Mileage

Mileage. We all have more of it on us that we would like to admit. But I like old things. Heck, I am an old thing! Everything I own is old, except for my technology:-). My little old house that I bought sight-unseen some 6 years again has some serious mileage on it. It was built in 1895 with square nails, not round ones! My clothes tend to be old too, although not made in 1895! My mother (I am visiting my parents at the moment) grabbed my clothes this morning and dumped them in with her clothes in the washer, while I was yelling, "don't dry my jeans on high heat!" She listened to me thank God, but commented when I returned home, that my jeans are the oldest piece of clothing that she has seen in the last 40 years. The reason that I don't dry them on high heat is because high heat makes all the patches peal off. (Don't feel sorry for me, I could buy new jeans if I wanted :-))
























My oooolllldddd jeep wrangler was reaching some milestones this afternoon on the way back from Carnesville, Georgia (a city that you have never heard of) after trying to do some banking. These mileage photos throughout this post, have been from my old worn out Wrangler which hit a huge milestone, as I pulled off the road into someone's driveway and took this amazing photo this afternoon. Well the photo sucks, but the numbers are impressive.
























Two Hundred Twenty-Two Thousand, Two Hundred Twenty-Two point Two miles. Thats alot of mileage. Not the most that I have ever had on a car that I drove daily (my Toyota Van had 365,000 miles on it and ran like a top. I hated to leave that van in America when we went back overseas), but definitely the most unique number I ever turned over in a car that I drove daily. But what that big number means is that my jeep has lots of character, lots of memories, lots of things that could be fixed, but a keen sense of dependability - that it will get me where I intend to go. I like it and wouldn't trade it for a new one.

My point in this post, is that most folks have a mileage one them, and milestones behind them. Hopefully we all have more mileage and milestones ahead. My personal milestone of the moment is a job change. This month, December, 2008, is my last month in the employment of the CMA. I have worked with no other organization since August, 1986. Twenty-Two years and four months. I have logged far far far more tham 222,222.2 miles in those years. We have led churches in two states domestically, and planted three churches in two different countries in three different languages abroad. But now it is time to move on to a larger vision and hopefully more milestones. I'll be sure to send you more pictures along the way.

BBQ GA style

There are many cultural ways to eat, not to mention a million different cultural foods. In Russia the thing was peroshkies, and in Macedonia it is Ajvar or Lutenitsa. The South is no exception, neither in culinary arrogance nor in specialties. One of the local favorite haunts is Zebs.




You would not be impressed with the decor. It is the utmost in utilitarianism. It is a celebration in Southern simplicity. A worship service of minimalism - the Brinks would love it. It is the ultimate no frills no chills design.



But the food is divine, in a good ole boy, country boy sorta way. It is plain eating done well. Tender, spicy and filling (the three main roles of food in this part of the world) and frankly it is a one of a kind experience to go and have BBQ at Zebs. You have to have an adventuresome spirit to embrace the experience :-)

Here is a photo of my meal . . .
























That is BBQ pork, or "pulled pork" as they would say up in PA where I live at the moment, cole slaw, and Brunswick stew (a Southeastern delicacy, which is a thick vegetable-meat stew). While I will admit it is not much to look at, the taste is top-notch, kinda like most American's who look at Macedonian Avjar think it looks awful, but once sampled, never find anything quite as satisfying.

So on this trip to see my folks, my dad treated us today to this great local piece of culture and cuisine. I am still savoring the experience. Jesus is the same though; He is an unrepeatable flavor, an irreplaceable taste, and unforgettable experience and contextualized piece of heaven to the senses. As He well should be. Jesus is uuuummmmmm.

The roads of freedom

America the beautiful. And tis true as I can testify to with authority after completing a 6800 mile trip to the West Coast from the East Coast and back again. America is indeed beautiful. But for someone like me who has lived much of the last 14 years in post-socialist nirvana, better known as Russia and the Balkans, beauty, while breathtaking, was not the most profound discovery of my transcontinental motorcycle trip. Freedom was.

Freedom to travel so far, unmolested, without documents, without police interference, with no border guards, with no customs officers, with the freedom to stop wherever I wanted whenever I wanted and pretty much do whatever I wanted . . . was . . . amazing.

