar the dog pack, armor up and they should run! That is Dr. D's diagnosis of the day.

BTW, here is a picture of me taken at another time, but the look on my face is pretty close to my jogging face that day.

GoogleBlogger

Once again Jason "Jedi Blog Master" Linscombe at the National Office comes to the rescue of all those held in bondage by the Dark Side, e.g. Windoze Computers, and shows yet another widget that allows almost instant blogging from Dashboard in Tiger OS.  Here is the site if you want to go get it:

http://www.apple.com/downloads/dashboard/blogs_forums/googleblogger.html

This is so smooth, it's better than a double latte at Starbucks.  I do not have to jump through a series of logins and different pages to post a blog . . . just click the button once, and the virus free life just keeps getting better and easier.  My only question of metaphysical importance today is "Why did it take me so long to switch to Apple?"  Man I can be so stupid sometimes . . . I should have done this long long ago.   In the end I guess the most important thing is that I did switch . . . completely . . . and totally.  Before you begin to suspect that I am one of those lunatic Apple fanatics, I promise you I am not.  There do exists perfectly good uses for my wife's Dell computer . . . a new door stop for my office . . . a flat platform to place the bathroom scales on . . . a tire marker for the garage, so that you can be certain the garage door won't hit your rear bumper . . . or you could use it as an atiquated gameboy for the kids.  Thanks Jason, you rock.  BTW, just for the record, when on the phone with Dell Technical Support, the technician became so frustrated with his failed attempts to repair my wife's computer, he said to me, "Mr Aderholdt, why don't you buy an Apple computer?  They don't have these kinds of problems."  ROTFL!

good friday pizza and beer

Yesterday a friend called and wanted to drop by and talk for 15 minutes . . . translation . . . it would take at least an hour. But since this fellow is one of our most promising up and coming leaders and we have worked together on a number of projects in the past, I said come on over. He did indeed show up a couple of hours later and his 15 minutes morphed into a couple of hours. By the time he got around to going, it was lunch time, e.g. 4:00 pm, and so he invited me out to have a pizza and a cold beverage and manly conversation at the "American Pizzaria". So off we went.

The most amazing thing about that lunch were the conversations happening on the local Rock Music radio station that was playing in the pizza shop. They were going on and on about how today was Good Friday (Orthodox) and all the many requirements necessary that a person needed to accomplish to prove that they were a good Orthodox Christian. Shesh! It was like reading out of the Cotton Patch Version of the bible!

It seems to me that when Jesus comes into a person's life, it much like this video below. Just watch it!



Isn't the energy displacement amazing! Jesus explodes our old life much like these bullets in the video did the various objects. A long list of do's and don'ts is far far from the abundant life and freedom He died to give.

Homosexuitis

It was reported in the news here in Skopje yesterday that on one of the local homosexual websites, that the homosexual community was casting their votes for local personalities that they considered to be the most sexy. If you are any good at Cyrillic you can see the article here: http://www.on.net.mk/default-MK.asp?ItemID=F35377D624A37C49BDFA61758099DFC0

What is interesting to me is the homophobia of the Western church. Oh I know, He despises sin and He classifies homosexuality as a practice of sin. No one is debating that. Instead I am commenting on the cultural phenomena in the Western Church that makes homosexuality the ultimate bad sin. Granted, not all sins are equal, but all sins are sinful. I think gluttony is one of God's most hated sins . . . but the Western Church does not get too upset about that. I think God really hates disobedience in any fashion . . . the story of Achan still gives me the willys . . . yet I still can be disobedient. No I think homosexuality is just an easy kicking boy for the church. I have a huge secret to tell you now. Please don't get too upset with me and please don't begin throwing stones at me. Some of you are going to be pretty upset with me, but I still have to say this and confess this: God loves homosexuals and He died for them and their sin is just as easily and completely dealt with by His cross, as your gluttony or my lusting.

There I said it . . . that's Dr. D's Diagnosis of the day. Homosexuals are sinners just like me who need the same gracious and loving Savior that I need everyday. The homophobia of the Western church is far too similar to the inquisitions of the Middle Ages. I probably need to stop this hypocritical finger-pointing and start being Christ to the world.

Mudslide!

