The slow tide of familiar...

Back in Lhasa, my first 24 hours:

The man with cotton shorts pulled up over his belly with t-shirt tucked
in. The bus driver who passes everyone in the turn lane by driving into
oncoming traffic. The way entire streets shut down for some runners to
go through. The bag of mixed fruit forced on me by the grocery store
family. A heaping plate of noodles. The self resentment at still not
being able to speak Chinese or Tibetan with any fluency. The long low
damp clouds of the morning. The schedule of only 80 students rather than
my expected 160. The relief in a dear friends voice whom I get to see
for the first time in a month. The smiles around the office as I make my
first entry of the year. The long yellowed fingernails of the bus
cashier. The labored breaths of my first restless night. The dizziness
induced from a mere two story climb up some stairs. The lurking feeling
that something has changed and the inability to describe what that is.
The slip stumble out of bed to the cold realization that I am indeed
back. Loneliness. That smell that I spent all summer trying to forget.

24 hours of another life like a tidal wave upon the shores of my summer.

Yet in the high tide of foreignness I am blessed by the recognition of
the familiar. I have seen those laugh lines before. I know that this
ride costs two kuai. I can bargain for that new kettle with dexterity. I
have blinked hard in this sunlight more than once. That it all is still
strange to me is indeed true, that it is unexpected... not true any more.

The slow soft lapping of the familiar granting peace and rest on shores
of the totally unknown. The sands have shifted, but the ebb and flow
remains.

Ten days and counting...

I have been here before...

Ten.
Arrival complete with culture shocks like ripples through my soul. Everything familiar embroidered with confusion, the cobwebs of foreignness cling to the corners of everything that was my world for twenty-three years. Is that an entire isle of different breakfast cereals? Yes friend, this is America.

Nine.
The jitters of over-stimulation: too many things to listen to, hear, read, watch, understand, evidenced in the tell-tale sign of shaky hands.

Eight.
Tensions unwinding like so many balls of yarn on the floor and the massage of time with friends willing to get their hands into my stringy mess though I am only unraveling.

Seven.
Long forgotten acceptance found over tables in public spaces with heads bowed. Joy spills from lips which have ached to share His work from the past year. His smile, His warmth, His pride, His understanding, His provision found in the faces and company of dear friends.

Six.
Fellowship in the fullness of the depth it was intended. Courage in a note, a hug, a tear. The cross standing in the gap of the past year's brokenness and pain: a splintered reminder of what lay behind... and what lies before.

Five.
A tearing. The happy world of return fades imperceptibly into the mad scramble of depart. The lists begin and the frenzy of purchasing items in anticipation of the long year ahead is underway.

Four.
Insomnia reigns supreme. The fog of sleepless nights interrupted only by this dream of Lhasa: me in Tibetan dress pulling back all manner of curtains, tying them up, ripping them off, a mad attempt to let light in.

Three.
Turkey, mashed potatoes, butter beans, yorkshire puds, cranberry sauce, broccoli and cheese, sprouts, cabbage, corn on the cob, stuffing, and a pecan pie. A pseudo thanksgiving? No. This is the real deal, the one they celebrate in November will be the imposter due to my absence.

Two.
The strain of zippers on overstuffed bags, the heartache in invitations declined, the anxious double checking of flight details...

One.
I'm not ready. But I wasn't ready the last time either.

My only request, my most desperate plea: may He be glorified in me.

I'm BACK?

America is unique worldwide: it is amazingly diverse in terms of people, landscape, and food, it is wretchedly over airconditioned, it is the height of convinence and accessibility, it boasts an enormity of television programs as well as near constant entertainment in a myriad of forms, and even though most citizens don't realize it, wealth and luxery is the air we breathe. North Carolina is unique amongst states: it is every imaginable shade and texture of green, sweet tea flows like rivers from every restaurant and home, and the local accents are like a massage for the China accustomed ears.

So I'm back.

How do I describe the delight of sinking my teeth into anything with refried beans? To what can I compare the freedom of driving over near deserted roads winding through pastures and forests? Is there anything more liberating than the realization that the clothes in the stores might actually fit you? What about the thrill of options you can read at the grocery store?

But I'm forth.

Somewhere in the midst of the glee of being immersed back into a culture that swallows me up like a wave of jelloesque familiarity there are the inner rumblings of the all too understood and disected storm clouds of foreignness. I fit here but I'm differet. It's easy for me but I'm haunted by idleness. I have lived a life based on the reliability of the spiritual due to the unfaithful material yet find myself in the pulsating deception that the material seems convincingly stable. I have changed through a year long refinement process but to all appearances, nothing here has.

Back... and forth...
Comfort... and discomfort...

Back, and forth.
Backandforth.

In a few short weeks it will be back to China so maybe I'll just soak America, the parts that have been redeemed, in while I can. Is it even possible to overdose on the company of dear friends and burritos?

I'm back and I'm forth.

Korea in a very few pics

The rain in Spain is very plain...

But in Seoul it's torrential.