Few people in the wide wide world experience such freedom of travel, thought and action. While American citizens who never leave their zip codes probably would not notice, nor appreciate this phenomena nearly as much as I did, they should. Freedom should never be taken lightly.

There are other freedoms I pondered while on my motorcycle for days and days . . . the heaviest of these is the end of my professional holy man days. I am more and more convinced that our evangelical system of church is less and less biblical. Professional Christians, known as clergy in many circles, are those people who stand in for God. We serve His sacraments, we lead His hymns and songs, we pray His prayers, we teach His book . . . we also take much of His abuse and almost all of His adulation.

Professional Christians maintain the system that makes weekly gatherings mandatory for those who wish to be in good standing with Him. We professional Christians also dictate that you, the Christian professionals, must give your money to this system, that you must volunteer your time to this system, that you must serve on committees that preserve this system, that we must do everything possible to maintain and perpetuate this system . . . and on and I could go, but won’t.

There just seems to be little left of the two great commandments of Scripture, in the system (we all this church). There is little human, caring, loving texture left in the system. I think God wants to set us free. Free to be human, free from rules of the system (think modern contemporary pharisees here) free to love and care for humans in human ways. I may still work in the system occasionally and I may still perform some of actions of clergy. But inside the garden of my heart, and in the manner I earn my living, my professional holy man days are numbered. As my friend Mark said to me not too long ago, I can be a Christian professional, but I can’t be a profession Christian any longer.

Deserts and Mountains

There is so much varied terrain in the USA. Today I drove through a 170 miles of Nevada desert and also crossed the first range of the Sierra Nevada mountains. What a day of contrasts. The flabbergasting hues and colors of the desert are amazing. And how anything can grow out of nothing is even more amazing. But it was so hot that I was riding in a short sleeve shirt on October 1, 2008. I don't often ride in a short sleeve shirt, because my riding jacket is also one of my best lines of safety defense. That ballistic material could be a life-saver if I lay the motorcycle down. I ride without my jacket very reluctantly on the highway at high speeds. But when it is 100 degrees in the desert, you ride without the jacket.

But as I crossed the 6000 foot elevation marker, I had to stop and get the jacket out . . . the change in temp was phenomenal. And as I reached nearly 8000 feet elevation, it got downright cold! Brrr!

Then there was that running out of gas problem. There are such large distances between gas stations, that I came into Big Pines, California today on nothing but gas fumes! Add to that that no one should every try to cross the Sierra Nevada's after the sun sets, and you have the recipe for a tough and difficult ride today.

But what a study in contrasts. I am having so much fun that I feel guilty.

2250 miles so far

I am currently on the road, traveling from the East Coast to the West Coast. Working along the way to pay my way, speaking at churches and small groups and meeting some great people. I have always wanted to make this trip and so far I have traveled 2250 miles west on my motorcycle (which is affectionately named Therapy).

It has been a very interesting 2250 miles so far and I still have quite a ways to go yet. The most fascinating thing is how big and beautiful this country is . . . especially the big part. The people are interesting. I am amazed at the creative people I am meeting and how they are reaching out to their communities. I have also met with key leaders from my current parent organization, including the president. I have also met tons of regular church folks who are seeking to live out their faith. And I have met lots of pagans who have no faith.

But the 44 hours that I have spent on the motorcycle thus far on this trip has been the most beneficial. These 44 hours are great thinking times and great working-it-out times. You can solve about half the world’s problem with 44 hours of thinking time. Now if only people would listen :-)

The best part of this process is the de-structuring that is forced upon you. It de-structures the life that schedule-obsessed North America obliges one to live. There is nothing to do but continue down the road . . . and that is refreshingly freeing.

In the girls room

There are times when a person can be too tired for doing things right. I am currently riding my motorcycle across the USA, speaking in churches, riding my motorcycle across the USA, meeting cool people, riding my motorcycle across the USA . . . you get the picture. Well this afternoon in Missouri of all places, I made a stop at a rest area on I-70. I needed to go.