This past Sunday morning, which is referred to locally as Catholic Easter since Orthodox Easter will be celebrated this coming Sunday morning, I got up early as is my custom, jumped on my infamous Carrera, and headed up Vodno. Vodno is the mountain that hugs the entire city to the south. I love riding my mountain bike on Sunday mornings because the city is dead asleep and it's quiet and I do not have to compete with hardly anyone for the road. As I ride up the mountain, more and more of the city comes into view . . . it's a great time to pray . . . and sweat . . . they go well together.

Since it is only the beginning of the riding season, the mountain is tough, really tough right now, my legs just can't do the entire 11 kilometers to the top, and so about half way up I take a mid-mountain road across the face of the mountain and then come down the other side. This gives me a challenging 12-mile ride, which ultimately just makes a circle back to my house.

On this morning's ride, I was on the mid-mountain road just a gettin' it across the face of the mountain when I came around a hairpin curve into pure confusion. Where my road should be right in front of me was now . . . a new mountain! There were trees and boulders and earth 30 feet high . . . right across the path where the road should be! I grabbed my hydraulics hard and came to a shuttering stop just prior to making contact with the first boulder. A huge mudslide had taken out the whole road! I had two possible choices facing me; either I could go back the way that I had come, or I could pick up the bike and climb up and over all the rocks and trees and debris and on the other side of the mudslide, continue on my chosen path. I chose the later and climbed over.

As I continued along the mid-mountain road I wonder when the mudslide had occurred and what damage had it caused up and down the ravine from where it had come. Then the thought occurred to me that I often let mental mudslides wreck the path that I am on, much like this mudslide had wiped out my mid-mountain road. There are those old tapes that I let Satan play in my head that lead to defeat over and over again . . . essentially a mental mudslide. Get out of my head Satan-butthead! That’s Dr. D’s Diagnosis of the day.

It's all WRONG!

Well first of all the house is tomb quiet! That is the first thing wrong with this day. All three of my teenagers who generally are screaming, yelling, laughing, running up and down the stairs, banging the doors as they go in and out, complaining that one of the others is getting more internet/computer time than they are, asking when are we going to eat (even though we just had a meal 93 minutes earlier), talking on the phone to their friends; the house is often a beehive of activity as their friends come over sleep over eat over and mess over. But it is quieter than a cemetery here now because the kids all left this morning for Black Forest Academy. Spring break has finished and they are all gone. It's the absolutely worst part of being a missionary.

The second thing that is all wrong is that I spent 6 hours sitting in Peugeot Service today trying to get the mission car repaired. Made all the worse by the realization when I finally got home that they had not even repaired one of the main things I had taken the car into the shop for in the first place. These kinds of things were par for the course in Russia, but this should not be in Macedonia. Macedonia should be much more civilized . . . it is much closer to the West! Thankfully I learned long ago to take work with me to such places, so at least the day was not a total wash.

Of course my attitude about the car and the kids going back to BFA is what is most wrong. Let's face it, I am not much like Jesus. My attitude sucks and my heart is breaking and my patience is totally absent. There is more work to do than any 10 people could do with excellence and the pressure never goes away. I often think I need one year of solitude for every six months living in this hairy armpit of God's green universe. But of course, I never have solitude because we Westerners value busyness and activity rather than peace, stillness and solitude . . . and let's face it, the CMA would fire us all if we think we can get paid for a contemplative lifestyle. That's Dr. D's Diagnosis for today.

$200.00 gallon of gasoline!

Can you imagine paying $200 for a gallon of gasoline? Well that is what one of National Church presidents and his assistant calculated the cost of a gallon of gas locally after I supplied them with the data. According to USA Today the average US salary is a bit under $3000 per month. According to the US State Department, the average Macedonia salary for the same time period was $244 per month. So if the average gallon of gasoline in the States is 3 bucks or so, the EQUIVALENT for the Macedonian who is purchasing gasoline at local prices here (almost $5 a gallon) is $198.00 a gallon. This is the same percentage of a Macedonian average monthly salary as a $3 gallon of gas costs an American. That also means that the pair of pants I purchased last night (the first and the last pair I will EVER buy here!) cost the local eqivalent of $3000! They were the most expensive pair of pants I have ever purchased in my whole life and it's a long and embarrassing story about why I did indeed ultimately purchase them in the first place and this is not the place I want to air my weak character out too much. Most people who read this will not believe these figures, but that is because you live in the land of plenty and Wal-Mart is just around the corner -- always. But much of the rest of the world lives with tiny miniscule salaries and Western prices. The combination of the two working together makes everything 1000 % more expensive. I think I will stop and pray and be thankful.

