temp changes

Well when I left Asia last night it was 77 degrees warm (25 C) and this morning when I arrived in Budapest it was 29 degrees (-1.6 C). Burrrrrrrr! Of course it was especially biting since I decided to stay in short pants and short sleeves as it was unbearable last night to think about an 11 hour flight in jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Now I am reconsidering, but of course I have no access to my clothes since they are being held for the Skopje flight this afternoon. At least it is warm in the Airport, although the TP is terrible.

The best breakfast in the whole world

I have new favorite breakfast . . . it's the local noodle shop. The noodle soup is to die for . . . more taste per spoonful than anything I think I have ever eaten in my whole life. And being a terminally fat person, that is alot of eating.

When I transition later this week, I will really miss the food . . . but my waistline will be relieved that I am returning to a saner style of eating.

I wonder if I could open a noodle shop in the Hairy Armpit?

A Mountain of Flowers

My brother told me. I did not believe him. There simply does not exist a mountain of flowers. But there does and there is and I went there. Here is the story in pictures:

The 2000 curve road . . . with no brakes!

The amazingly beautiful and picturesque road to Mae Hong Son is known as the road with 2000 curves. It requires patience, skill and more than a bit of foolishness . . . especially when we cleared the first humongous mountain range and started down the other side and discovered that my brother had no rear brakes on his bike! And he was riding double! Needless to say this is a recipe for disaster.

So we stopped and I took the passenger, and allowed my brother to lead at a speed that felt and was, less lethal. We were about 17 kilometers from Pai and so our goal was to reach a motorcycle shop without dropping the bike, or going off the road into one of the ravines. I on the other hand, was struggling with a second rider . . . which greatly affected how my bike was handling and to be honest, my brakes aren't the greatest in the world either.

Long story short, we found a bike shop, he changed the brakes, and off we were again on our wild adventure on the 2000 curve road.

As the afternoon progressed, I could not help but think that my life is much like this 2000 curve road. It has shifted direction and focus and passion and means and methods and priorities and resources at least 2000 times. And admittedly, there are stages of this life where I seemed to be headed downhill into lethal curves with no brakes with which to stop or even control the pace at which I move.

I also was wondering if I kept good brakes on my life, would I have chosen the same paths that I have thus far, or would I have chosen a different road here and there had this life a more controlled pace? On the other hand, I am fairly certain that far less would have been accomplished in my life to-date, had I stopped and thought about it too much.

Every curve is different. Each one has risks and thrills. Each one is potentially lethal. Each one can take you to a breathtakingly beautiful vista.

Fireworks on the 21st floor

Last night was a magical night. As we headed for the rooftop of the Pornping Hotel the excitement was energizing. On the rooftop . . . literally the 21st floor of the hotel . . . we enjoyed a reservation-only atmosphere and fabulous meal they prepared for us right there on our table. The chicken, fish and pork kabobs were only the beginning of a meal fit for a king.

The fireworks are going off all over the city, which of course we had a front row seat being on the roof of the tallest building in the city, and there were an endless stream of fire balloons lighting the sky for hours. On the other hand . . .

It can be very interesting to be at the same height and level as the fireworks explode all around you. It is one thing to watch fireworks from the York fairgrounds and quite another thing to experience the fireworks 21 stories high in the breezy Asian night.

It was a great memory to make with my brother and Asian friends. One of the sad and unfortunate things that occurred, is that some of the Westerners got upset about the fireworks being so close (and granted sometimes they were close), but if that is your attitude, why don't you just stay home?

If only the rats would eat the cockroaches

There are several stereotypes of Asia that I have heard from friends who have lived in this part of the world . . . that seem to be perfectly true. Asian bathrooms can be interesting places, but nothing tops the rats and the cockroaches . . . both which seem bound and determined to chase me whenever I am in the same room as they are. It is disturbing to have rats and coackroaches be so aggressive toward me. Generally people find I have a gentle and lovable soul . . . perhaps these carnivores don't have socializing on their small minds?

As I was returning from the computer mega-store here today and I came into the kitchen area to take the stairs to my room, there was a ginormous cockroach guarding the door. It was huffing and puffing and it was not about to allow me passage to the stairwell. I was afraid to move at first (who knows what a startled cockroach the size of a small horse might do??), but then I decided to make a break for it. I faked going right, then double-pumped an imaginary piece of bread to temp it with, and then jumped left.