Well I was going to the right and saw that the right side of the building was the girl's room. So I went to the left side of the building and went into the bathroom. Choose a stall and went inside. I noticed that this was one of the nicest State Restroom's I had ever been in. No cigarette damage, no graffiti, no missing parts to the doors . . . you know what I am talking about if you are a guy.

I started to get the idea that something was amiss, when someone came into the stall next to mine . . . someone with very dainty shoes on . . . and then again it happened . . . and it suddenly occurred to me that somehow, someway, I was in the ladies room!!

I carefully waited until I was reasonably sure that the place was empty and I made my escape!! Just glad I did not get arrested :-) I then discovered that the Women's room was on the entire front of the building, the men's on the back!!!

There has to be a lesson in this somewhere, be it escapes me. All I can say is that the girl's rooms are much nicer than the guys rooms.

I've Shrunk!!

No this is not sci-fi pseudo science. This is not an attempt to not be tall. This is also terrible for the BMI scores and all that jazz ... puts me back in the obese category (is anyone normal according to Mr. BMI??) Perhaps it is too many air-miles logged, and all that pressure inside airplanes at 35,000 feet. Perhaps it is too many bone-crunching accelerations in my lifetime, motorcycles, skis, snowboards, race cars, etc. Perhaps it is too much diving and the atmospheric pressures that come with that, I don’t know. But long story short, I have shrunk an inch and a half!

If only my waistline kept up with my height loss, things would feel better, but in America, they eat big time, and I am struggling with that side of things more than enough. Plus we eat so often in this country! Yikes . . . the pillsbury doughboy returns :-(

So I wonder if this means I will be one of those tiny little old people (when I get old I mean)? Naw, there is no chance of that happen. Short does not equal small, much less tiny. Maybe this is God’s judgment on me for calling my niece and executive assistant “shorty” for the last year? Actually I think this whole getting shorter thing is about the Dr.’s measurement tool, I couldn’t really be getting shorter, can I?

Compression

Compression is what I am experiencing right now. I find myself sitting in this hard chair, staring at this computer, attempting to figure out how to express four years worth of literal blood, sweat and tears . . . in 25 minutes. That is what most churches are giving me . . . to tell the tale.

To tell the tale of Ahmad, Sasho, Sime, Dragi, Mirche, Vanessa, Linda, Jagoda, Bilijana, Nada, Linche, Boyjan, Dan, Rodger, Tim, Jonathan, Leonie, Gerco, Ray, Michael, Leyla, Dragan, Sasha, Bledar, Angie, Olie, Simon, Alexsandra, Marko, Dejan, Memo, Rachel, Caroline, Sarah, Mite, Tony, Venco, Katarina, and on and on and on I can go . . . literally.

Don’t get me wrong, the 25 minutes is generous, especially since most folks have about 5 minutes capacity for such telling of tales. And I find this to be true even though I am generally considered to be an excellent teller of tales.

But this level of compression even Jesus could not do. So obviously this format of telling will not work a fair hearing. The stories are worthy of being told, of being heard, because they have the power to encourage, challenge, wow, hurt, build and change us all.

So should I write them all? Compose a poem for each one? Perhaps make a movie? A skit? The real problem is that most of us are only interested in histories and stories that are immediate to us. The wider work of God in the world bores most people that I meet. Perhaps I should get out more some of you are thinking. And that may be so, yet who among you are free/interested/open to/willing to/hot to/wanting to spend a few days talking about what is happening in the lives of people 5000 miles away? If you are, then you belong to a small and select group of folks.

I confess this compression moment depresses me, because I too am guilty of a reduced attention-span for the life stories of those not very near by me. Maybe instead of compression, I should be concerned about my lack of compassion and overpowering selfishness.

Childhood memories

There are few things more jumbled than childhood memories. Everyone has experienced going away from their parental home at some point, and then coming home to the feeling that everything had gotten smaller while gone. Its not that I have gotten larger (although that may be true too), but that our childhood worlds have grown small. Our childhood worlds are very small, inclusive, introverted, inwardly focused, not much beyond 5-7 relationships.

Adult world is much larger (and more frightening) and the scope is terrifying. Adult life is huge! But that is not the point nor subject of this particular post.

