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.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
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.
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.
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