Whew! I made it to the stairs, but did not linger, in case it wanted revenge . . . and as I thought about this close encounter on the way to the third floor, I thought, wouldn't it be nice if the rats (in the same kitchen – roughly the size of the local elephants) would eat the cockroaches! At least one fright would then be gone.

Looking the wrong way

Looking the wrong way.

Looking the wrong way while crossing the street can be deadly. You know you are in a foreign country that you are not accustom to when you are constantly looking the wrong way while trying to cross the street. Here in this part of Asia you drive on the LEFT side of the road, not the RIGHT side of the road. And while this sounds simple enough to adjust to . . . having looked the wrong way several thousand times over the last 7 days, has convinced me that I will need some time before looking this other way will feel correct.

I need to successfully make this mental shift, or it's going to get me killed, maimed, hurt, damaged, and hell . . . it has already scared the life out of me about a half dozen times!

As I sit here thinking this afternoon, I have come to realize that I need to look at life in a different way as well. I need to see reality in an alternate manner than I currently do . . . I am locked into a bad pattern and I have been doing this particular way so long that, I cannot seem to make the leap to a new dimension.

It is dangerous to be in such a rut, it can maim your heart, damage your soul, crush your spirit, and make you a slave to fear. Being startled over and over emotionally takes a heavy toll after a bit. If you don't make the jump to the new reality, then you can only stay stuck in the same old way that you have perceived reality all the years before. Then all the things I listed above are your future.

So a fresh perspective is the order of the decade. You have got to stop looking the wrong way.

Sumo Mania

The World Championship of Sumo Wrestling just occurred here this past weekend. Sumo Wrestling is to the uninitiated, just a bunch of overweight bullies pushing one another around . . . and granted there is a measure of that going on. But when you see the explosive power of these two giants coming out of their stance and colliding . . . you wonder that the building does not shake and fall!

I included this video of one of the mighty falling . . . literally!

There were competitors from Germany, Poland, The Netherlands, Russia, Japan, Thailand, USA, Ukraine, Mongolia, Malaysia, Hungary, Hong Kong, China, Brazil, and others.

Perhaps I have a new career in the making?

Hungarian TP

I thought I had returned to Russia to be honest with you. It has been many years since I have been forced to use paper this coarse, rough, unfriendly and painful. If you can imagine posterboard thickness and sandpaper grain, then you have a good idea how bad, painful and useless one finds Hungarian toilet paper.

At least this is the case in Ferihegy Airport in Budapest. Perhaps in the private homes of Budapest, there is a much more pleasing process to be experienced, but the one at the airport hurts.

When I encounter this style of displeasure, I am always tempted to take some and write a letter to someone on it . . . it certainly would be pen-proof and durable.

Perhaps I will write the local government in Budapest about this issue . . . or take the whole roll (it's industrial size) and start a petition against such abuse on the general public, especially the traveling public. I imagine that everyone in the airport would gladly sign it.

The White Temple

The White Temple is one of the most startling artchitectual complexes in the world. It is one man's vision and understanding of the world shaped by his Asian culture and his Buddhist upbringing.

Here I am standing in front of the main temple on the site. It is an amazing building. And you are not supposed to take pictures inside and so I did not. But in the creator of the White Temple's understanding of god, humanity must go through hell, in order to reach heaven. Here is his depiction of hell.

It is a really graphic horror . . . one that will give you cold chills. And the other horror that evangelical Christianity does not address in any adequate manner, is that that this fellow's perspective that you must go through hell to reach heaven is the mainstream understanding of the majority of the world. I am not stating that he (they) are correct, only that evangelicals are the miniscule minority with the PollyAnna concept of reality.

The wealthy culture surrounding Western Christianity makes it a destitute thought-system in the two-thirds world. We have sacrificed so little, suffered too little, been hungry so little, been thirsty for clean water so little, lacked for so little, that we have little to offer the two-thirds world which is in a daily sumo-wrestling match with these life and death issues.