Childhood and youth memories are funny. As I have been riding about the roads and venues of my childhood these past days, the memories are all out of perspective. Those painful ones are not so hurtful anymore . . . and those wonderful ones seem to have lost their richness and pleasures. On the other hand, when I review those hurtful one and/or great ones, I can see the tapestry of who I am . . . and I then question who I have become, because of that perspective skew.

I think of what I may have become if I had made this choice, or that choice, or took that option, or travel that road instead of this highway? I think of those things I ran away from by going to Russia, and then wonder if I have lost too much by making that run? Or did I gain? Or did it matter? Did it really matter? Honestly?

There may not be an answer to my questions. Perhaps all any of us can do is enjoy today for what joys and pains that come our way. Perhaps 80% of life is attitude and not circumstances. Perhaps the best things are now, not the past nor the future. Perhaps we should just enjoy today, this moment, now. Childhood memories are too small for today.

Childhood memories

There are few things more jumbled than childhood memories. Everyone has experienced going away from their parental home at some point, and then coming home to the feeling that everything had gotten smaller while gone. Its not that I have gotten larger (although that may be true too), but that our childhood worlds have grown small. Our childhood worlds are very small, inclusive, introverted, inwardly focused, not much beyond 5-7 relationships.

Adult world is much larger (and more frightening) and the scope is terrifying. Adult life is huge! But that is not the point nor subject of this particular post.

Childhood and youth memories are funny. As I have been riding about the roads and venues of my childhood these past days, the memories are all out of perspective. Those painful ones are not so hurtful anymore . . . and those wonderful ones seem to have lost their richness and pleasures. On the other hand, when I review those hurtful one and/or great ones, I can see the tapestry of who I am . . . and I then question who I have become, because of that perspective skew.

I think of what I may have become if I had made this choice, or that choice, or took that option, or travel that road instead of this highway? I think of those things I ran away from by going to Russia, and then wonder if I have lost too much by making that run? Or did I gain? Or did it matter? Did it really matter? Honestly?

There may not be an answer to my questions. Perhaps all any of us can do is enjoy today for what joys and pains that come our way. Perhaps 80% of life is attitude and not circumstances. Perhaps the best things are now, not the past nor the future. Perhaps we should just enjoy today, this moment, now. Childhood memories are too small for today.

Swirling mists

It was kinda like being in a spooky sci-fi flick. My friend said that it was a sign from God. It was strange at the very least. On my very last bike ride up the mountain of this four year term, Vodno was capped by a heavy cloud cover . . . and I mean capped, as in the sky had a solid ceiling of gray clouds. Nothing peeking through that mass at all.

So as I was approaching the end of my ride up, about 75% of the way up the mountain, I actually entered the cloud cap. It was spooky to see ghost-like hunks of mist enveloping me and seemingly moving through me. I have flown in planes hundreds of times through the clouds. I have been in pea-soup thick fog that was bulletproof. I have climbed and skied in and above the clouds a number of times. But I have never been in such a swirling mist that seemed so . . . alive and living.

The weight of the air was so heavy that breathing was as solid as eating or drinking. It was like I needed gills rather lungs. It also was like I was in a room alone with God. God was in the swirling mists . . . and it was refreshing.

$7.33 gas and currency robberies

There is much to like and love about Western Europe. Gas prices aren’t one of them. This morning I filled up the rental car at a Shell station to the tune of $7.33 a gallon for the very cheapest unleaded gasoline. That sticker shock is bad enough but following our $61.32 splurge at the ice cream shop last night, the gas was anti-climatic. I could go on and on for pages about how expensive Europe is compared to North America, but I won’t. The bottom line of what these numbers mean above is the devaluation of the US dollar. You don’t want to know what attending my son’s graduation in Germany actually costs. Of course he was worth every euro :-) Yet it was an obscene amount of money in the end.