I had forgotten what real rain was... this place has gotten more rain in an hour than Lhasa does in a year.

Ode to Seoul Rain:
It is
absolutely flooding.
Am I swimming or
walking down the street?
Great sheets of
water.
This city must be located under a
heavenly faucet which someone has just left on all day.
Where is the ark?
Forging
great rivers equipped only with an umbrella.
Rainy day in Seoul.

My first thoughts on rain was gratitude which quickly turned into discomfort, not because my pants were instantly soaked up to the knees but because of the excess. It's just too much water, it's more than what this city needs, it's a waste.

The image that came to mind as I splashed between subways and wandered damply around the Seoul History Muesum was one of an angry child being told that he has to wash the car and instead of doing it methodically and carefully, thus actually cleaning it, in a vain fit of rage just throwing dozens of buckets of water all over it. If the Father wants to wash this city from its whoring to consumerism then this much rain is a show of desperation, isn't it?

Then this damp thought swam to the surface: As the rain which comes down from heaven and does not return to it without watering the earth so My word goes out from My mouth, it will not return to me empty but will achieve the purpose for which I sent it.

This rain is not the frivolity of some cranky school child, it is the profusion of a heavenly Father who has opened His arms in grace and pours it out, in the same overwhelming quanities as this rain, over the earth achieving the very purpose for which He sent it.

Who am I to question such excess?

Instead allow me to join in the spiritual water fight with this: You heavens above rain down righteousness, let the clouds shower it down. Let the earth open wide, let salvation spring up...

My pants will never be dry again.

It is well with my Seoul...

I left Lhasa to about a dozen students giving me kadas, carrying my bags to the car, telling me not to worry... on the drive to the airport I glimpsed a very large lizard scurrying over the rocky mountain side. Goodbye for now Lhasa.

I arrived in Beijing greeted by a dear friend whose eagerness to see me was revealed in this text which I received while I was in baggage claim: just take somebody elses.

I woke in the middle of the night in near agony that I was going to be on the move again in a few humid hours.

A dalliance if you will: It's amazing what Asia will do to you, the way that somehow it makes your brow crinkle and stomach churn at the thought of having to transition. I used to love travel, and even though I've never had a horrendous experience, now the thought nearly drives me insane. In a world that's as unstable as this one is it always strikes me as some sort of masochism to put oneself in a decidedly less stable place, thousands of feet above the air in route to some destination that is sure to be nothing in your realm of experience... I have long asked for there to be more of Him and less of me and my current understanding is that such a request requires me to travel in Asia by myself.

Enough.

I arrived in Korea with a bookbag of clothes and an extra hour, that's how early the plane was. The hour was quickly spent deciding a few things about this culture: 1. They wear flip flops 2. They don't seem to care that I'm white and 3. They are madly efficient with time... in short this is the least Asian country in Asia.

I got off the airport bus with time to spare and walked right into the McDonalds and bought a milkshake for roughly a dollar... I sat down to write about why it is that a well placed McDonalds is suddenly the latest revelation of grace in my life.

I had a random Korean girl (who spoke no English but somehow knew exactly what the phone number in my hand and pleading look on my face meant) help me call my friend, which produced a very joyful reunion. Now I'm writing to you from the fourth Asian country that I've visited in nine months... that's if you only count China as one country.

Whatever my lot (and what an unpredictable lot it's turning out to be) He has taught me to say... it is well, it is well with my Seoul.

Kaleidoscope days...

Ten days and counting...

Still haven't dusted off the suitcases: grades to hand in by Monday: endless stream of text messages: week slowly filling with appointments: clothes spilling out of the machine: chased down the Xianjiang bread man for breakfast for the next few days: dreams of an ice machine and air conditioning: Michael Jackson dead: what do I need to pack again?: the unexplainable meaning of the following exam responses pootbool, grashing my tar, farthing my time: tibetan words replacing english ones followed by shame at my total lack of chinese: visions of a place where anonimity reigns supreme because everyone else is white too, and if they're not they don't care: are they really going to give me a car to the airport?: my worthless students trying to cheat making me wonder why I bother trying to teach: watching time and coming to the conclusion that it doesn't really exist: this message from another student, although you are only ours english teacher one year but in my mind in the one year myself very thanks your student know you have a kind heart to our student however you are good teacher thanks you, in the one year teach a lot of thing to our! this time you go home cannot see but inward miss you also wish you happy everyday: will my body ever maintain a comfortable temperature?: what I have learned this year? what haven't I learned: made a waitress/cook squeal with joy after taking a picture with her: what if home isn't what I remember? isn't what I need it to be?: feel out of shape, need to get back on that bike and bear the heat for a bit: having suffered He is able to understand suffering: my sister traveling to United Arab Emeriates: and what about tomorrow?

These days my mind is a kaleidoscope, only not beautiful colors and patterns in an ever changing and increasingly fascinating array. More like if the kaleidoscope was filled with garbage and specks of light and in the hands of a fussy five year old.

Oh transition. You are what happens when the world goes round, now if only my mind would stop going round with it.