The perspective of the world we say we are called/trying to reach is, you have to go through hell to reach heaven. We say that Christ already has, so that no one else is required to do so. In the 2/3's world few of them have heard of Christ's perspective. So do they now go through hell and stay there, or do they reach heaven? And whose fault is it either way?

It seems to me that we do not seriously believe our own theology. Not when 95% of what we make in life is spent on us, and only a tiny fraction of "the church" lays down their life for these said beliefs. No wonder they don't believe us, even the few that get to hear.

The 50 foot Buddha

The biggest Buddha in the world.

I almost wreck the motorcycle! We came around this curve and there was a 50 foot buddha on top of this huge boat right on the mekong river. Like I said, I almost wrecked the bike this thing appeared so suddenly. It is impossible for me to give you a proper feel for how big this thing is . . . it was an amazing sight to see, especially for me, the buddha-uninitiated . . . you can see the photo here . . .



I had barely been in-country for 24 hours and this was my first buddha, and what a buddha it was! Now that I have been here for a week, I have seen 1000's of buddha's but still, this one was unique. It was "sitting" in a ginormous boat with elephants and the whole nine yards!



Now I am no Buddha expert, but the whole experience left me more than a bit dazed. There were these bronze gongs at each entrance, and the person was to rub it in such away that it started to hum . . . and several of the 100's trying were successful. These are the people who walk away with good luck from the Buddha himself.

All I know is this, don't be startled if you come around a corner and see a 50 foot Buddha all decked out in gold, glinting in the sunlight, in this part of the world . . . hold on to your motorcycle handlebars!

Riding with Eddie

There are lots of new things that I am doing currently in Asia. As you can see in this photo, I am riding a motorcycle as my main ride . . . and obviously it is very warm here . . . you could not be riding a motorcycle in the Hairy Armpit without loads of clothes right now since it is 25 degrees in Skopje, versus the 77 degrees it is here in Asia.


So not only am I riding a motorcycle everyday, I am also riding with a motorcycle gang! And this past weekend we took a long long trip together and it was a very interesting experience. The road rules here in Asia are ginormously different than the road rules I am accustomed to elsewhere. This is where Eddie comes in. You can see Eddie, my brother, Natty and I at a eating joint somewhere near the Golden Triangle.



Eddie and I are roughly the same age and that helped us get along, but his English helped even more, since I am struggling with "hello" in the local languages. But back to road rules . . . the hardest thing here is that people drive on the left side of the road, rather than on the right side of the road. 30 years of driving experience on the other side, makes me constantly think that I am sure to die at any moment! It is freaky!!

Moreover the "passing" rules are even stranger . . . traffic is much more fluid here than I am used to and it is difficult for me to master as a foreigner. So Eddie helped me for two days, as he initiated my intro into driving in Asia on a motorcycle. Add mountains and curves and Eddie probably saved my live a half dozen times at least on that long road trip with new road rules. I got my motorcycle legs back (for Asia at least) riding with Eddie.

Sandwiched at 31000

It has to be some curse on my family. Some long forgotten relative or kin has seriously damaged my ability to catch a break while traveling. I always get in the slowest toll line, I always choose the slowest immigration line, the slowest passport stamping line, the meanest traffic lane, the hottest seat on the bus, the coldest bathroom, the hardest bed, and worst pillow, the dirtiest hotel, the most expensive meal (if there is no menu), the sickest train compartment . . . and on and on I could go for at least another hour. But I won't bore you anymore with these extremes of my traveling experiences in general, but rather tell you of the one last night.

I was sandwiched at 31000 feet . . . sandwiched between two people possessed to make my 10 hour flight a living hell. The one in front of me was just constant motion, and it seemed that each time I laid my head up against his seat, he was jerking and moving like he had turbo-folk music (a particularly vicious form of Eastern European music) pounding through his veins and he just could not be still for a single moment. No possible rest by leaning forward.

But the selfish cow behind me took all honors for the curse thus far in my life. She was totally commited to driving her knees into my back for the duration of the 10 hour flight. In fact she refused to sit up at all during the trip, keeping her knees sharply pinned against the back of my seat. So tightly in fact that the seat simply refused to recline at all. Since she weighed more than I did, I could not move her. But I sure as heck decided to irritate her! Since she was not going to let me recline nor sleep, I became highly motivated to interrupt her sleep as much as possible. I was so successful in fact, that she turned into a screaming wench, waking up everyone else around me. You gotta laugh. It was one of the longest-least-pleasant flights I have taken . . . and I have taken quite a few in my travels.