This blurb is being written at 34,000 feet in the air in a tin sardine-can commonly called an airplane. We are about half way across the Atlantic ocean and as Aderholdt traveling adventures go, this one has been terrifyingly amazingly flawless. Up at 5:30 this morning to shower and shave, final packing in the room, re-packing of the car, breakfast with Frau Shulberger, getting Jake, then picking up Helen, driving to Zurich, stopping at the Petrol station to top off that embarrassingly expensive gas, missing the rental car return - with Jake finally figuring out how to actually do it, getting all our car bags to the check-in, Jake and I then going to get the remaining bags that Brenda and I had left in storage when we came through Zurich on Wednesday evening, then checking in at United, paying the $193.00 for having one too many bags, breakfast at Burger King (Jake’s choice!) which cost an astounding $43 for burgers and fries and ketchup, meandering to our gate, going through security where Jake was flagged and searched because of the breathtaking number of electronic gadgets in his backpack, boarding the plane with me pushing in front as much as possible in order to find a relatively safe place for the guitar to make our trans-continental journey, to this moment where I am logging my thoughts onto my computer. Believe it or not, the plane is actually supposed to arrive an hour early in Washington! As I said . . . terrifyingly amazingly flawless.

Frankly it is a fitting end to a long and productive term. Four years of our lives poured out into the soils of Macedonia, Germany and the USA. Five Aderholdts working, stretching, changing, and getting it done. Heidi graduates with honors from High School and goes off to college, where she works two jobs, and continues to make the Dean’s list semester after semester. Jake has a great four years of high school where the boy became a man. Everyone looks up to Jake, and not just because he is 6 feet tall either. He is a voice of reason and wisdom everywhere he goes and he enables others along the way so that they shine. Helen traversed the pain of Middle School, two different dorms as well as a year with mom and dad, completing an amazing run at her first year of high school under the most challenging circumstances. Brenda has trained more women leaders in Macedonia than any other women in recent history. Churches will never be the same, women have evolved into powerful sisters dispensing God’s grace and mercy in their cities, and lives have been forever changed. Not to mention years of teaching English in multiple cities and settings and making a way for people to read God’s Word for the first time in their lives (and I could go on and on). David finished his doctorate, began teaching in regional seminaries immediately, and along the way planted the International Church of Skopje. And these are just the highlights of all that happened. There were disasters along the way too . . . I think I may save those for another day . . . today is for marking the progress we each made these long four years.

Interestingly enough, this day marks the first time in four years that the five of us will actually all be living together once again. We are all eager for that closeness again. Too, you would think that after a slam-dunk term of work behind us, that life would be stable and predictable. Nothing could possibly be further from the truth. We have never faced more ambiguity about our future than we do today. Perhaps in a couple of weeks I will be free to share more about that . . . perhaps not. The point of today’s blog is that life is amazingly expensive, in terms of what it costs and demands from us. If we knew the final tally ahead of time, few would willingly pay it I think. But I think the real question here is this, is it worth what it costs?

Six strings loose

After two flights, tons of waiting in airports, renting cars, storing luggage in Left Luggage departments, missing exits, finding the Gastehaus, getting our room, collapsing into bed and finally sleeping like the permanently dead, our day of travel to Germany came to an end. Compared to my usual travel horrors, this one was a charm (because I had lovely wife with me for sure) but still exhausting.

One of the main reason it was so exhausting is that I am lugging around my amazing guitar. Now guitars are not airplane friendly. Heck, they are not even travel friendly! Guitars want to be lovely held and cherished and be stroked and strummed into sweet oblivion. They are not kind nor thoughtful passengers while traveling. They are more like demanding fragile brats.

So this morning after a nice Germany breakfast, I returned to our room and as usual have the compulsion to reach for the guitar and hear a few measures of beautiful music. This morning no such thing happened of course because I had six loose strings. I loosened the strings prior to flying so that neither they nor the wood instrument itself undergoes undue stress.

So I tuned for a half hour or so, until all the strings were once again vibrating under the appropriate tension and the harmony produced was satisfying to the ear. Then Brenda and I sang together for a half hour. But tuning those strings back to proper tension got me to thinking . . . dangerous I know.