Torn in Half Literally

If you have a weak stomach, perhaps you should not read this blog. Driving back to Skopje Macedonia from Osijek Croatia Thursday evening proved eventful and more than a bit scary. As you drive through Serbia, the major highway ends in Leshcovats and then you have a winding small two-lane road to navigate to the Serbian-Macedonian border.

Thursday had been a LOOOOONNNNGGGG and intense day. Meetings until late the night before, meetings again from early that morning . . . and some of them concentrated . . . now a car full of students and their bags heading back to Macedonia with me for Easter break, since I qualify as a free ride, e.g. missionary from the West. The stress of the day was further compounded by the fact that we drove almost to the Hungarian border, before getting our radars properly adjusted and realizing that we were heading in the wrong direction - Skopje is SOUTH not NORTH of Osijek . . . (I know this soounds funny to you, but until you try driving in the former Yugoslavia and understand that road signs rarely exist, and when they do they are politically oriented, meaning that Croatians refuse to give one directions to Belgrade! I ain't as stupid as this post makes me sound).

So finally we returned to Osijek, got on the correct road for home and began to drive as fast as the little Peugeot would go. Enter Leshkovats and exit the major road. It's dark, and there are police every several kilometers, and the speed limits are set unnaturally low = SPEED TRAP! Now if you are an American driving in Serbia, you do NOT want to talk to the police. We (rather America/Clinton) bombed their country for 80 days! Thus one tenaciously drives the cotton-picking 35 miles per hour that the posted speed limits demand.

In my rearview mirror now appears a raving maniac driving a semi who in typically reckless form for this part of the world is passing one car after another. I watch all of this unfolding in my mirror. As this massively foolish maniac decides to pass the car following me . . . on a curve no less . . . there appears another semi in the oncoming lane, which caused almost all involved parties to wet their collective pants, and more concretely, the maniac behind me swerves into the too small space between me and the car he was passing, in order to avoid a head-on collision with the approaching semi who apparently had completely forgotten that he has BRAKES!

The wedging of a semi between my little blue car and the yugo following me brought the semi so close to my little blue car that I could see the toenails of the dead mosquitoes plastered again the grill of the semi. I was certain that he would make contact with the little blue car I was driving and that we would plunge off into the ravine below and I screamed out appropriately horrified predictions of our immediate demise in a mixture of Macedonian, English and Russian. Stress always brings my Russian back to me. The result in the car I was driving was instant; everyone braced themselves.

Amazingly the anticipated contact did not occur, though I still do not understand how this did not happen. But as often happens with adults, my terror turned to rage as soon as I realized that I was not going to meet Jesus in the next 30 seconds after my broken body was consumed in a very painful fiery crash. I then railed at the mad man in the monster semi who was still on my bumper . . . in three languages. Unfortunately we had arrived at an extremely windy part of the road and there was no possible way even this maniac could pass me. But soon a tiny stretch of straight road appeared and predictably he roared around us. Suddenly I realized that the monster madman who was endangering our lives moment before was now our best friend. Because he was speeding toward the border and the police would find him a juicy target, far more than us. So I pulled in behind him and doubled my speed toward the border!

After about five minutes of following this MSD (mad semi driver) his truck swerved frantically and then suddenly in my headlights appeared the rear half of a large dog! And in another 10 meters the front half of the dog appeared in the center of the road. My reflexes held us in good steady and we hit neither half of the dog, which is really good, because it certainly would have wrecked the car! He literally tore the dog in half! The semi driver never hit his brakes once . . . he just kept plowing on into the raining night.

There were lots of new creative names bouncing around in our car as the students sought to label this MSD. Finally the name that stuck was “The Mad Dog Killer.” Of course we shortly arrived at the border and TMDK had to get into the semi lane and we flew right past him into the car lane. We did not see him again that night. And whoever said that life in the Balkans was now safe, was truly out of their heads.

I was thinking about how fragile life is, how we all live on the edge of existence most every day, it occurred to me that as always, our lives are in His hands – all the time – everyday.