I know it does not sound like I worked very hard at making the best of the situation, but that is not true . . . I tried for hours, but in the end decided that some things you simply cannot change in life and you have to either accept it or join in the rumble . . . and this time I joined in the rumble. Now if I could only figure out how to get rid of this family curse . . ..

2 minutes and 41 seconds to spare

Trains in Western Europe are marvelous. They are truly amazing, because they are always on time . . . you can actually set your watch by the train arrival and departure! It’s nothing like where I live in the Hairy Armpit . . . after living most of the last 13 plus years in Russia and the Balkans . . . where anything closely resembling on time is acceptable and expected. If it is a half hour late . . . well, that is really on time here. Western Europe is just the opposite; 10:04 departure means 10:04 depart 999 times out of 1000.

So if you are running late getting to the airport or train station here in the Hairy Armpit, no one panics or has their blood pressure shooting higher . . . the chances are better than even that whatever mode of transportation you are going to get on, will depart late by Western standards.

On the other hand, if you are running late in Germany or Switzerland . . . oops . . . guess what? You are going to miss your train. And this is where I found myself on Saturday . . . after a blessed week in the West, where everything functions in a predictable rational manner . . . running late because the regional highway into Basel, Switzerland from Germany was closed for repairs . . . so we had to take the scenic route . . . along with thousands of other motorists . . . and we are seriously late.

I really hate that O.J. Simpson style of of running through the airport or whatever transportation hub you find yourself, racing to catch your train plane or automobile. But once again, here I am doing just that. I am too old for this crap!

I decided to take my chances with the train steward and race directly to the train without a ticket . . . who knows if they will throw me off the train, charge me some ginormous penalty, or what . . . I just figured that getting on the train took precedence over a ticket to ride said train. Remember that I have a plane waiting for me at the end of this train ride, and if I was to make the worship service next day and lead worship . . . well you get the picture; get on the train!

I got to the train with exactly 2 minutes and 41 seconds to spare! Before I got my bags into the racks above, and sank wearily into one of the seats, the train began to pull out the station. Whew! That was really close.

Oh, the ticket? Well the smiling and ever so polite Swiss ticket agent came through my car about 30 minutes into the trip and listened to my whole spiel with a smile on her face and then sold me a train ticket at normal fare. That was a pretty good deal with 2 minutes and 41 seconds to spare.

Locked in the parking garage!

It was the first time that we had seen each other in several years, and so Tim and I had spent several hours getting caught up on all that we had been going through recently. We were sitting in a dive off the walking square in Lorrach, Germany.

Since we both had had a long long day, we called it quits about 9:00 pm and headed back to the parking garage off the side street. We paid for our parking in the automated machine and then got into the car and headed toward the exit. Imagine our surprise as we turned the corner and discovered a heavy duty fence covering the exit!

“What are we going to do?“ Tim asked me. ”I have to catch the train at 5:50 am!“ he said. And I responded, ”Yes and they lock the doors to the dorm I am staying in at midnight.“ Tim asked me again, ”What ever are we going to do?“ It was the question of the moment.

I wasn’t overly worried . . . since Tim is one of the best troubleshooters I have ever met in my whole life, I was sure that we would resolve this eventually . . . and . . . I have been known to solve a few problems myself. Still, being locked inside a parking garage far from where you need to be, is no small challenge. I decided to walk around and see if the entrance was also fenced shut and it was. Then I told Tim that I was going to see if I could raise the fence in some way, and he said that he would try to find someone who might be able to help us.

I had no luck at all raising the fence . . . although I could lift it, I certainly could not get it high enough for the car to pass underneath. While I was practicing being Mr. Hercules, Tim had found another person who needed to escape the confines of the parking garage as urgently as we did, with the added bonus that she also spoke English (which is rather rare in this part of Germany). She approach the fence just as incredulously as we had, but then she burst out laughing.

The sign on the fence, which neither Tim nor I could read although we speak and read several languages between the two of us, read ”drive your car to the edge of the fence and it will automatically rise.“ We did and it did.