I said yesterday, we are at the place of new starts. New tasks, new place to live, new people to meet, new (different) cars to drive, new roads to explore . . . and perhaps new jobs, new futures, and new everythings. I am sure we will make mistakes and have to do it over and try again and again. There will be times when have to stop in the middle of what we are singing (doing) and adjust another string to find harmony once again. Getting it just right is sufficiently challenging to a person like me with an average ear for music, and that means lots of effort to compensate for my deficiencies. This coming year has many many parallels.

I have a feeling it is going to be much like tuning six loose strings . . . .

A New Start

New starts are hard. At my age and with my temperament new starts seem terribly threatening. But life with the living requires new starts. Even if you go kicking and screaming.

Today one of my very best friends encouraged me to start blogging again. And she said it in such a way that it made sense and gave me hope that more good than harm could come from it, so here we go . . ..

In an hour I will walk outside, get in my car for the last time, pick up my ever-social wife in the center, turn the car toward the airport, check-in my tons of luggage, and fly away from our third term overseas.

New starts are almost always tied to new endings. This end is one of those that cycle around every four years for us and is almost unbearably painful and difficult. How do you put into words the sum total of your relationships? The internet is far too small a medium to handle the immensity and weight of such significance.

Of course the new start has its ups as well. Re-unitied with all our children, son’s graduation from High School, living all together for the first time in five years, fishing in pristine waters with another best friend, motorcycles, some rest and restoration of my soul.

But today is about pain. The pain of separation, of not knowing if/when we will see one another again, who ever will be that honest and truthful with me in caring concern?, an end to the richest and most comfortable being that I have experienced in decades, not being judged for who I am, . . . good friends are in short supply and high demand, and are the richest currency of life.

Heaven simply may be the contentment of having all these friends in the same place and never having separations ever again. New starts and new endings are hard (I can think of several choice choice words in a number of languages more descriptive than hard, but I will let this one stand today).

You know, my friend was right as usual . . . I needed to start blogging again, and not allow the naysayers and whiners in this sometimes miserable world, win yet again.

Test First

Test First new MacJournal connection

111.6 miles per hour

Date: February 25, 2008 4:15 PM

Topic: 111.6 miles per hour

I love speed . . . you are just closer to God when you go fast.  Danger and death and pain and injury are all just a moment away at racing speeds.  This morning I was enjoying the scenery (however briefly) flying past me at 111.6 mph!  No I wasn't driving, I wasn't even sitting in the front seat.  I was merely a passenger in the back seat, riding in a car being driven by someone else.  

Although it is only 10:00 am, I have already have traveled at a wide wide range of speeds today.  First of all, my Field Director graciously got up at Zero Dark Thirty this morning and picked me up at my house at 5:00 am to take me to the airport.  He obviously had just rolled out the sack and was only partially awake, because we never got over 50 mph the entire way to the airport, even when we were on the highway.  Then the plane that took me up and over the problems in Serbia to Croatia was moving at about 400 mph.  And then the ride from this airport in Croatia to the seminary.

Believe it or not, I did not actually notice that we were going fast, until we got up over 100 mph.  I was reading and typing in the back seat, preparing for class lectures.  But once you start moving faster than 100 mph, you have those little floating feelings deep inside your lower abdomen, and that caused me to look up at the landscape flashing by me, and then I glanced over at the speedometer . . . 180 kph!  According to my calculator, that equals 111.6 mph.

I have probably driven this fast myself more than a few times :-), but I rarely sit quietly in a car while someone else drives that speed.  Most people make me far too nervous, but my driver today did not.  He handle himself and the car with great skill and confidence.

Carolyn will be upset, but there is a spiritual principle that I want to make from this.  While we may very well enjoy the thrill of moving through life at 111.6 mph, there are many extra dangers that come from moving at such speeds.  I find the most dastardly one, to be exhaustion.  The focus and energy required to safely (ok, relative safety) navigate such speeds is exhausting.  When I start counting up how few days I take "off" and how many days I am "on" the numbers and imbalance is alarming!  The second is the intense "doing" rather than "being".  You are simply moving too fast to BE anything, racing from one assignment to the next, from one task to the next.

The result is a tired overachiever!  I am not sure God finds much pleasure in such followers.  He seemed to enjoy those who sat at His feet and hung out with Him far more than those who did something all the time.  Maybe it's time to slow down?