What a real picture of the spiritually lost. They are locked into a place they cannot escape from on their own, without outside help from people who understand what is really going on and who can read all the signs. We need to be the ones showing the captives the way out.

Food Miles

Yesterday while traveling from Berlin, Germany to Basel, Switzerland, I was reading the Euro-perspective of Green Skiing. Western Europeans are far more eco-focused than I find most Americans to be. I don’t particularly have an opinion about that fact, but for my purposes here, am just stating the data. And so the big deal of the moment is skiing and snowboarding (Europeans as a group do far more of that than do North Americans) and which resorts are eco-friendly, burning bio-fuels, saving the environment (although snowmaking machines are notorious energy hogs and water abusive), and all that jazz.

So now that I have told you far more than you wanted to know about what I read on airplanes, and have since put you completely to sleep I fear, there was one line that jumped off the page that I was reading as we jetted into the sky spewing ginormous quantities of pollution into the dark early morning air of Berlin. Food miles. There was this concept of food miles . . .. It is the idea that transporting food costs the environment and world, resources that it can ill afford to expend. Thus the article suggested eating local, in-season fruits and vegetables to reduce the food miles spent getting said food to your table. This one actually makes sense to me, and we do this as a rule. But what if you live in a part of the world where there is little locally grown food, or what if it is stuff you can’t stomach? (pun intended)

Then the article took off on carbon footprints. No, this is not a new discovery of dinosaurs locked into some type of carbon dating fiasco. This is the carbon emissions that come from you living, eating, breathing, and traveling in the real world. So if I eat local produce that has not had to travel a billion kilometers to reach me and fuel my body, the logic is that I have reduced the carbon footprint that my life is costing the world’s resources. The irony was not lost on me that I, at that very moment of carbon footprint awareness, was leaving an astronomical amount of carbon emissions in my wake as we flew far above the sleeping German countryside.

I wondered how many locally grown peppers and tomatoes should I eat to offset one flight to Western Europe? What about a transatlantic flight!?

All of this eco-conversation reminds me that it is far easier to see a problem, than find a real solution. Some real problems that have plagued me lately, and to which I have no solutions are 1) why do organizations almost always control people rather than enable them? 2) why does God not give people more opportunity to see, hear and experience the Gospel of Christ before they die? Six people connected to our church in some manner have died recently. Most without Christ. Perhaps this is more of a question of me/the church failing them, rather than God not giving opportunity? On the other hand, why am I trying to exonerate God? 3) Why do I think I have to find some spiritual significance in every bad thing that happens? 4) When am I going to make these changes in my life rather than just think about them? Why am I so paralyzed about taking the risks to switch careers or something? 5) When will Jesus be King and satan completely vanquished? 6) Why do I say I believe in a loving caring God that is reaching out to the world and wishes to save it, when most of my actions show and tell that I am focused on me. The incongruency of that makes me itch and twist! 7) How do I set people free to reach their potential? 8) why do I continue to do live in the place and job that I do, yet pee and moan about it all the time? Why not do something about it? 9) Where is the good in pain and heartbreak? 10) Why do I spend so much mental effort asking questions that have no answers?

I think I will go eat some locally grown German corn while I ponder my carbon footprints.

I don't understand God and neither do you-

It has been more than a month since I have posted a blog on this site. Tragedy struck in September and I haven’t had the heart to write since. For those who may not know, we are building a significant building which will house both a local church and National Seminary. In September we had two workers who were buried when we had a deep trench collapse on top of them. These two friend’s deaths were powerfully troubling for me. Then it got worse; the police arrested two of my friends and placed them in prison as the responsible persons for the death of the other two friends. So two friends dead, two friends in prison (although one is currently out). This tragedy has forced me to review a number of assumptions that I have about God.

I have always assumed that God was there to protect me from harm. Now I am afraid to drive my car some days.
I have assumed that God was there to prevent tragedy from happening to believers. Now I am wondering when the next tragedy will occur.
I have assumed that God wanted His plans to go smoothly. Now I wonder why a project so important, can be in such a precarious situation.
I have assumed that God wished for love and mercy to rule the earth. Now I worry about the two small boys without a father.
I have assumed that God’s highest goal was me and my concerns. Now I understand that I don’t really understand God at all.

What happens when your child is raped, or a young father is killed, or when a project that could change a whole country is endangered? What happens when tragedy strikes, death comes early, evil occurs? Does anyone know where the love of God goes . . .? Like I said, I don’t really understand God at all, and this has made me question many of my previously rock-solid convictions about God. On the other hand, where else do we turn? Who can rescue us us? And isn’t that what all this is about . . . that we all need to be rescued, yet sometimes He doesn’t? And that damned “why” question keeps popping up.

So I don’t have any answers for you, and I almost never can answer the why question, but through these events in life, one will either stop believing entirely, or have a permanently damaged faith, or grow stronger faith. I have no idea which one of the three I will end up with, but this one thing I know for sure, I don’t understand God, but hopefully, He understands me.

Life with a pickaxe

No I am not talking about my wife. She is a sweetie. But my other girl these days is a pickaxe. She and I have been spending lots of time together. There is nothing like swinging a pickaxe all day, to put most other things in perspective. Pickaxe perspective is a reduction of life to the basics, the simpliest point of view.

When you never have the chance of working extra hard physically, you never get a chance to get to this point, when pain and hurt and sore muscles reduce everything to several key points in life.

Sometimes in life, I simply spend too much time thinking. You can't think much while swinging a pickaxe into semi-concrete earth. The soil is so hard here, that honestly, it seems that the cement slab is softer. It rattles your bones and vibrates your insides in a very painful way. But nothing compares to the next morning. You need a crane to help you get out of bed. Every breath hurts. Who would have thought that each joint in your hand could possible cause so much pain so constantly? And then the blisters! And then an actual blister where you had yesterday's blister! A blister on the blister!

Now wearing two gloves, you return to the work site, hoping that your body does not shatter into a 1000 pieces the first time that you swing the axe again. But you don't break, and then 10 hours later, you have finished another day of swinging a pickaxe. Now you can return home to email, church meetings, music practice, and normal church work. But you fall asleep soon, and the computer runs all night. And you dream of more pickaxes chasing you all night long. This is my life with a pickaxe right now.

Temporary Staying

That is what the sign in the police station read, where I was waiting in line for hours. OF course my business there would take all of 3 minutes, if I could ever get into the office. Temporary staying, is what they call it, even though I have been here for eight years!

That phrase got me to thinking . . . that temporary staying is how I should view life in this world, but in fact, just the opposite usually happens. I live each day as if I will be here forever and always. In fact if I look deep enough, I am pretty sure that I would like to stay here forever on planet earth. Let's face it, it is the only life I have ever known.

But if I am to be or becoming or stay a Kingdom person, then I need a new perspective. I need a temporary staying perspective. True life . . . my eternal life . . . is somewhere other. This stop on earth is just a temporary staying.

The bloody razor edge

The rip went all the way from my shoulder fading away into my back as you can see in the photos. This is how we ended a great afternoon of playing in the lake. It was an accident. No one intended any wrong or hurt. No one had malice on their mind. But it still really hurt. The kind of hurt that leaves scars. Scars are great conversation points after the pain fades, but they sure hurt like the blazes at the moment of injury.



We are still hurting from the death of our Muslim friend who died two weeks ago. On Saturday I will be speaking at his memorial service. It cuts like the razor’s edge too . . . it leaves scars on my soul. As I have sat here this day and thought carefully about the theological quagmire that I find myself in, it just hurts like the ripping fingernails that made the cuts in the photo above on my shoulders.

I have decided that death should hurt. The hurt increases my sensitivity to how Christ must have felt on the Cross with the potential deaths of all of humanity upon His shoulders, and His own imminent physical death. Too, I wonder if death makes God as angry as it does me? The end of all that potential, all that fathering, all that son-ing, all that husband-ing, all that creativity, all that loving, all that giving, all that laughing, all that potential . . . ending. Robbed by death’s unexpected arrival.

I too am going to die. It may be today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, after retirement, whenever, but it will happen. I wonder now, if I am squandering all my potential in LIFE, in worrying about the razor edge that is coming? It is inevitable . . . death is coming and that right soon, but is it not today that matters? This moment? I think I will go hug my daughter right now.